Cat Watching

….Blind as a ballerina swirly against the air -
Remaining; broken in stealth, in motion sharkesque through the waters draw,
Extracting pollens, bunkum that breeds the sharpened killer.
As nubile across her generation.
She flirts, dances, in the breast of her mother who bore her.
White, blotches-of- black light – lightening;
She licks and flicks the swaying dandelions’
As potential suitors. Then casually flicks them away.
They as she, in centre under some magisterial. Mirrored orb – just is as…
She plays and looks for nothing. Seeking nothing, she wishes for nothing.
Other than plain admiration, of nothing more than herself in play -
Than my secret eye - viewing her in the garden.
Her sleek black and white greyless torso, twisting, turning and,
Leaves…, determinedly, across the wall – until, home!

By Jonathan Beale

Scenes: Just walking home at night

Looking down at the rabbits, bobbing, as frisking buoys in their sea
And the cat belonging too – the scene.

The “The windmill” hostelry the old fogies’ now two hours dark.
And the night, in its infancy plays with ducks.

Stepping on; it grew (an idea) and to the sentence charm and wit
I rolled on my back and took a draw on a cigarette,

Humour (I thought would make us) - it would fail -
The gag disguised the meaning the serpent is the serpent;

The pregnant night grew on the light we almost grew to fear
Like an iterant do-gooding-parent - still there was time

Down by the tracks the light reflect around and off the metal
Showing the rails like swords in some magnificent battle.

By Jonathan Beale