This is just poetry. It won't save you, but it may locate you so that a rescue party can be sent out. — Dean Blehert

Friday, May 22, 2009


[Note: Two poems today, Thursday's and Friday's.]

Guests have co-opted our queen-sized bed,
so we share a single. It's easy--
we're so used to twisting carefully
around sleeping cats we haven't the heart
to disturb--avoiding them
as two contortionists in a box
avoid swords.

[Note: I hope you've all seen that circus act, one or more contortionists get into a box, and then someone thrusts swords through the box in enough places that it seems impossible that those inside it are not skewered. The swords are real, and they ARE pushed through the box through pre-made slots. The contortionists know where these slots are, and manage to twist their bodies out of the way of each sword-path. (For a while we had three cats--and one was quite a swordsman!)

Perhaps a clearer comparison would have us be streams winding around rocks.

It's silly, this concern about disturbing a sleeping cat, since the cats themselves move so simply and quickly from apparently deep sleep to wakefulness, but when they sleep, they do so with such an intensity and apparent abandon that I feel, if I wake them when I get into bed, as if I've violated a trust. But there are times when I don't hesitate to shoo--or rather barefoot--them off the bed (see next poem!).]

I am in favor of marital sex:
We merit all we can get.

Dean Blehert
Blogs: (short poems) (essays and longer poems)
New book (Deanotations, Volume 1) available at

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