I love nestling next
to your naked body discussing
psychological theory.
poem- nerd love February 15, 2015
I love nestling next
to your naked body discussing
psychological theory.
poem- Valentine haiku February 14, 2015
I know you love me
because you left this grieving heart
the last crumpet.
Again.
.
.
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But if you’re reading, darlin’
I wish you’d worn your kilt today.
It wasn’t much to ask, was it?
Just sayin’.
poem for Jack February 13, 2015
This poem was sent to me by my father-in-law, following the notice about Dusty’s euthanasia today. It’s so lovely I thought I’d share it with you. The author, Christopher Tatchell Winter, was my husband’s 2X great grandfather. I will check, but I believe it would have been written around 1900. (Ignore the way WordPress mangled the spacing in the first stanza).
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Dear, dear little Jack, my companion & friend
Few now are my years, soon cometh the end
And I thought to have had you until I depart
But no more will I lessen the pain of my heart
My dear little dog, so faithful & true
I never shall know another like you
Much that passes for love may be but a cheat
But your love was constant & full & complete
No more will you meet me & run half a mile
To leap in my arms & my sorrow beguile
If but for a moment it then would depart
And sunshine & gladness would enter my heart
Oh, dear little Jack, I call you in vain
But why should I sorrow, why should I complain
It can’t bring you back, I know that is true
And yet all the same I will sorrow for you
And now at my door, you rest in your grave
And over it many a flower shall wave
In winter the snow on it softly shall fall
But no more will you answer & come to my call
.
The sketch of a Winter dog, presumably Jack:
poem- good dog haiku
How long ’til I stop
Checking behind me for my
faithful dog shadow?
.
Good bye Dusty Dog.
poem- last day February 12, 2015
Now begins
your last twenty-four hours.
You are curled on a fuzzy blanket
that you settled onto with a groan
and a long sigh.
You’re catching up on the sleep you missed
between 2 a.m. and 7 a.m. when
you cried and howled and paced.
You struggle to rise and follow me
as I move through the house, still my shadow
even though it hurts to move.
You still wag your tail
though your hips cause you pain.
You still look up trustingly
with those cloudy white eyes,
so I will do my painful duty,
and give you sleep, free from pain.
After your final vet appointment,
tomorrow at this time.
I will bury you in the back yard
beside your brother, and we will weep
over the loss of another faithful dog
who shadowed us
with devotion.
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poem- waiting February 11, 2015
2:50 a.m.
I’m getting to bed at a decent hour for once
(well, decent for me).
I let out the dogs.
One’s back in a minute, tail wagging,
as he heads to his bowl for a quick snack.
No sign of dog two.
I whistle.
I call.
Were I bi-pedal, I would put on boots
go in the back yard and bring him in,
but I’m mono-pedal and the office chair
isn’t up for a snowy back yard
never mind the slope I’d never get up.
So I’m waiting.
and waiting
and waiting.
This dog does this a lot
at 3 a.m.
Never at 1 a.m.
or 4 a.m.
What’s that about?
At 3:30, I shut out all the lights
and decide he can sleep on the porch.
until hubby get’s up at 5:00.
Then I see a ghostly shape on the other side of the glass door.
Oh, hello. You’re back already? Grrr.
I steer him down the hall, and he hops up on my bed
with wet, dirty feet. I growl, and smack his butt.
I pick up dog one, who has dry feet, is about to die,
and pees promptly when I put him out and then returns to the door.
In the dark, dog two lies on the dog pillow and I hear cats yowling.
In my bedroom.
In his belly.
Mewling, and yowling, and squeaking, and meowing.
He shifts uncomfortably.
His stomach gurgles and growls.
He can have breakfast later.
I’m going to sleep with the good dog
at my feet.
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(No. He didn’t really eat cats, despite what it sounded like).
poem-sure February 10, 2015
What’s Valentine’s Day for?
Sure she’s there
yesterday, today, tomorrow
but don’t forget
love needs fuel:
a compliment
a coffee
a night out
a gift of time
a smile
a kiss.
She needs to know
every day
that you would do it all over again
that she’s your only love,
that she makes you a better man.
What’s Valentine’s Day for?
Sure he’s there
yesterday, today, tomorrow
but don’t forget
love needs fuel:
a compliment
a coffee
a night out
a gift of time
a smile
a kiss.
He needs to know
every day
that you would do it all over again
that he’s your only love,
that he makes you a better woman.
Valentine’s Day is just a day,
but it’s day to remind you
that you shouldn’t take you lover
for granted.
If you don’t want to buy expensive
flowers and heart shaped boxes
of bad chocolate on February 14th,
pick dandelions and find good chocolate
every day.
poem-made February 9, 2015
Here
Soft light.
Glimmering.
Singing voices.
Dancing embers flash.
Kisses, flowers, chocolate
Is that what love looks like?
Romance on demand?
Trustworthiness.
Commitment.
They last.
Here.
.
.
.
This is a formed poem. Each line adds a syllable to 6, then reverses the pattern.
poem-distant February 8, 2015
She wants him to journey
through her, trail his fingers
along paths of discovery,
raise mountains of delight,
explore lingual caverns,
create tsunamis of desire.
But travelling is work,
and he’s not up to the flight.
poem-flames February 7, 2015
She’s caught between the flames
of inferno and ice
Accusations of blame,
of who’s not playing nice.
She’s caught between the fury
of defeat and aggression,
For neither is sorry
and all leads to depression.
She’s caught between love
crushed between hate
a magician’s dove
that is stuffed then must wait.
She’s caught between threads
stuffed up their sleeves
’til she’s dangling her head
beneath the nearest trees.
Shawn L. Bird 