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Sunday, November 29, 2015

Fat Squirrel and My Cat

My Cat sees Fat Squirrel through the window.


Fat Squirrel: Nyah, nyah, nyah! You can't get me! You're locked in that house!


--Dumb squirrel, why would I want to get you? I'm in a warm house, my food is in my bowl, a lap is only a meow away. And here you are hunting in the middle of winter for acorns that you will then bury and never find again! Scattershot pantries! What a way to live.


--Hey! Don't put me down. I don't have your soft life. No one fills food bowls for me. And it's my tiny brain that tells me to plant the nuts. Unfortunately, it's too tiny to hold the memory of where they are so I must dig randomly. What can I say? I'm a squirrel. But surely you must admire my bushy tail. See me twitch it! See? See?


--Don't be vulgar, you animal. At least make an effort to be refined. If you want to improve your life, I urge you to start watching cats. Use cats as your models. If you succeed at imitating a cat, maybe some misguided soul will take you in and start filling your dish with nuts. Hah! You should be so lucky!


My Cat stretches, turns her back on Fat Squirrel, and walks into the kitchen to see what new treasure has been deposited in her bowl.


Fat Squirrel, in his endless digging for previously buried nuts, hits the jackpot and makes off with one of my most expensive tulip bulbs.

Copyright © 2015 Ann Tudor

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Indifferent Nature

Thanks be to – well, to whatever—

for the cool indifference of Nature.

Thanks for the impartial reminder

that this too shall pass.

Thanks for the perspective

that nudges us from our hot feelings,

our why-me,

our oh-no-I-can't-bear-this.

Thanks for rescuing us

from our immersion in the endless drama

of our lives.


The oak tree knows (its shadow, even, knows)

how to highlight what lasts,

to reveal the real to our blasted sight.


Look on the ocean, mighty man,

and lose the despair

that presses you into the earth—

the same earth whose fruits offer your salvation.


Thanks be to whoever it is for the second opinion

offered by lilacs and round stones,

rough bark and pine cones—

for all things not, in fact,




Copyright © 2015 Ann Tudor

Sunday, November 15, 2015

Anthm for the Modern World

Anthem for the Modern World


I! Me! Mine!

Don't make me one with everything,

Mr. Hotdog Vendor,

for I am an individual!

It's my nature (or,

more accurately, my cultural heritage).

Me! Mine! My right!

I want! I need!

And everything that is NOT me or mine

would be wise to get out of my way.

Make way for ME!


For I am singular and share

no traits with anyone.

Being me, I require the attention of the world

which, without me,

would be a much poorer place.


The world without me?

Why, I can barely imagine it.

I'm sure a dispensation awaits me,

a waiving of the general rule about mortality

and its inevitability.

Surely a being as singular as I

will never be allowed to die.


Copyright © 2015 Ann Tudor

Sunday, November 1, 2015

In Search of Gems

You've spent your days in search of gems

though it's likely you were unaware

for the most part

of what you were doing.

For many years, in fact,

you might have denied that you were searching at all

for anything.


Later you had other erroneous notions

about your searching.

A hidden cave seemed to call you, perhaps.

Or a charming prince stood


in a shaft of light,

proclaiming himself the object of your quest.


And now it turns out that all along

it was gems you sought:

clusters of diamonds on sunlit wavelets;

emeralds palely gleaming among

bare, end-of-winter branches,

foretelling, promising;


sapphire skies with pearlescent clouds

like big, fat opals;

ruby tulips dropping petals;

and brilliant, tangerine poppies

that are not gems

but could be.


Copyright © 2015 Ann Tudor