A while ago I posted a poem about a lovely man I met in Ottawa, my friend Rick. He’s a retired soldier, an artist, a brilliant conversationalist and writer, and one of the most interesting and kind people I know. He sends me snippets of his writing, and I feel compelled to share. He’s tickled to be my first guest blogger, and hopes he doesn’t scare my loyal readers away. Luckily, he’s written about something that’s pretty dear to my heart…
What think you
My feline friend
Reclining there with stately grace.
Your golden eyes
Unblinking, faintly gleaming
Fixed upon me in the near-light?
Is it idle curiosity I see?
Or perhaps a wary watchfulness
Or even mere disdain
As your stare pierces deep my very soul
That has no place
In your fluid, stealthy, silent world.
Ah, now you rise, and stretch
And bound feather-like,
Soundless to the floor
To commence your dawn patrol
Sinews flow like a mountain stream
Beneath your silky coat.
A solitary bird alights upon the sill
And you pause, mid-stride
Then crouch, to begin the stalk
And I see the blood of ages past
Bring the burning hunt-lust to your eyes
I shiver, sensing the wildness there.
Were you free you would feast upon that bird;
But alas old friend,
For you the hunt is o’er,
It belongs to the ages
And you and I
Must sit and live in memory.
By Rick Darroch