Andree Quarles

North Hollywood, CA, USA

I have worked at writing but have made no effort at marketing. I did a few articles for Mexico's Pemex Travel Club Bulletin; some writing for the now defunct Mexico's West Coast Magazine; did music reviews for the defunct Pacific Coast Musician; a roving reporter for Robinson's Associates West.

Now that you have read BIG RED'S poem and seen his photo, Andree hopes you will enjoy his biographical sketch. Back in the 1970s, Andree saw a young cat jauntily sauntering down Hesby Street. Not long afterwards, she heard scratching at one of the French windows on the porch. She stepped to the window, looked out. It was the cat she had seen on a previous day. Two years passed. Like any cat foundling, the big cat lived precariously--one might say---from hand to mouth, during which time he continued, from time to time, his scratching at the same window. Both Andree and her mother felt sorry for him and took him in as an indoor/outdoor pet. The relationship worked out well. Red was probably twenty years of age when he died. In one of his nine lives, Andree thinks he must have belonged to an Army Officer.

Ode To A Frog

He slurs and burps in Marshy Fronds,
A Bandolier, all night long.
His alto Voce may be a croak,
He seems to be a happy Bloke.
Ay yes, my friends, you've Pavarotti,
But as for me--I'll take Froggi

Red Cat's Poem

My name is Red and I was not well fed,
One reason for joining the Army,
I arose at dawn and went to bed,
But not when I took it into my head.
We did it bivouac in the Army.
I was ready to go when the bugle they blew.
One had to keep up in the Army.
"March, stay in step, You Son of a Gun."
They kept me continuously on the run.
The Army was rough; it was tough,
And my stipend half pay, still
I can truthfully say
Life was not too bad in the Army.

Inner Sanctum Revealed

When I feel my losses outweigh my gains
There comes a secret joy into my mind
Driving off ennui in subtle ways.
Of small trivia like sipping cool lemonades
Watching hummingbirds from my kitchen window
Receiving calls on the phone by my bed,
Having milk toast for breakfast
Or chatting with friends.
Now that life is ebbing away too soon,
I take comfort in thinking of small satisfactions
And try to forget those nasty old subtractions.

Mimi Poem I

When the sun is back to stay
In the merry, merry month of May,
The woodsy folk come out to play.
And far away and on the leas
The Buttercups woo Honey Bees
With sweet chicaneries.