MY CAT IN HIS GARDEN
As my young cat
seeks new experiences,
he’s obsessed with a beetle,
whose interesting pincers
are defiantly bared,
but my cat is undismayed.
He’s far too young
to think of being afraid,
until he gets stung.
Once I was like him,
finding intrigue
in anything new.
I never gave a thought
to growing old,
until I got there.
It’s true, death itself
has no sting,
but journeying there
is often an unpleasant thing.
CEREMONY IN ABSENTIA
The girls leave the factory,
joking and laughing
making plans for the night.
I wish I could join them,
but I had my day.
I danced and drank with the best,
but when I married my wife,
I forgot all the rest.
As I pour a glass of wine,
I fall into a melancholy mood.
I stare at distant mountains,
So far away, and yet
they appear to be so near.
Today would
be your birthday, wife,
if you were still here.
A MOMENT IN NATURE
A breeze rustles the leaves
at the edge of the bay,
The stars make night
almost as clear as day.
On the lake, from far away,
a loon cries. Is it a greeting
or a warning? The lake
is now a quiet desert,
but tonight strong winds
will blow, and waves
will beat like furious fists
against an impenetrable shore.
This rage is also nature.
Some say we should
search for the good
in a benevolent nature.
Forgive me, as I observe
a harmless worm,
struggle through the grass,
eyed by a hungry bird,
until the worm arrives,
at its predestined end.
That bird’s stomach is not his friend.
George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.
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