Fear not
That you desecrate this raw array
Of psychological landscapes

Let
Patience and love guide you
As you navigate the heights of elation
To the nadir of nightmares

Walk softly
Through the maudlin rain
The cadence of your footsteps
Redolent with the sweetness of shared intimacy
Echoing your faith and trust

Taste
The vintage fruits of the vineyard
Ripe with unlimited possibilities
Nutured by hopes and dreams

Behold
The majestic mountains of strength
Where souls are smitten
In the whispering wind as it traces down
The valleys of tenderness

Hear
The triumphant cry of the eagle
Winged silhouette fleetingly
Painted upon virgin white clouds

Feel
My hunger responding to yours
In the distant howl of the wolf
Ever a guardian presence
Roaming the edges of the dark forests

Ride
The lulls and tides of passion
Down gyrating waterfalls
Dissipating into deep lagoons of serenity

Come
Sojourn with me
What will be, shall be
When you know my heart is true
Stay….

©L. Kupfer

Come to Me, My querida
The voice of the Goddess beckons
A cryptically mused encouragement
Guiding my plantigrade steps
Through serpentine paths of Her night kingdom

Come to Me, My querida
I stand before Her moon-blessed altar
Within a circle of ripening citrus trees
My soul-spirit offering neither penitent or defiant
But sensitive to every nuance of Her interest

Come to Me, My querida
Her presence is a soothing waterfall
Cascading into the eclectic void of my psyche
Shattering and scattering untimely illusions
Before they can be permanently etched

Come to Me, My querida
Her kisses and caresses weave
An intense pizzicato of fiery dark passions
Awakening this deep archaic and undeniable thirst
In a monumental celebration of our bond

Come to Me, My querida
Grant me the sweet taste of Your immortal love, Oh Goddess
As the crescendo of this mutual attraction
Merges into one solitary song
Echoing through the circle of ripening citrus trees

© L. Kupfer

On Monday night, September 25, 2006
The hated Atlanta Falcons were set to invade
New Orleans and the Louisiana Superdome
The city and its people still reeling in the couvade
Dumped by the might and fury of Hurricane Katrina
To take on our beloved boys in black and gold

Aglow and sparkling in the ethers of the night
The reborn Superdome unveiled on worldwide television
No longer the ravaged cavern that was a last minute haven
Ripped apart by the might and fury of Hurricane Katrina
For that one night, the images of past raw misery graven
In the psyche of the city and its people suspended in abeyance

On that Monday night, fervent hope and anticipation
Pervaded in the Superdome, in the streets of New Orleans and beyond
When Green Day and U2 performed their inspirational duet
“The Saint are Coming, The Saints are Coming”
Emotions ratcheted into excitement of monumental proportions
Setting the stage for an unforgettable homecoming

When our beloved boys in black and gold took to the field
Our voices rose as one in thunderous homage
Young and old, men and women, friends and strangers
The might and fury of Hurricane Katrina rendered into ashen memory
For that one Monday night, the Saints were our Lone Rangers
Out to erase the daily injustice of trudges, drudges and grudges

Prayers and arcane recitations filled the air
In between Hank Williams, Jr. belting the MNF anthem
And Irma Thomas singing the Star Spangled Banner
Then the game commenced, the Saints versus the Falcons
T’was Coach Sean Payton’s home debut as master game planner
But it was Number 37 that stole the show and set the tone

Like the floodwaters that broke through the earthen levees
Propelled by the might and fury of Hurricane Katrina
Saints special teams guru Steve Gleason, that was his name
Blasted up the middle and blocked that first Falcons punt
Barely one and half minutes into the game
The loose ball pounced on in the end zone, touchdown for the Saints!

Photo by Michael DeMocker
September 25, 2006
Times Picayune archives

Pandemonium broke loose in the Superdome
In a decibel splitting aria our voices rose as one
Who Dat! Who Dat! Who Dat says they’s gonna beat dem Saints!
The Falcons knew then and there they were done
Bowing in acknowledgement to the inevitable conclusion
This Monday night undeniably belonged to New Orleans

23-6 was the final score of the game that Monday night
Steve Gleason’s heroics etched forever in Saints lore
The Saints made it that year to their first ever NFC championship game
Along the way, there were many more unforgettable moments agalore
Lifting New Orleans and Saints faithful fans more and more
Out of the heartbreak wrought by the might and fury of Hurricane Katrina

And before you wonder why I chose to write a football related poem
It was born out of perfect timing and inspiration
Because on September 25, 2011, five years later
Before the Saints took on the Houston Texans in the Dome
Faithful Saints fans rose in standing ovation
Welcoming honorary captain Steve Gleason home

Our homage was not without sadness and heartache
For earlier that day it became public knowledge
Our hero who blocked that Falcons punt at that Monday night game
Has been diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease
We all will forever remember Steve Gleason’s name
And offer our continued love, support and prayers for his personal battle

Photo by John McCusker
September 25, 2011
Times Picayune

©Lynn Kupfer
All Rights Reserved 2011

Quite the feat for momma cat, small as she was
We protectively watched over them all
And soon it became such a joy to come home
And find seven pairs of eyes gazing up at us
From the depths of their cardboardbox home
And momma cat waiting patiently nearby
We delighted in their antics and playfulness
As they explored the limits of the porch
All too soon came the day that was foretold to happen
Our time of fostering this little family was done
Holding back tears we said goodbye yesterday
To five orange striped, one black, one calico-shaded
And their sweet tempered little mother
Secure that they will all be adopted
The silence of this cold January Sunday is strange
Yet we are kept warm by the photos and our memories
And the thirty two footprints in our hearts

©Lynn Kupfer
All Rights Reserved

She was soon quick to gently hint
Not to waste the flavorful water
Whenever I opened a can of tuna fish
But he would turn up his nose at my offering
Stalk off with a superior-than-thou ‘tude
Then when he thought I wasn’t watching
He’d come back and lap up every last drop

She didn’t grumble nor mumble
When he insisted on sharing her bed
His favorite spot is right under her left arm
That slinky, lanky furred body couldn’t possibly
Weigh more than six pounds dripping wet
I’m amazed at how little room there’s left for her

Oh, he had his precious moments
The way he stole milk from our cups
Dipping and licking one paw at a time
The way he sprawled on the corner of the bed
Lazily watching us dress for work
Then chased after her, batting at her legs
As if commanding her to stay home with him

He insistently demanded his kitty treats from her
Often with loud meows if she’s slow
But he showed more than just a casual interest
In what I eat those days
He knew if he sat patiently enough
I’ll share some pieces of my meat with him

TWo years after moving in with me
His favorite places became more numerous
He’d taken to jumping on her computer desk
When he wanted her undivided attention
But he occassional would stalk close to mine
And accept short hand-to-cheek rubs from me
He still preferred to hang out on her lap
Or lay on the sofa above her head when she read

And he would wrap his paws around her neck
When she picked him up and hugged him
He was still very much a one woman cat
But I think he eventually also accepted me as a friend
Since he knew that I loved her too.

©L. Kupfer
all rights reserved
~ in memory of Smoky ~
~ who passed over the Rainbow Bridge in July of 2003 ~