Amanda Zylstra's Blog - Posts Tagged "poems"
Second Edition of "Passing Skeletons"
I am excited to announce that the second edition of "Passing Skeletons" aka my poetry collection came out a few days ago. There are 126 poems total and 276 pages. Amanda Zylstra
"Passing Skeletons" is a collection of poetry written by Amanda Zylstra. This collection has various themes including relationships, mental illness, addiction, and death. Each poem is filled with vivid descriptions, metaphors, and truth. This collection contains poetry written from 1997 to 2017 and is the first published collection by this author.
https://www.amazon.com/Passing-Skelet...
"Passing Skeletons" is a collection of poetry written by Amanda Zylstra. This collection has various themes including relationships, mental illness, addiction, and death. Each poem is filled with vivid descriptions, metaphors, and truth. This collection contains poetry written from 1997 to 2017 and is the first published collection by this author.
https://www.amazon.com/Passing-Skelet...
"Tacky Lamps and Stray Cats"
"Tacky Lamps and Stray Cats"
I watched Salvation Army clean out my neighbor’s home.
They load up furniture from the 70's, old records, and a collection of tacky lamps.
It's weird watching all of her belongings going to charity.
Why does this hit me in the heart?
Is it because we all someday will pass?
Our material possessions are all that will be left of us.
This woman was a mystery to me.
I have lived two doors down for the past four years and never met her.
All I see is the meals on wheels deliveries left on her porch and the empty bowls used to feed stray cats scattered around her yard.
She has visitors I have spoken with at times about the weather and the cats.
I know she had a love for animals,
And has been feeding the stray cats for 30 years.
When the elderly are confined to their homes,
The world outside goes on without them.
Watching her belongings get loaded onto the Salvation Army truck was like watching a time capsule unfold in front of my eyes.
So many brown, orange, and yellow items.
Boxes labeled "Records"
An old Victrola with a missing crank handle.
All these items tell the story of her life.
I am an outsider.
I only know what the stray cats have told me.
They are always welcome in her yard.
There are food and water there each morning.
Until one day the food stops showing up.
It's Christmas Eve.
Their water bowl is half full and frozen solid.
The weather is in the teens here in Michigan.
We have a White Christmas this year.
An orange and white cat with bright yellow eyes
Approaches me with a desperate meow.
I promptly pour him a bowl of dry cat food.
Soon other cats follow his lead.
I now have four hungry cats in my yard.
I wonder about the women two houses down
I wonder why her visitors have stopped feeding the cats.
After 30 years of her yard being a safe haven,
Why is there no food out this Christmas?
Weeks pass by.
The weather seems colder this year.
I start to build trust with the cats.
I am now able to pet some of them,
Where others will only blink at me from a distance.
I give them all nicknames to tell them apart.
They wait for me each morning by my back door for their morning breakfast.
Rain or shine I have at least four cats that rely on me for food on a daily basis.
A gray striped tabby tells me a sad story about how his owner was evicted and he was left behind as a kitten hiding inside an old beat up sofa that was left at the curb for the trash man.
His view of humans is poor, but we build enough trust for him to let me scratch behind his ears.
I can see the pain in his eyes and the scars on his ears from many years as a street cat.
Soon I learn more about this colony, and how all the cats are living together looking out for each other.
My home becomes a stop on the underground cat railroad.
New cats pass through.
Some only staying for a few days,
Others for weeks at a time.
I inherited a cat colony from my now deceased neighbor.
A woman that is a mystery to me other than the belongings she left behind.
Cats still show up in her yard from time to time looking for food.
Life feeds on life.
This elderly woman was some sort of saint to these cats.
Cats from different lands all speak of her generosity.
They speak of the food and water she put outside for them, and about how her yard was a safe haven for them against the dangers of life on the streets.
All I know of her is her tacky lamp collection.
And I wonder whose home her old items will end up in next.
Furniture changes hands.
People die.
But what will you be known for once you are gone?
*This poem is about the neighbor I never met and the stray cat colony I inherited from her. There is another poem about this same orange cat later on in the book. I adopted him and he is a happy housecat now. It’s been a few years since the passing of my neighbor, and I am the caregiver for this colony of cats present day.
*This poem is featured in "Passing Skeletons".
https://www.amazon.com/Passing-Skelet...
I watched Salvation Army clean out my neighbor’s home.
They load up furniture from the 70's, old records, and a collection of tacky lamps.
It's weird watching all of her belongings going to charity.
Why does this hit me in the heart?
Is it because we all someday will pass?
Our material possessions are all that will be left of us.
This woman was a mystery to me.
I have lived two doors down for the past four years and never met her.
All I see is the meals on wheels deliveries left on her porch and the empty bowls used to feed stray cats scattered around her yard.
She has visitors I have spoken with at times about the weather and the cats.
I know she had a love for animals,
And has been feeding the stray cats for 30 years.
When the elderly are confined to their homes,
The world outside goes on without them.
Watching her belongings get loaded onto the Salvation Army truck was like watching a time capsule unfold in front of my eyes.
So many brown, orange, and yellow items.
Boxes labeled "Records"
An old Victrola with a missing crank handle.
All these items tell the story of her life.
I am an outsider.
I only know what the stray cats have told me.
They are always welcome in her yard.
There are food and water there each morning.
Until one day the food stops showing up.
It's Christmas Eve.
Their water bowl is half full and frozen solid.
The weather is in the teens here in Michigan.
We have a White Christmas this year.
An orange and white cat with bright yellow eyes
Approaches me with a desperate meow.
I promptly pour him a bowl of dry cat food.
Soon other cats follow his lead.
I now have four hungry cats in my yard.
I wonder about the women two houses down
I wonder why her visitors have stopped feeding the cats.
After 30 years of her yard being a safe haven,
Why is there no food out this Christmas?
Weeks pass by.
The weather seems colder this year.
I start to build trust with the cats.
I am now able to pet some of them,
Where others will only blink at me from a distance.
I give them all nicknames to tell them apart.
They wait for me each morning by my back door for their morning breakfast.
Rain or shine I have at least four cats that rely on me for food on a daily basis.
A gray striped tabby tells me a sad story about how his owner was evicted and he was left behind as a kitten hiding inside an old beat up sofa that was left at the curb for the trash man.
His view of humans is poor, but we build enough trust for him to let me scratch behind his ears.
I can see the pain in his eyes and the scars on his ears from many years as a street cat.
Soon I learn more about this colony, and how all the cats are living together looking out for each other.
My home becomes a stop on the underground cat railroad.
New cats pass through.
Some only staying for a few days,
Others for weeks at a time.
I inherited a cat colony from my now deceased neighbor.
A woman that is a mystery to me other than the belongings she left behind.
Cats still show up in her yard from time to time looking for food.
Life feeds on life.
This elderly woman was some sort of saint to these cats.
Cats from different lands all speak of her generosity.
They speak of the food and water she put outside for them, and about how her yard was a safe haven for them against the dangers of life on the streets.
All I know of her is her tacky lamp collection.
And I wonder whose home her old items will end up in next.
Furniture changes hands.
People die.
But what will you be known for once you are gone?
*This poem is about the neighbor I never met and the stray cat colony I inherited from her. There is another poem about this same orange cat later on in the book. I adopted him and he is a happy housecat now. It’s been a few years since the passing of my neighbor, and I am the caregiver for this colony of cats present day.
*This poem is featured in "Passing Skeletons".
https://www.amazon.com/Passing-Skelet...
