When I can’t get off my butt, there’s nothing like a kick to do the trick.
I’m beginning to value pain. To reinforce that value I think of it as the whispering of angels calling me to pay attention. Of course, I could just as well think of it as a kick in the butt, but this is supposed to be a poem, and there is more to reality than meets the eye.
This is also supposed to be about spring, but all I hear about is winter. So. More snow? Or is it time for winter to get off its butt and go?
PAST WINTRY PAIN COMES SPRING-BOLD RAIN WE START AGAIN
Ghosts remain invisible.
Charming angels hide.
My muses tease confusingly
As inspirations slide.
My cat purrs on no matter what
Troubles me or not.
She’s real enough to hold and feed
And with her neither of us need
More than we now have got.
Linked to dVerse Quadrille #26 hosted by Kim from Writing in North Norfolk using the word “ghost”. I am also reading Allen and Linda Anderson’s “Angel Cats” which might help explain the second stanza. For more information on them see their site Angel Animals.