Used to gad about town as such in my day
but don't get around much anymore
conked out zonked out
(perchance to dream)
I prefer to remain
housebound indoors
yes it's an age-old refrain
my dogs are barking
and my best guess they may really be
completely up the wrong tree entirely
but my best bet yet feeling my years
(the weight of the world)
I'm in a slump down in the dumps
a pooch too tired to smooch
tho' stooped but healthy hale and hearty
this poor pup's too pooped to party
Walk dog
In fog
Can't see
Bump tree
Fell down
Face frown
Sore head
Cut bled
Now lost
Bit cross
In pain
Slow gain
Came rain
More bane
Wet through
Cold blue
Mud slip
Pulled hip
Found path
Mad laugh
Walk more
Still sore
Long roam
Got home
Deep sighed
Dog-tired
Red wine
All mine
05.11.20
I trot into the little house,
the one without a door.
Turn around twice to settle down,
and plop my nose on the floor.
My attention goes up to the night,
to search it with my eyes.
I hover by each distant light -
Swoop to the moon - a dog that flies.
(this poem is a bout falling asleep but there is no category for it)
Heavy lids; burning eyes,
no more chance of getting high.
Dreams both start but don't sound,
as carriage carts drag on cobble stones.
Your heart - slow baritone beats,
pulling you away to sleep.
And it suffers you,
for your loss of control.
It scares you too.
Still, down you must go.
Into the vast sea
of nascent mortality
of terminal vistas.
The hindmost journey
being quiescent aloft.
I pull a sledge in arctic snow,
The leader of the team,
And rescue stranded people from
The mountain or ravine.
I help to capture criminals,
Or race upon a track,
I sniff out hidden drugs and bombs,
Go hunting with my pack.
I guide a person ‘cross the road,
And herd a flock of sheep -
I work so hard around the clock
(But only in my sleep…)
For Tanya’s Dog Gone Tales
16th June
Parallel went the universe someplace along the line
When autumn French-kissed winter with tongues of leaf and ice;
The lamp-posts dripped drab amber with a dark and dreary shine,
A devil's brew of garnished sleet, elemental egg-fried rice.
Night caved long and colder as day fell short, sedate,
And I felt somewhat older, in my heart a dying spark;
Crying out for love rekindling to alleviate the fate
Of departing in pitch-blackness and returning in the dark.
Tedious treadmill grinding as the Christmas pines were sawn,
Down in the valley decorations sagged and popped and spat;
Sizzling bulbs of neon death, ramshackle and forlorn,
Greeting cards from no one close had piled up on the mat.
My eyes blurred red and jaundiced in a fiery bourbon haze,
Well-past midnight I still sit and hungrily imbibe;
Toasting all the ghosts I knew throughout my dog-tired days,
On glitzy wrapping clawed the wishes I wished to inscribe.
Never has the relevance of nothing meant so much,
The face of unrequited love recedes in mist and snow;
The angels on the Christmas tree bestow no healing touch,
Pull up the covers, settle down, there's nowhere left to go…