Dog 4: Dog Growls

Dog growls in his sleep, an

exhausted groan. Dog dreams

of a great bear, a whitish bear

lumbering from green patches

surrounded by ice to the horizon.

Dog doesn’t move but as he sleeps

his paws twitch. A postman approaches.

A tiny speck of blue-grey leaning

into the wind-driven snow. Dog

calls to him, warns him. This is

dog’s land. Dog farts, continues

to sleep, dreaming of hot summer

barbecues and charred scraps of meat.

Dog’s tail sweeps slowly left to right.

 

2dec16

Dog 3: Dog’s Ears

Dog’s ears quietly ping the

foggy air beyond the walls and

sliding glass door. Scan like

radar. Then suddenly snap erect

at the sound of food hitting the

bottom of his bowl. Whether the

soft slap of liquid, the toccata of

kibble, welcome tap of left-overs,

or soft plopping canned food. All

are better than a walk in the woods.

Dog’s paws twitch but he waits

as if he doesn’t care. He resists

jumping to all fours. Dog takes

his time. Slowly stands, stretching

like a yogi: nonchalant as a cat.

 

 

Dog 2: Dog Lays

Dog lays by the fireplace

a hulking polar bear in

light from a midnight sun.

Dog’s stomach growls

like a hunter. But Dog

can’t be bothered to stand

to walk out into the icy

yard even to pee. Dog

growls in his sleep when

he hears the postman’s

truck stop in front and

its sliding door rumble.

Dog no longer runs

with hackles raised at the

sound of mail dropping.

 

 

1 dec 16

Dog Whistles

This is the first of a short series of what I call DOG POEMS. They take the tone of coyote tales I’ve heard and read. They were inspired by a great cream color dog who mostly eats and sleeps at my house. Little else. There aren’t any lessons from these brief stories. I hope you enjoy them and they raise a smile.

 

Dog whistles for a master.

Dissonant snoring in

early afternoon, laying in

the space between rooms

or in front of the fireplace,

unused in twenty years.

Dog often whistles for

himself. Gets excited and

stands by the door after

telling himself, Park! Wags,

wags, wags his tail. He has

a feline dream. In it dog

purrs. Master listens and

wonders why dog growls

in his sleep. Dog howls in

his dream like a coyote

searching for a soft moon.

30ov2016

 

 

Between Canada and Ireland

They rose into the stratosphere. Ionosphere. Migrating birds in perfectly linear formation. Below their shadow danced across the surface as land and sea felt them drift in and out of white-gauze clouds stretched so tight that they could catch glimpses of the world below. Like gazing through smoke rising in lazy clouds from fires in pits on a beach. The migrants cut through skies leaving and returning all in the same journey.

He left a cold world filled with high emotion, high hope. And a bit of resignation. He was not sure in which place he belonged. Roots had grown on both sides of the world. And, like most he wanted more. He wanted a dream to grow behind his fading eyes into vivid reality. He wanted to grow like a hungry infant who has the world waiting, to harness the power hidden within naïveté, in the grasp of anticipation enlightened by spring’s inviting sun. There is no question. His world is broad, high, and deep. He sees with a different clarity through dimming eyes. He whispers to ancestors who continue to fill the world with hints, moving tentatively toward wisdom. Accepting knowledge of the world, of self, rising above the smoke in a still air. Knowledge clearly burning away fog and doubt as fast as thick gray mist tries to hide confidence and dampen reason.

They spoke of hummingbirds. Of butterflies. Flying south. But not of warmer climes to which they travel. They spoke of the journey. Of the daunting challenges faced by delicate creatures in the face of a world’s turmoil. Of the roiling atmosphere that buffets tiny, nearly weightless creatures. That buffets us all. Tiny creatures all in the face of the living tumultuous globe on which we walk and live. Challenging all to survive. The butterfly moving south through gusts of wind, clouds of hungry birds. People vanish from coasts and islands inundated by sea and waters flooding from mountains.

He slept in the assigned formation while plunging headlong toward an inevitable sunset. Voices rose and fell. The words were not clear, distinct. They didn’t capture his attention. Occasionally the world would swat at them, make them tremble. But there was no sustained effort aimed in their direction. He wondered, drifting in and out of a superficial sleep, about those left behind. About the enduring entanglement that bonded them. It is a mystery. It is in the blood, maybe in their genes. Maybe ethereal. Enigmatic.

Sun set almost unnoticed behind the gray shroud tangled in the trees and hills around the town. Evening deepened. A chill rose from the earth. And a sigh. The breeze grew stronger and as night took firm grip on the mountains around the valley, the wind stretched the dark clouds like banners. They grew thin, translucent, then disappeared. A black sky arched overhead pushing the cold. Holding it down against the ground.