I wrote this sestina a few weeks ago. Today its words were fulfilled! Now I need to find this little guy a new home far away. I should perhaps re-title it “Little Brown Mouse.”.

Ooh there you are, little grey mouse.
It seems that you think I inhabit your house.
How funny it seems you think that I might
Be the pest of the kingdom you rule in the night.
When by chance we do meet you run, bolt in a hurry.
I also do jump with a startling worry.

The presents you leave are the source of my worry.
Unwanted in cabinets are droppings of mouse.
I dash for the bleach with no little hurry.
And spray every surface and crack of this house.
I wonder perhaps when you come back this night,
If you’ll think that I cleaned it for you, well you might.

I resolve that I’ll need more power and might
To reclaim my kingdom, though how? I now worry,
For I do not wish to snuff out this small knight.
But I am afraid, oh small valiant mouse
That I must now reclaim my stake on this house.
I will set up a trap for tonight when you scurry.

So to the garage it’s my turn to scurry.
I find a small box and I think that I might
Find some wire mesh and a spring in the house.
I fashion and fix my trap, but I worry
Is it able to draw you oh grey little mouse,
Into its lair as you search in the night.

And so I have set up my trap for this night,
Strategically placed in the path where you scurry.
I wonder the tastiest treat for you, mouse,
A snack so delicious and fragrant you might
Be drawn to my box without any worry.
I find in my fridge cookie dough. Yum! Toll House!

I add peanut butter to the glob of Toll House.
I smear it inside the box at midnight.
To bed I retire with wonder and worry,
Will my trap draw you in as you scramble and scurry?
Will the spring then release with enough speed and might
To prevent your escape, oh little grey mouse?

Good morning grey mouse! Let’s go find your new house!
In this barn there are several places you might tiptoe and scamper and creep in the night.
I’ve left you some snacks so you won’t have to worry, and please, back to my house, don’t you scurry!

a broken bit
among
broken bits
sharp cornered
embedded in the earth with all the other
broken bits
cries out with contention
“Potter!
How could you
make me so,
that I should lay here,
trodden underfoot,
a broken bit
among
broken bits!”

did it also say
as it was kneaded
moulded
and shaped
in the hands
of its maker
“What are you making?
I don’t know your hands. They must not exist. Are there no hands to hold, shape and fashion me?”

reaching in
pulling
out
the broken bit
among
broken bits
the potter lifts
the jagged shard
admiring the beauty
of its color
texture
and unique shape
he wipes away the dry caked-on dirt
and admires how the broken bit now
shines with its makers reflection
placing it now tenderly
he fastens it among other
gloriously broken bits
and smiles with satisfaction
at his masterpiece.

It is the last straw

Which finally pushes me out
of the space I’ve been occupying,

Just occupying
like duck sauce packets that get tossed away

Momentum…

This sack of water has potential energy
which can
Instantaneously transform into kinetic energy.

It can jump from an airplane.
It can flow like a river
of living waters.
It can follow you.

And that means changing location
exploring my geography
asking for directions.

And that means
admitting I am lost
without you.

© A. Cele

4/24/14
Tell it to the Hand
Talk to the hand
Listen
What does it have to say?

does it run along the page
with sweeping silent spoken word?

does it clamor and fuss?
does it clap in praise?
does it work hard and bear blisters
as evidence of its doing?
does it heal? does it rest on my hip?
does it grasp my neck and knead tired muscles?
does it rest lovingly on your shoulder?
does it attempt to tease sweet sounds from a wooden box?

Talk to the hand.
Listen
What does it have to say?

Is there a fraction
to be found
somewhere between
half full and half empty?

Does it mark its line
on the edge of my cup
somewhere between satisfaction and longing?

Should I top it off with cream and sugar
or just drink it bitterly down?

…or perhaps find a smaller cup?

Can it be measured?
At what tenth of a microlitre
do I find that I am
more full than empty?
And precisely how more much is needed to reach overflowing?

Is there a fraction
to be found
somewhere between
half full and half empty?

©A. Cele

Going back…
to review
It’s not quite a redo
a chance to find sticky habits,
old and new
clear the clutter
widen the view

To the basics…
what I need
not the extras in between
the ground I walk on
the air I breathe
the early watering
of the seed

Going getting moving there
back to bended knees in prayer

to the One,
the first
my love

Please, excuse my forwardness
I’m just wondering
how can one say yellow
and expect me to know what color is implied?

For you see…

There is the woody assertive fresh
yellow
of forsythia
That draws sunlight through itself
and waxes green.

There is the delicate nodding shy
yellow
of daffodils
that makes one imagine sweet girls
in frilled Easter dresses.

There is the familiar friendly tenacious
yellow
of dandelion
that plants itself firmly in the earth and transforms sunlight
into windswept wishes.

There is the speckled sunlight golden
yellow
of St. Johnswort
that hides within its flesh a mysterious
healing red balm.

There is the rich fuzzy nourishing
yellow
of mullein
That offers its pollen, a heavy laden
treasure on the legs of bees.

There is the calm sweet milky
yellow
of honeysuckle
that reveals peaceful affection
in generous curled back petals.

There is the majestic abundant
yellow
of sunflower
that draws vitality up its sturdy stalk
and showers strength down upon us
with its nodding head.

There is the arenaceous wafting
yellow
of goldenrod
that hangs in late summer haze
and reminds us to not take its slowly fading hue
for granted.

So when you say yellow
can you kindly be clear?
Of precisely which yellow do you speak?

©A. Cele