elegy (20171129)

i pass through a cold spot
the paranormal experts
tell me this is a sign
some formerly corporeal being

is absorbing energy because
it wishes to communicate
or otherwise engage
with a world of mucus-leaking
sacks of wobbly flesh

who’s a good boy?

i don’t discourage the flickers
at the edge of my vision
the sound of jangled tags
the clacking of long toenails

happy to ride a bus
i’ll get off only when they make me
without a known destination

still

lately i gaze
out the window at a soft horizon
and feel the need for heaven

Day 14/30 of the Tupelo 30/30 Project (20170814)

given no tail to wag
it is hard for you
to tell me….

——

Want to read more? You can. My poem while given no tail to wag is available to read at the Tupelo 30/30 project page. Check it out like a book from the library.

This prompt is brought to you by Jazz Jaeschke. Jazz is new to my site, but I’m very excited to give her this poem. Jazz, thanks for sponsoring me!

Almost half through and you still have time to can sponsor me Check out Go to Tupelo Press’ Project 30/30 page for more details.

reflections on walking the dog (20160824)

i’m afraid of the last time
i’m going to walk the dog
it’s not that he’s sick
mind you
he seems to be
in pretty good health
though he’s missing most of his teeth
and has more years on him than any dog
i’ve ever had

but it’s the not knowing the last walk
will be the last walk
that grinds its teeth
in my ear when i lean over to pet him
or wave the air frantically
because of his secret gas attack
so secret
that if it’s silent
he doesn’t even notice it

so i have to remind myself
to not get impatient
or tug at the leash
when he want’s to stop
and sniff ever message on our walk
i don’t want the last thing
i said to him to be
hurry up

Poem 20160117

sacked out
at my feet
the dog looks tired
tongue hanging out
where he is missing teeth

on the walk
he seemed lively
and we took a route
we rarely take
so we could hear the frogs
in the creek
whenever the cars weren’t
whooshing past us
and we had
a moment of stillness

he snores
i smell the scent
of wood smoke from chimneys
see the blanket of low clouds
not quite fog
listening again
to the throaty calls
of frogs