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.

12/30/13

mh

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

poem.

12/26/13

mh

poem in process

From inside his shoes

His hand going up

signaling STOP,

ineffectively.

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

mh

Solipsism

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.