Monday, December 30, 2013

trying to get in a routine of morning writing

Dreaming Skippy

My young sons named her, I referred to her
as child support number two;
the fist was Malo, a large doberman, who adopted
Skippy, grooming her puli braids, pulling ticks
and tag alongs by teeth, one large paw
across her back.
She hunted with him and grew strong and broad
in the chest following his huge strides
up the mountain. Malo met with a 20 ought 20
shot, leaving Skippy gun shy,
but no less adventuresome.
We pulled her off a fawn
and once out of a trap she'd lugged home on her back leg.
Then one fall, I had to swim across a cold river
to coax her back home, untangling fishing line caught
in her matted hair. She was the last of the puli line,
her father, Toogoodoo from Natty and Faramir's last litter
raised in the kitchen.
When she became incontinent, sleeping through walks,
no longer lusting ground and smell,
losing appetite;
I put her down, holding on tight.
She runs through my dreams, and I call her
until I wake standing in a wood alone.


Saturday, December 28, 2013

resolution for 2014

First Thing, poem

after tea, after
qigong at window with bird cluster
at feeder, I go to my room.
I switch on the light
move to sit before screen, in this space
of books and pictures
trinkets, small altars,
my mother's life size sculpture of her Labrador, Doc.
All be distractions, a chaos
imploring the swirling consciousness about me,
about the hollow frosted ground,
encapsulating sky


Sunday, December 22, 2013

poem in process

From inside his shoes

His hand going up
signaling STOP,
Her voice piercing skin, quills
scripting down to boy's memory
when he forgot to close the chickens.
His father waking him at night
beating and beating his lower back
'til vertebra fused.
Hurt in the aim of words
as soon as he entered the trailer.
He had to hunker down


Wednesday, December 4, 2013


I'm beginning to suspect that this blog has become solipsistic, since there is little evidence of subject matter other than the self. Perhaps a blog by nature veers toward navel gazing. However, I would suggest that to understand the outer world, objective world, one does need to examine oneself. I guess my self still holds nooks and crannies of befuddlement. Admittedly, I have proven to be ignorant and naive when it comes to comprehending the world, mine or yours! Yet, my world is so amazing and Thanksgiving was magnificent! Alma's winter squash pie was delicious as True demonstrates. The fresh organic turkey from Weathertop farm in Floyd was absolutely delicious. I wish that the world were as blessed.