Miss Hazel Buttercup welcomes you to her very own poetry page. (Well, all right, she graciously shares some of them with Cully.)
Essence of cat
Softness like no other
Bristly and aggressive lion tamer
Clumpy and brush-me-there
Everywhere on carpet and furniture and instantly on black jeans.
Deep soul universe
All ancestors gazing out
Sunlight sparkling squeezed in sweetness
Moonlight glinting open in nocturnal prowl
Mittens and boots and stockings
Padding lightly strutting stomping sliding
Shredding tree bark and furniture all-the-same
Touching my face delicately with love thank you
Squeaky cat Chatty cat Singing cat Growly cat
Give ‘em hell sister
Silent miaow wow
What are you telling me now? I’m so stupid
Joy in living Right Now
Never-ending curiosity everything brand-new
Predictable unpredictability (you expect me to eat that?)
Grace and dignity in dying
…goodbye old friend…
©2004 Barbara Allen
Where did you come from, little dustmop kitty?
Where were you before you showed up in the rain?
I will forever remember your eyes, looking in at me,
So frightened and pleading, full of pain.
At first I said, no, no more cats in this house.
I’m not going through that again.
You looked at me, and I don’t know how,
But suddenly you were inside, and my heart was wide open.
What a character you were! I never knew a cat like you.
You had been hurt and abandoned, but still you came.
You helped your human boys grow up, strong and true.
You washed away tears, and you played with trains.
You climbed Christmas trees, and you chattered at birds.
You slept in the curl of blankets behind my knees.
As each new cat strolled in, you hurled unladylike words,
Then sighed, and made room, grumpily.
You were the queen, of course, Her Royal Highness,
And you never let anyone forget it.
But you were also my dear little friend, my little mess,
So much like me, fearful and shy, but you never quit.
You stayed with me through everything,
And as you grew older, you slowed down,
But you still helped me think and garden and sing.
You were still my beautiful strawberry blond.
I remember the morning when your time came.
And the last breath left your furry body.
You lay so still, and I stroked your neck,
Whispered goodbyes and asked you to wait for me.
We grew old together, didn’t we, my girl?
We watched seasons change and boys grow to men.
(This last made your fur and my hair curl.)
We were together – and we will be again.
But for now, I miss you, little girl, more than these poor words can say.
I know you’re happy. I know you’re safe and whole.
I know God needed you to help Him rule the night and the day.
But I miss you, my dear little dustmop kitty, my kindred soul.
I miss you.
©Barbara Allen 2004
Two years...three months...an eternity
Hello my baby girls, how are you,
And how do you feel these days...
I miss you both, you know,
And all your dear kitty ways –
Hazel, my princess, you were there
To greet our sweet Cully –
I saw you waiting with the others
In a circle, patiently, quietly –
I am so proud of you, my strawberry blond,
You bore your own death with grace
And strength I know I do not have –
Your perfect soul shining in your face –
And now you’ve been gone two long years,
Things have changed too much,
I see you now and then – do you hear me speak?
I reach out – I hope you feel my touch...
Cully, sweetheart, I look often at your grave.
I hate to think that you are gone,
But then you give me a glimpse as you brush by -
And I know you are still my baby girl, my own –
Do you know how much I miss
Those soft nudges and little sighs?
Your fur, soft as a baby bird’s?
The love in your golden eyes?
I am proud of you, too, my love,
And the way you dealt with life –
How you shared everything with everyone,
And stayed your own gentle self.
I know you’ve found one another,
And all my other babies, too,
Two years for Hazel, three months for Cully,
An eternity in my soul – my grief renews....
Please remember me, my girls –
I will always be your mother,
And for ever and ever I will cherish you –
We will meet again, my daughters in fur....
©2006 Barbara Allen
Two years, three months – what?
So Cully and Hazel were strolling along
(Because now they were the best of friends,
All the name-calling of the past was gone),
And Hazel said,
“Well, Cully, how were your first few months at the bridge?”
Cully paused to give it some thought
(No sense changing the way of a lifetime –
Some old habits are worth keeping),
And she replied,
“What’s a month?”
Now it was Hazel’s turn to ponder the question
(Having finally learned patience,
Not her strong suit whilst on earth),
And she answered,
“Oh, you know, Mom’s time.”
Then they both cast their gaze to earth
(Because they were always there, with Mom,
Whether she knew it or not),
And together they purred,
“We love it here, Mother dear,
You should come, too –
There’s no such thing as time,
Only each perfect day and night anew.
And when you step across the bridge,
Even though it may be some time yet,
(“Whatever that is,” whispered Cully)
Just carry us in your heart,
And know that we do not forget.”
©2006 Barbara Allen
Barbara E. Allen