Best Juno Poems
If you'd have lived and worked on Juno Ranch, you’d have come away better for it. It
may not have seemed like it at the time but Pancho (Uncle Frank) would put it to you, an’ it
was for you to decide to do it, what to do with it, or to fight. The motto was, “You either work
or fight, there ain’t no quittin’ on this-here ranch.”
Pancho cultivated a reputation as a living legend in his fifty-some years in the Devil’s
River country of the Texas frontier. He loved his life, family, work and felt plumb lucky to be
livin’ it. He believed there was art in every undertakin’ an’ practiced the highest standards in
dealin’ with any an’ all comers. He savvied horses, cattle an’ the land; and death was just the
gate that opened into higher pastures.
Ride 'em Pancho!
The cowboy wakes before each dawn
With blurry eyes n'a mournful yawn;
Gets breakfast down, just bacon'n eggs,
An' biscuits dunked in coffee dregs.
He feeds the stock some oats an' hay
In growin' light of break o' day.
Then Pancho comes an' rigs a hoss,
An' chews his butt, 'cause he's the boss.
“The sun is up, you little bride!
We're loosin' light! We gotta ride!”
So they ride out to make their rounds
In echoed clops of hoof-beat sounds.
The sun is high 'bout half-passed noon,
An' dinnertime is none too soon.
He eats his beans an' taters fast,
Then rolls a smoke an' rests at last.
He dreams of how he'll spend his pay
When he's in town on Saturday,
An' where he'll go to have some fun
With gals who'll laugh and call him, "Hun..."
He gets his hat an' pulls it down,
Forgets the dream of gals in town,
Cause if he ain't just damn near dead,
The work comes first on Pancho's spread.
An old tennis ball
near your resting head
waits patiently for a sign, biding its time.
Sunday’s sleek playground rocket
is Monday's slumbering sentry
dog-tired from yesterday’s triumphs.
Rescue dogs rummaged
Trade Center rubble undaunted by danger
Nine-Eleven just another reason to please,
and a pound's little penitent
cramped in a Salt Lake City kennelbox
waited patiently for a sign, biding her time
to save a family,
to be our unsuspecting guide,
a seeing eye through which we see life anew:
We taught you to sit
and obey our commands; you teach us
the secrets of dog-grace,
to judge not,
and how you would lay down your life
without first having to find your inner dog.
We filled your bowl
with tapwater to lap, and in turn
you pour out your undying loyalty.
We gave you a mat
in the corner, and for that
you ask for no greater privilege than
to guard our house
with your own precious life,
shark-eyed friend.
They say Dogwood
takes seven years to bloom.
You would have waited that long for us
wouldn’t you, our floppy-eared pal?
Go get the ball, girl! Time to play!
Juno's part Akbash, part Caucasian shepherd.
A beast of a dog, as fierce as a leopard;
Around all the children, she's eager but sweet.
As big as a barn and as tall as a horse,
A mane of white hair that is matted and coarse.
Woe to the coyote she happens to meet!
At barely a year old, she's just a big pupper,
Especially when it is time for her supper,
And you would not believe the size of her feet!
She stays up at night, watching over the goats;
The chances they're bothered are very remote.
As guardians come, she's the package complete!
My way is not that far
my path is not that black tar
my bicycle is deflated
but your heart is inflated
i go in peace and war the way i came
all i see in my eye is a blank game
your yellow pale face
turning shifts like a phase
the crescent waits for me
as the horizon sinks deep in the tree
roses are now dried
our wedding ring is now fried
let me go my way
till i will forget this day
THE EVER DWINDLING FEW
At Juno Beach
At Juno Beach an old man stands and limps down to the shore,
Where on this sand he crawled and ran so many years before.
The skirl of pipes still in the air, the ceremony o'er,
He knows the ghosts who haunt this coast in the fading wake of war.
Huddled in their landing craft, together yet alone,
Some join a cheer to quell the fear that turns young limbs to stone.
Others lost within the thought that chills them to the bone,
Not knowing if they'll see again the fields and hills of home.
A sudden stop, the ramp is dropped and Juno is revealed,
Bullets frothing water, flying shards of red hot steel.
A thrown grenade, a shattered leg, his private war soon done,
Sheltered by a parapet, he prayed the beach be won.
Young men who fell upon this beach who lie not far away
Are still young men among his ken, not having aged a day.
They gave their all when duty called, hair never turned to grey.
They grew not old as he grew old, no feeble steps for they.
For their lost years he'd shed his tears, he'd been there yesterday,
Where snow white stones mark where the bones of all the young men lay.
They cried "Hurrah!" for Canada and braved the gates of hell,
Now walking slowly down the beach he wanders where they fell.
Where chaos reigned and lives were claimed by death's uneven hand,
The shore of war is quiet now, a peaceful stretch of sand.
Old men in chairs with snow white hair are wheeled down to the shore,
They are the ever dwindling few, soon there will be no more.
Some there among are the proud sons of those who fought before,
Believing they were there to win the war to end all wars.
But strife will always be our lot and war will have its day.
Silent prayers for those who dared with home so far away.
So once a year some come back here where many came before.
Warriors then, now ancient men who gather near the shore
To honour those who lie in rows, and comrades still beside.
A time to grieve and to receive a grateful nation's pride.
They are the ever dwindling few,
Soon there will be no more.
Ellis Pringle Craig, 2022.
when she leaves the room
walking slowly
he follows just behind
ready to take a fall
just guarding
he knows to grab her socks from the drawer
he can pull it open
put he watches to see if she needs help
breathless sometimes
he'll let her sit on the garden wall
for a moment
then he brings the ball
get up get up
he knows she needs to play
powerful juno
roman queen of strong women
your song we still sing
as we escape twinned clutches
of crushing weeds to flower
Juno has dropped her Jupe for Janus—
Moves unforeseen by Nostradamus.
Jupiter's lightning rage
Rattled Juno's last cage,
But Janus is twice as dangerous.
Juno doesn’t like my wheel;
not sure I comprehend the deal.
She greets me when I walk on by,
but on the wheel I think I’d die
if only for that flimsy fence;
it really doesn’t make much sense.
The wheel invokes her sense of chase
and I would surely lose that race.
No, Juno doesn’t like my wheel,
and I’d not like to be her meal.
crowned queen of the gods
saturn and jupiter loom
large in her orbit
known for her protective role
mars bows to her motherly grace
Just ‘jealous’ doesn’t do her justice, since
unless you factor-in her womanhood,
no vestige of the passion in her blood
or motivation comes across: her prince
conceived real circumspection. He’d convince
alumni, friends and allies that they should
placate her: Juno wasn’t wholly good,
in Miller’s words, a phrase which wins the quince,
the prize for sweetness, but wholly herself.
Our modern model argues men are strong –
look at his biceps! Somehow, all along,
I’ve known the Ghibelline to be a Guelph:
no question, Juno would approve my song:
as ingrained as the view is, it’s still wrong.