Poems. By Mary Cresswell.
Meditation On Neighborhood Cats
Cats are fighting in the yard,
morning light is wet and gold,
the storm has left no leaf unmarred.
I hear traffic on the road.
Morning light is wet and gold.
I stand and brood upon the past.
Traffic humming on the road
is just as trite and just as vast
as boring thoughts about the past.
Perhaps Ill think about today:
Tomorrows every bit as vast.
I think its far more fun to play
with plans to make or things to say
than checking that no leafs unmarred.
Watch the action: white, gold and grey
cats are fighting in the yard.
Good News Bad News Ghazal
In the mirror, girl, you see your mothers face.
No way will there ever be anothers face.
The way you stir soup or dress or laugh
will always have your mothers trace.
Your mother fussed a lot, perhaps hoping
you would be a lady, be quayte nayce.
This doesnt always seem fair.
(Certainly not, if we take your mothers case.)
You blame yourself or forgive yourself
according to your mothers grace.
Mamma mia! What more is there to say?
Different start times same old race.
Song Of The Semidetached Lover
Now you see me, now you dont,
Maybe when the weathers seemly
when I want a little breather.
Lucky you. Im feeling seemly
What is love if not hereafter?
Who will want you if I dont?
Happy happy ever after?
Cant you ever get the point?
Sure, Ill see you, only dimly:
A steamy breathers what I want.
Calvinism At Home
The exceedingly reverend Doctor John Knox
freely chose to use botox,
My fall from grace was short.
But hey, it was only temporary.
You had the generosity and grace
to forgive me and take me back.
After this years grace I know
it is well and truly over. Time to go.
My lord and master, I am handing you over
to another (may it save your grace).
She is ambitious. She loves you. I know
your joy in finding her seems an act of grace.
She even moves with grace. She lights you
inexorably on her way. You see only her.
For what you are about to receive
I am about to be truly thankful.
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