With Orbs Of Uncertain Gaze (IFT)

[prokopton]

5. The Waiting game

A Dash-8 is really great
If its home you want to go
And have had to wait
way down in Mexico.

But wait, a Dash-8
Won’t fly so far
Its 6000k to CUN
All the way from YVR

For such extensive jaunts
You need at least a 737
From remote Canadian haunts
to Mayan Riviera heaven.

I’ve been here amid iguanas, beaches
and jungle birds four months now
my April return was virus deleted;
the next one out is Cinco de Mayo.

[prokopton]

6. I, 2, 3, Cat

A singular, empty, cardboard box
would not attract a lonely fox.
Its smooth hardened-paper walls
are cool, inviting and to a kitty calls.

A strange, curious cardboard house
might lodge a wee, slicket, tim’rous mouse,
but the curious echoes and slippery feel
yield an addictive (to felines) thrill.

Inside the puzzling structure a puss will sit
Enjoying thrills known only to a kit.
To catch the furry, silly, housepet
is easy, as easy as saying une, deux, trois, cat.

[PClem]

April Quest is a fantastic forest of verbs and nouns.
Orbs of Uncertain Gaze - really enjoy Like a cruise missile in his grey livery and His trajectory rose like a hockey stick.
Dusk - this lament has everything of the night but love. So perfectly sad.
1,2,3 Cat is a great celebration of the cat's fascination with an empty box.

[Dunc]

FOgFE

I like Dusk's slide into darkness. Luckies ─ they were the ones where one puff left your forearm stained tan for a month, no? In the US you need an excuse to drink to excess? Strange! Dusk as the evoker of broken dreams, though, that has some carry.

Cripes, Vancouver to Cancún is un maldito camino largo (however you say that in Salish). And yes indeed, you need a 737 or better still a Blackbird. May 5, eh? Some Waiting Game. A special kind of gratitude for NaPo then?

I, 2, 3, Cat
Cardboard boxes are where cats are at.
Actually I can sort of see their point of view.

For one denied travel, you're travelling well!

Regards / Dunc

[Bench]

Hi fGofe,
Ha! Nae agreeing indeed. Love foraging in the forest for verbs and nouns, perfect intro.


Great description of a wild jungle hike, though in Mexico, you might have been walking to the corner shop...


Visions of Galileo is really good, refreshing insight. The punch and spreading of fingers is an interesting way to start, such a strong action, leaves the hand suspended allowing comparison of its features with the moon.
Dusk has a film-noir’s voice-over vibe, can smell the cigarettes and bourbon. Lines are slurred/ by five o’clock cocktails is a fave. Very cool.
Waiting... sums up the situation for many stranded people I imagine. Have you tried the mojito method of waiting time reduction?
Kitties and their boxes aye. Reminded me of the joke: Cats called One-Two-Three and Un-Deux-Trois have a swimming race across the channel. Sadly, Un-Deux-Trois cat sank.


Really enjoying these G, soldier on fella.

[Sorella]

Geoff (!unusual spelling)

The thread name and some of the poetry, as well as the mantra 'a special way of seeing' -- all seem linked to sight as a theme here. That goes for Dusk too:
so melancholy, many fine lines:

night is a concept I want to unlearn.
When sunset takes away the lines of the day
and dusk blurs the edges of the night,...

I agree with N (Frankie Boy!), drinking can be pretty useful at times.

The Waiting Game -- sounds so exotic, the planes and the places, a n d it rhymes! No vision in sight here (haha).

And now the Cat, the dreaded Cat-- will read and obey the summons today -- no time like the present.
Be well, way down in Mexico (or is that Herb Alpert and the Tijauna Brass?)

Sorella

[Mike M]

Your kitty ditty ends on a nice French pun, and your extra month in Mexico is very now - good-naturedly resigned to what we cannot change. Dusk was frightening. My favorite so far is your hike through the jungle, staring round at every unfamiliar sound, while the local fauna stare back afraid of you. In all of this your sure command of the rhythm of the line inspires me to write with care, and your voice comes through. Thanks for these.

[prokopton]

April Quest is a fantastic forest of verbs and nouns.
Orbs of Uncertain Gaze - really enjoy Like a cruise missile in his grey livery and His trajectory rose like a hockey stick.
Dusk - this lament has everything of the night but love. So perfectly sad.
1,2,3 Cat is a great celebration of the cat's fascination with an empty box.

PClem
thanks for reading and commenting.
Cats and boxes, i dunno. They have an affinity, for sure!

all the best
Geoff

[Donner]

Hi, Egoff,

"The Waiting Game" - I have a cousin and her husband who just flew back from Ethiopia after retiring from working in a school in Addis. They were concerned about getting their flight out back to NY, but did. She said there were only about 13 people on the plane. I had no clue what a Dash-8 is until I used the all-knowing Google and learned it's the De Havilland Canada DHC-8. With a maximum range of 2,040 km (who knew I could speak Canadian?), no wonder you're still stuck in heaven. At least you'll have a memorable Cinco de Mayo this year. One teeny suggestion - "virus-deleted".

"1,2,3 Cat" - Nothing like an empty box (or paper grocery bag) if you want to lure a cat. Your shameless pun at the end makes this one complete.

Donna

[prokopton]

FOgFE

I like Dusk's slide into darkness. Luckies ─ they were the ones where one puff left your forearm stained tan for a month, no? In the US you need an excuse to drink to excess? Strange! Dusk as the evoker of broken dreams, though, that has some carry.

Cripes, Vancouver to Cancún is un maldito camino largo (however you say that in Salish). And yes indeed, you need a 737 or better still a Blackbird. May 5, eh? Some Waiting Game. A special kind of gratitude for NaPo then?

I, 2, 3, Cat
Cardboard boxes are where cats are at.
Actually I can sort of see their point of view.

For one denied travel, you're travelling well!

Regards / Dunc

Hey Dunc,
Thanks for the visit and the comments,
Mexico and the sunshine and beaches aren't too hard to take.
The last few nights with that big April moon are pretty nice too.
No broken dreams around here.

cheers
G.

[prokopton]

Hi fGofe,
Ha! Nae agreeing indeed. Love foraging in the forest for verbs and nouns, perfect intro.


Great description of a wild jungle hike, though in Mexico, you might have been walking to the corner shop...


Visions of Galileo is really good, refreshing insight. The punch and spreading of fingers is an interesting way to start, such a strong action, leaves the hand suspended allowing comparison of its features with the moon.
Dusk has a film-noir’s voice-over vibe, can smell the cigarettes and bourbon. Lines are slurred/ by five o’clock cocktails is a fave. Very cool.
Waiting... sums up the situation for many stranded people I imagine. Have you tried the mojito method of waiting time reduction?
Kitties and their boxes aye. Reminded me of the joke: Cats called One-Two-Three and Un-Deux-Trois have a swimming race across the channel. Sadly, Un-Deux-Trois cat sank.


Really enjoying these G, soldier on fella.

Hey Bench,
thanks for visiting and reading,
Mojitos go down well and yes one can lose a few days that way!
I liked your cat joke. If I had known it the poem might have been different!
Dusk just sort of pored out of me, but I have no melancholy experiences with such bridges
at least none I can remember, heh.

all the best,
G.

[prokopton]

Geoff (!unusual spelling)

The thread name and some of the poetry, as well as the mantra 'a special way of seeing' -- all seem linked to sight as a theme here. That goes for Dusk too:
so melancholy, many fine lines:

night is a concept I want to unlearn.
When sunset takes away the lines of the day
and dusk blurs the edges of the night,...

I agree with N (Frankie Boy!), drinking can be pretty useful at times.

The Waiting Game -- sounds so exotic, the planes and the places, a n d it rhymes! No vision in sight here (haha).

And now the Cat, the dreaded Cat-- will read and obey the summons today -- no time like the present.
Be well, way down in Mexico (or is that Herb Alpert and the Tijauna Brass?)

Sorella

Ah Sorella,
thanks for dropping by and commenting on my sad anthology -
I enjoyed your comments. I shall try to keep up the theme of seeing specially.
and cats, yes, well, cats.

cheers
G.

[prokopton]

Your kitty ditty ends on a nice French pun, and your extra month in Mexico is very now - good-naturedly resigned to what we cannot change. Dusk was frightening. My favorite so far is your hike through the jungle, staring round at every unfamiliar sound, while the local fauna stare back afraid of you. In all of this your sure command of the rhythm of the line inspires me to write with care, and your voice comes through. Thanks for these.

Hi Mike
thanks for commenting
I enjoyed your take on the poems.
IAbout Dusk, I hadn't seen the scary part before.
I enjoy the jungle poems too, with weird critters galore.

all the best
G,

[prokopton]

Hi, Egoff,

"The Waiting Game" - I have a cousin and her husband who just flew back from Ethiopia after retiring from working in a school in Addis. They were concerned about getting their flight out back to NY, but did. She said there were only about 13 people on the plane. I had no clue what a Dash-8 is until I used the all-knowing Google and learned it's the De Havilland Canada DHC-8. With a maximum range of 2,040 km (who knew I could speak Canadian?), no wonder you're still stuck in heaven. At least you'll have a memorable Cinco de Mayo this year. One teeny suggestion - "virus-deleted".

"1,2,3 Cat" - Nothing like an empty box (or paper grocery bag) if you want to lure a cat. Your shameless pun at the end makes this one complete.

Donna

Hi Donner
Thanks for your comments -
de-suggestion about virus-deleted has been de-noted.
Apparently they don't actually celebrate Cinco de Mayo down here.
They do the National Independence thing in September. Strange, but true.
I will be traveling on that day, bus, airport, plane, bus, eminently forgettable.
My flight back on the 5th was the next available back to the Great White North.

meanwhile, back at the poetry board..

G.

[prokopton]

7. Iguana Non Grata

On Isla Cozumel, in a bit of tropical paradise
called Los Amigos Hostel, there is a rock star liz,
a ten pound colossus of the iguana species,
Such a compelling figure they named him Elvis.

The walled garden is his domain, lesser lizards scurry
to escape his head-nodding threats, the guests are leary
even as they snap selfies with him and toss him scraps.
With one eye-open they always take their naps.

No, it’s mornings when his presence isn’t cool;
at half past eleven, ascend into the mango tree he would
and let go a humongous crap, smack, plop, into the swimming pool.
Same branch, same tree, every day, set your watch you could.

But sometime last Autumn he fell and hurt his back, or hip;
the lizard doc couldn’t help, despite the soothing hand.
So Elvis is no more. I was sad to hear this tale last trip.
He’s missed around the hostel, they may even re-name it Graceland.