~~MORE POETRY OF KATHERINE E. RABENAU~~
ODE TO THE DREAM
The time has come her psyche said to talk of many things
Of toilets, birds and pregnant cats, of icky, wormy things
Of course, my dear, you can't expect the message to be clear
A psyche works quite subtly one's consciousness to steer
And so she sighed and dreamed again of toilets large and small
And once she almost fell from off a precipice quite tall
She dreamt of cats in closets, cats peeing in the hall
She dreamt of great big mansions and houses very small
She dreamt and she remembered, she dreamt and she forgot
Some images were vivid, some images were not
But the more that she remembered them, the stranger they appeared
Yet also she began to sense they were nothing to be feared
In fact, in time some symbols began to make clear sense
And she smiled and thought quite smugly, "I'm not so very dense."
And hearing this her psyche, from its vast creative plane
Drew forth some brand new symbols to befuddle her again
And now she dreamt of prisons and towns with funny names
And she dreamt of pigs and horses and playing silly games
She dreamt of feathered slippers and banking in the park
Some dreams were full of colors bright and some were very dark
She dreamt of popes and Chinamen, of ceilings falling down
She dreamt of being lost and scared, she dreamt that she might drown
She dreamt of taking buses, she dreamt of riding bikes
She dreamt of riding space ships, she dreamt of taking hikes
Sometimes she dreamed in series; some dreams were set apart
Some dreams seemed kind of foolish and some like works of art
Some dreams were full of mystery, in rich exotic places
Some dreams were very commonplace and she knew the people's faces
But few of them were boring, and she never, ever knew
What new peculiar happenings her psyche would bring through
And so each night she closed her eyes and journeyed deep inside
To the world of her unconscious where lost fears and hopes reside
And often in these travels, with sweet visions she was blest
That would help her in her day-life, that would guide her on her quest
To heal and gird and strengthen her sometimes fainting soul
As she struggled first to find herself, then to touch the Greater Whole
But whether one is questing, or only in a doze
The clever, witty psyche will keep you on your toes.
~~~~~
ODE TO A BAT
dedicated to Karl Koopman
Little bats, Bella and Boris
Winging softly through the forest
On your wings of silent leather
Unadorned by fleece or feather
Doing no one any harm
Yet driven off from hearth and farm
You who have since ancient times
Been the butt of unkind rhymes
You, who unlike men and birds
Hark the sound of your own words
You are not that nasty creature
Oft portrayed in double feature
Drinking blood and spreading fear
No! Gently do you twitch your ear
And listening for an echoed sound
Eat bugs and fruits which do abound
Then flutter home to cave or tree
And hang there, resting quietly
We're sorry for the fear-filled lies
That haunt your passage through the skies
And maybe as men grow less foolish
Our stories will become less ghoulish
And furry bats hung upsidedown
Will not be scorned in every town
Nor virgins wear a cross at night
To save them from your dreadful bite
And man, with realistic eye
Will watch untrembling when you fly
Nor will he pause this time to curse,
But knowing nature is diverse
He'll smile to think in yesteryear
Men looked at gentle bats with fear
Or thought you worked for evil ends
You kindly bats who are our friends.
~~~~~
QUIT BUGGING ME!
Out, out, damned roach, you wicked beast
How dare you in my kitchen feast
You creeping Fiend! You wretched foe!
I beg you from my kitchen go
And lodge with those who wish you well
Or, better yet, go strait to Hell
For you will find no welcome here
But me, all doubled up with fear
A rolled newspaper in one hand
And lots of bug spray - jarred or canned -
Fear's far more dangerous than hate
And death will be your awful fate
If you persist in bugging me
So I advise you now to flee
And find some other place to live
For pity I have none to give
To such unsavory types as you
And so I say to you, "Shoo! Shoo!"
Go somewhere else if you must poach
And hear again, "Out, out, damned roach."
~~~~~
AN APPLE POMME
The snake said, "Please, just have a taste."
"If you don't eat, it will go to waste."
And Eve - only wanting to be polite
Consented to have just one small bite
And Adam, too, thought it couldn't hurt
To try such a very light dessert.
It wasn't even an apple pie
Which caused such fury in Heaven high
And sent that poor unhappy pair
Away from Eden in dark despair
But though they suffered, and so do we,
For eating the fruit of the apple tree
I can't entirely regret their act
Since it alone, in point of fact,
Introduced the two to carnal sin
Which causes babies to begin
And one baby leading to another
Eventually arrived my mother
Who, I am glad, gave birth to me
So, let's hear it for the apple tree
And before we at Eve too smugly jeer
Remember, without her we wouldn't be here.
© All Rights Reserved for all the poetry and prose on these page.