moby

i am a DOG.
What else is expected of me?
To be like humans?
Impossible!
i live only in the moment
that’s all my brain desires.
It does not need knowing
the world’s shady grays,
its futile arguments
or silly in betweens.

When i love and i run
(are they not the same?)
it’s done full passionate tilt,
never mind if this
morphs me into a drooling
panting puddle every time.
And i know; trust me
i know. i can never catch
those high squawking gulls
and lightning quick squirrels.

i don’t possess their
special abilities to evade
but this never discourages me.
i howl a joyful jealousy.
And i jump; and i bark
bark and jump as high
as i can for crazy birds,
for love and gliding autumn
leaves till exhaustion brings
sleep fitful by your side.

i wake to stare and kiss,
gobble “yucky!” things…
sweet grass and salty earth.
i goof shake and wag
for your angelic face and
big laughter, slender hands
that can do magical things
ooh, a rush when they touch.
Let’s run, let’s jump, can you?
Can you be more like me?

(for my wonderful lovely joyful big-hearted boy)

lavender

my dog…died
in her sleep last night
her tired heart let go,
her soul slipped out
from a worn body
slowly shedding warmth,
no soft whimper
to disturb my slumber
though my heart sensed
a cool kiss on my face
sometime in the night.

we’d talked once before
- she and i - the moment.
i held her serious face,
her transfixed gaze,
steeled myself gave a
hard commandment
[when you must leave,
leave me this way:
asleep in my arms
dreaming a love free
from pretense and voice]

smart knew the word love
needless persuasion,
knew also those i never
taught her like empathy
and joy she had draped
over me in grand dogness
generosity; now could
memories alone lift a
heart brooding among the
yellow and bright green
toys gathering silent dust?

my dog…died
compliant in her sleep
my spirit followed
keeping close behind
under wild blue high
chasing silver butterflies
in lavender fields ethereal
and far from here, and there
sometime in the night
is awakened by a
cool kiss on the face.

*photo with permission and credit to Beverly
http://www.flickr.com/photos/walkadog/3391381010/

little

It takes so little,
a gray Tuesday,
a biting wind
tearing dry ivies
from these walls,
and my heart is offered
the howling loneliness
of the world
and cries out for you.

It takes so little,
a pulsing ember,
a thin shadow
dancing by itself
through crystal spaces,
then i clutch white knuckled
sheets that remember
your open softness
lifting me high
into the gentle white rush.

It takes so little,
a divine imprint,
a single promise
living forever
in love's slow time,
then i fall hopelessly
down on trembling knees
and everything collapses
into a dark singularity
where i cease to exist
without you.

(for love remembered and the time we spent together)
* photo with permission and credit to gracious Stephanie Wallace

icu

i take the empty midnight elevator ride
up into the bowels of the cancer wing
where he lies broken covered in blisters
parched like a shriveled oak leaf fallen
twisting under an August midday sun.
Just the two of us now and his laboring
breaths i time with my own heartbeats.
Undoubtedly, it is here we are confined
to be bluntly shown death and infirmity
that the moment has come, expectedly,
denied, then cruelly inescapable for us.
Morning they’ll pass through here again
found relatives and bleary-eyed friends
trading his quiet peace for condolences
finding my sister ruptured beyond hiding
pains black and heavy as trapped stones
on the dark bottom of a silent river bed.
What can anyone say really on a specter
of an idea not for their comprehension.
What should we say even for each other
when the toxic combination of sedatives
and chemo sets his skin on fire as he casts
delirious away blankets exposing a failed
body to our red welling eyes and oblivion.
So near the end we simply pray for release,
for that moment when we can bring our
father intact home again, a subdued heart
left dignity, dreams grandiose unrealized,
to where our mother sits gazing out from
their bedroom window through the pines
wondering if her journey for love has been
worthwhile after all over the twisting road
of inadequate apologies to wishful reversal
living a widowed irony.

(our Dad who fought a hard, at times heroic, battle and lost to cancer.)
*photo with permission and credit to Chad Latta
http://www.flickr.com/photos/chadlatta/4104477481/in/pool-342145@N24/

friends

This is my lot forever bound to yours
heart guiltless of shame, pity and hubris
knows not envy for those but glad grace
fate smiles for inside soft palaces of kings.

This is my life forever bound to yours
time rolls curtains slow dawn to darkness
nights echo shine headlights two-by-two
cobblestones cold or wet through seasons.

And this my love forever bound to yours
soothes forgetfulness over thirst or hunger
all hard misjudgments will never stain
all comforts drawn from a gentle touch.

(for all canine best friends and our beloved Casey, Biko and Moby)
*Photo with permission and credit to Paul Watson

illusion

Who is this pretty bruised woman
bearing children for lost angry men?
And who herself seethes with anger
when choices made not seemingly
forgotten or understood.
Bare ignorance is mine entirely,
no judgment as to reasons, to the end
results. Why would anyone fling
honed daggers at innocent bystanders?

And her wandering children outside
could be pretty or homely,
sweet or sour even…
But should always be pretty and sweet
snug to loins which sprung them right?
Shouldn’t their fragile blossoming bodies
be cradled close to mother and father
(but oh not too so closely now)
in brightly lit family rooms?

And where are those fathers anyway?
Fitting perhaps they hide,
never seem to be around anyhow,
back doorsteps flirting with absence.
Tough lifting and holding i suppose
puny disoriented souls, little pink booties
merry-go-round in mud puddles,
dripping warm diamonds and pearls
down murky broken waters in the rain.

How long could innocence be contained
framed through a jagged window pane?
Heartbreaks lurking shame weeps alone.
Born to keep a broken family fed
the children’s bed safe and warm
too many damp socks too little sunshine
neglected hearts grow restless then unkind
till her weary spent calling love breaths
yearn dazed drifts over the thin white lines.

(from a volunteering stint at a women's shelter)
*Photo with permission from the generous and highly gifted Etienne Pisano

now

Back then, i didn't know
how to see myself
through your longing eyes,
solitary when the mirror
gave a partial frozen image
that couldn't keep itself in your
soft mercy over disbeliefs.

i didn’t know how to cradle
your heart even less mine,
fill it with simple dreams and
reckless abandon for failure
or banishment. Love seemed
far away like a faint distant
beacon through the haze.

My fear risked nothing
still contrived to lose it all.
i stepped to the other side
of an open door then vanished
completely from your light
and witnessed a bright Virgo
drifting through the stars.

Would it be possible now
to retrace my missteps,
sift through the gritty sands
in this barren desert
and find the hidden oasis
waiting in timeless patience
for the traveler’s return?

Or it is simply too late
recollecting hopes in a porous
vessel for a life unbalanced,
and you would kiss me now
more in sympathy than regret
set me free like a lost dove
its troubled journey is undone.

*photo with permission and credit to Keith Watson of Ontario
http://www.flickr.com/photos/keith_watson/421991890/