Posted tagged ‘dog poem’

“This Old Dog” Friday Flash 55

July 27, 2012

20120727-085933.jpg

This Old Dog

Old dog, blinding,
(nose to ground)
still slowly leads our way.

Forget about new tricks — let us just
keep up our old–speak,
roll over,
(only) play dead, and
always, always,
heal.

And when we face some harsher
heel, let us not need
to beg for mercy, but
lie down softly,
good girl, good boy.

.

*********************************************

It’s Friday – hurrah!  And my dog, Pearl , is 17 going on 18!  (I think – my memory’s not so good these days.)

I post the above 55 word poem for the wonderful indefatigable G-Man.  Go tell him!  (Especially since I’m late!)

Why Pearl Is Not At Westminster This Year

February 13, 2012

Pearl

Why Pearl is Not in Westminster This Year

Because when she was a puppy and was groomed
professionally, she would
sit on the couch for several days afterwards
the only part of her not trembling
a bright pink bow the groomer had
stuck on; and

because after that, when I began cutting
her hair myself–I can’t
call it grooming–she would end up–
with splotches of fur and
baldness, since, I confess,
I’ve been known
to wear mismatched
socks and to fix my own ‘do
by rubbing palms through it
like a balloon that you want
to stick to a wall or sweater; and also
perhaps,

because her breath
smells an awful
lot like dead fish these
days, though
after sixteen years
you tend to
be sort of glad for things like that–
breath–
especially in the warmth
of speckled, oddly-
furred, tummy.

(Check out a “Truest Love Poem” for Pearl, from Going on Somewhere, my collection of poetry.  Check it out too!  And NOSE DIVE!)

Poem by The Other? (who wants some cheese.)

October 22, 2011

dVerse Poets Pub, a wonderfully supportive website for online poets, has a poetics prompt today about writing in the voice of the other (hosted by Mark Kerstetter).  I have one very serious poem written from a very different perspective (the poem’s called Honor Killing.)   But the world is such a somber place these days, I wanted to focus on something lighter, i.e. a dog! And cheese!

So here’s the poem.  And below is a little fledgling animation I did some time ago which does not exactly illustrate the poem, but is close enough.  (Have a great and light Saturday!)

Sniff Becomes Him 

Sniff cheese sniff cheese sniff cheese above,
Sniff that pungent sniff I love. 
Sniff high faint clouds of that so dear–
Sniff cheese so far and yet so near.

Sniff bowl, oh holy hallowed
Bowl, sniff (howl howl) bowl, so hollowed
Now.  Oh please Oh please
Oh please, Oh please!
Oh wherefore art thou
Phantom cheese?

Sniff time not passing,
(Swiss, Cheddar, Brie?)
Sniff hours harassing,
(Oh my! Oh me!)

A Treat! (for Pete’s sake!)
For him who’ll wait
By door and bedside
Early, late.

Oh whimper/whine, I’ll beg no more,
If you’ll just drop some on the floor.
Egads! Yum Yum!  My thanks for this,
Sweet morsel of a moment’s bliss.

(Repeat till satisfied.)


National Poetry Month – Day 26 – Posting To The Other Side ( A Dog Poem)

April 26, 2011

Very pleased with my iPad 2 drawing above!  This one is of my dog Pearl, an old dog but very much extant.  Draft poem of the day below.

Posting To The Other Side

You talk to me of waterfalls.
I think not so much of spray–well, yes, I think of
spray, splash, droplets, glasses bespeckled–
but what I think of most
is this side and that,
the icy flow of everchanging wall, the stillness
behind that wall, and how,
as a child, when my dog died
my first beloved dog, that is, the first
dog who felt truly younger than me, needful of my protection,
I tried, like Demeter, to reach beyond such a wall, to
communicate, as it were, with the other side–no easy task with a canine–
and how, since I was already being mystical, I wrote the dog a letter,
and since I was desperate in my grief, I posted that letter
in one of my Junior Britannicas, a cherry red series of volumes,
under the letter D, praying that the Dog (Deceased)
would find it, and how, for many months afterwards,
I was afraid to open that volume, to retrieve that carefully
folded piece of lined notepaper,
in case it was still there.

All rights reserved.  Suggestions welcomed.  (One question – “retrieved”.  I like it because of the dogginess–but may be “seek” or “look for” would be better?)

Sniff Becomes Her (Draft Poem)

August 24, 2010

Dog Returning to City

A dog newly returned to the city
keeps her nose to the paving stone.
Who cares about loam?
Yesterday’s rural soil proffered
a podge of worm, root, growth,
but the leg of a park bench teems
with personality.

So long even to that grass that, tinged
with deer, she rolled about in
weeks now past; the sidewalk is tinge unhinged==
laced with history–her own and its grey slab–
who passed through–who was who–
she traces it
with the absolute doggedness of the canine.

Like a Buddhist achieving one-pointedness,
sniff becomes her, the Aum of all sentient beings
(all sentient beings who leave their mark)
reverberating in one small quivering hide.

Third Day of National Poetry Month – Old Dogs/Sandalwood Tricks

April 3, 2010

Dog Breath With Sandalwood Bracelet

The Way to Hold an Old Dog Close

The way to hold an old dog close is
to wear a sandalwood bracelet,
the beads of unburned incense almost inoculating you
from the yawns of decayed ivory.
You tell yourself, as you carry the dog down
stairs too steep for her to manage
(which means any stairs)
that they do make beef-flavored toothpaste,
but now the dog’s fifteen and you only bought one
tube ever, used once.
The thing is
that dogs are not actually children, and though she never snapped,
she would also not be coerced; your words, your mimed example,
did not influence.  (You’ve never seen, for example, a dog pushing a
toy baby carriage, or even pulling a wooden pup upon a string.)
But a sandalwood bracelet, on the other hand,
on the arm rather, the arm that
that cradles the old dog’s head,
as you make your ways downstairs,
may just do the trick.

“Truest Love” Poem – Dog is What Spelled Backwards?

February 5, 2010

More in honor of trust and dogs.

Truest Love

The little dog lay on its back
in the semblance of
truest love.
The woman, leaning in from above, ignored
stained whiskers and breath like fish,
in the semblance of truest love.

The little dog exalted when she came home
as if she were its dearest wish,
the answer to heart’s prayer.
She said, ‘hey there,’ and stooped
to capture some wriggle.

The little dog saw her as
itself spelled backwards;  she
accepted the role, thankful that
some being had finally taken
due note of her
existence, ignoring
breath like fish.

All rights reserved.  Karin Gustafson