Author Archives: in other words

Look Away

window_gazing

One long fluid day
Flowing and leaking and seeping
Across my thoughts and through them
I have stared so far and long
Into books
Out windows
Into Mirrors
Out of things to stare at
And it blurs the
Obvious do what I may
Do what it takes
To stay
Sane
At least for today
If my mind could
jump into itself
so fast that I would
barely catch a piece
of me
there might be what is left
and it might be enough
To make it until the end
of the day
Sore eyes
From staring
Sore heart from looking away

Catherine MacAdam

DRIP DROP

water drops
Drip, drop

The sound of

reclamation into slightly dirty bowl

Primed for lift off

In a regular sort of way

Hunker down

With candle sticks and what is good to read

Folded back, dog eared recipes

Of egos come and gone

Make a note -a sticky note

Invitation to the dance

Slices and slices of

Freshly spent time

Lined up in order of thought and deed

Drip, drop

The bowl fills up

A pink reflection possible

A look inside gives bones to disembodied dreams

The sound of birds

At nesting time

Held by trees that drop more seeds

The ground receives them

Fortunately

Drip, drop

And time to fly

Fall or pushed

These things happen

Proclaiming themselves

To be the truth

Gathering call

Of old and new

An image emerges in the bowl

There is more

Where that came from

Peeking in

With folded arms

Toss a wish

Its harvest time

Catherine MacAdam

BOTH SIDES

 

window cat

It was time to wash the windows and I wondered where to start.

“I have an idea,” meowed a familiar voice.

And I knew the idea would require much of me. So I pretended not to listen and began to gather up some cleaning materials. It really didn’t matter so much where I started. All the windows needed cleaning.

“Just start,” I thought.

Anywhere.

“Oh yes,” she purred. Anywhere indeed.

I smiled.

So allow me to present to you my cat. She shows up in my writing from time to time. Her full name is Annie B Whiskers the Mafia Cat. The B stands for Bonino and I usually call her Mrs. Bonino or Annie. She is 7 years old, which I think means that she is 49. The very same age that I am. This is the one year that will be the case. Next year I will be 50 and she will be 56. We are getting older, she and I.

She tells me important things and sometimes I ignore them. I do not like her advice about men for example. She is usually correct but does not pussyfoot around when it comes to the truth. I like the truth but sometimes I like to control the timing a little.

Besides, her experience with males is pretty pathetic so I do not think she is in a position to point her little Bonino paw at me.

Oh yes, we are talking about windows and I have gotten sidetracked by the topic of “men” again. I am on a “man” break at the moment. In recovery so to speak.

So yes…the windows.

Annie was staring at me. “Are you going to start inside or outside?” she asked. “Doesn’t much matter,” I said. “ Does it?”

“Depends,” she said,“on whether you can see what you miss from each side. Sometimes if you start on the outside, you miss the inside bits. And then when you go inside you realize you have missed a couple of outside bits and when you go to fix them… well – anyways its up to you of course.” And she hopped up on the sofa.

“So you are saying maybe I should start on the inside?” I asked.

“Not at all, she said. “Like you said, just start.”
“Great,” I thought to myself. Because I knew I was missing something. Now it mattered to me where to start.

Annie was snoring. With her eyes wide open. Not purring. Snoring. I reached over the sofa where she lay and sprayed a little window cleaner on the glass. As I began to wipe, she began to snore more quietly and her eyes closed and she fell into her afternoon cat coma. I cleaned and polished and checked and cleaned. When I thought it was perfect, I slipped on my shoes and popped out to do the outside next.

This time I used a bit stronger cleaner in a bucket and I really scrubbed and dried and polished. I looked through the window and saw my little friend still curled up sleeping and twitching away.

 

“Pretty good,” I smiled, satisfied with myself. Now I was really in the mood to do the rest. I went in to admire my work and to begin the next window.

Spots.

Little smudges.

Smears.

I looked at my cat with her eyes closed and I knew she was wide awake. I leaned over her and tried to polish the spots that were clearly on the outside.

“I think I need help,” I said aloud to no one in particular.

“Exactly,” came a nod from the couch.

Thanks, Mrs. B.

 

Catherine MacAdam

Image source: Heritage Cat Clinic

ivy angel

Single bits of well to do

Drop into the rain barrel of comfort sauce

Brewed and doctored

Not just over time

But all the time

And things change themselves

Adjusting a dose like

Turning the other cheek to the sun

Do not get burned

The peeling interferes with things

Like waiting for a brand new bus

Never knowing what just passed

Where to find the living growth

Is usually right in front of you

Single bits of time to rest

Can bring forgiveness to its time

No trying and no wondering

Surrender is the willingness

To be at one with the

Seeding of a vacant lot

Not so empty

Not so clean

And starts the brewing

Once again

Finding comfort

Like drops of rain

 

Catherine MacAdam

Photo by Alexandru Iacob

BAREFOOT CONTESSA

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Blessed are the man and the woman who have grown beyond their

greed and have put an end to their hatred and no longer nourish

illusions. But they delight in the way things are and keep their

hearts open, day and night. They are like trees planted near flowing

rivers, which bear fruit when they are ready. Their leaves will not

fall or wither; everything they do will succeed. ~ Psalm 1

 

She spit mud which landed –

On his spear

He aimed and she was nearly dead

Behind his shield he stood and wept

His heart was hiding

In her mess of 4 long years of words and love

And long, long nights of building this

 

It is not finished but it is done

And weeping falls on tear baked mud

 

Lay down and I will climb between

Your shield, your heart and it is real

This story we have made of us

A long cold walk to where the road

Is edged by trees and ancient growth

 

Lay down and I will climb between

My other days, my other fears

I will cover where we meet

With fur of bear and antelope

 

A dying starts to sing a song

A song that prays for safer days

And she will keep his corners warm

And he will never walk away

And she will never be the same

 

I felt you shrink into a bird

Inside my trembling, frightened hands

You can fly; I know you can

And I can wait and turn my face

Until we find our way again..

 

Catherine MacAdam

VEGETABLE SOUP

Vegetable soup

Eat your vegetables

Written on my forehead

Written on my mirror too

Eat your vegetables

Try and do what’s good for you…

I like my tomatoes with mayonnaise – lots of it

With salt and pepper on toasted bread

An avocado for dessert

A whole one – I eat it slowly with a spoon

Good for me and good for you…

Full of nuts and vineyard fruit –

On my forehead peeling truth

Vegetables are good for you

Pulling out the chocolate

Melting for the final time – or maybe not

I am getting good at this

Eating what is bad for me

Serving what is good for you

I am eating chocolate

And dipping vegetables for you

Once again the miAbstract Body Photography Jes dancerror claims

Her bowl of bruised and spoiled fruit

Choosing what is good for you

But not for me…

Sticky words and bitter truth

What is good for you is poisoning my appetite

As I drink the vacant juice you left beside your dirty plate

And as I clean and scrape and grate

My forehead words into a soup

Of lies, of poison and of you

 

Catherine MacAdam

Image Source: Abstract Body Photography Jes dance

SEPTEMBER SEEDS

4.1.1

Pentimento – Visible evidence of an alteration to a painting or drawing that indicates the artist changed their mind while executing the painting. This can leave an effect where ‘ghosting’ lines from the original design can be seen through the thinning paint.

Between the scenes and telling me that honesty dreamed dreams of me I found the oddest little seed that promised not reality…not quite real – and yet the dream left finger prints of seeds on me.

I did not leave them knowingly or if I did their scattering had left the sense that what I see was only you and was not me…

But in between…

Crisp the air between us feeds the need to follow and to lead; at once this song was dancing me and I was in its grasp.

Love is all about belief and casts its light indelibly where morning meets the grassy eve and leaves the dew of honesty.

You gave your place with shy retreat and slipped back in so quietly.

Do you watch where I have been and trace a path and watch again as I encounter covering that lets me try again…

The shadows warm and shelter me and there is light between these dreams. Call them back and I will find their gentle path to what we see and what we cover in between…

Catherine MacAdam

Image Source: Vanitas Stilleven – Omgeving Rembrandt