Friday, November 18, 2005

The Life of An Easy Chair

I settle myself,
stretching my legs onto the ottomon,
shifting to find the perfect posture
the chair demands for optimal comfort.
My intent is to read,
to hold a book in the pose of middle age,
arm extended,
glasses sliding down my nose.
Then they settle themselves,
one at a time,
the black, the gray, the orange striped,
the white on my shoulder.
The rumble begins,
little claws press, seeking purchase,
mutely calling to home, to mother.
Book abandoned,
draped in living fur,
My sigh joins the rumble
of purring cats.

Copyright 2005.


Blogger Gaboatman said...

The rumble of purring cats sounds fine! Slide that ottoman over and make room for another old friend. I'll be by often, so you need to save me a seat in your new digs.

November 18, 2005 6:07 AM  
Blogger ckays1967 said...

I love it....

I loved it when you posted it at that OTHER place.

I hope you stay here though. I am staying here, I have already copied my main journal and I have almost copied my poetry journal. Once that is done I am deleting them.

You and Vince picked the same template. xxoo

November 18, 2005 5:56 PM  

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