Long Border collie Poems
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My Great Great Aunt Prissy had a magical dog.
She never needed friends but she did have a blog.
Her acquaintances were thrilled with her pix
Of a talking dog with costumes so thick
She would put hilarious captions under the blog
Stating the words came from her magical dog
A border collie with a mad sense of humor
We all laughed, thinking she had a brain tumor
My Great Great Aunt Prissy made her dog famous.
When she passed we fought over who got her dog Amos
By then he was up to six million hits every day
Advertisers were eager to throw money his way
I drew the long straw and took Amos home gladly
He was mouthy, a diva, and spoke his voice gladly.
A magical dog loving his own fans and gobs of hype
He is standing over me now watching me type
Criticizing my English, correcting my grammar.
Laughing at my mistakes in a belligerent manner.
Great Aunt Prissy’s sassy confident magical dog
No longer has a following, friends or a blog.
It's party time again, my furry friends!
Come see the pretty table set for you!
With cups and saucers, teapot- my call sends
an invitation- now come all, please do!
Quick came two Tabbies, one Tuxedo cat,
and our sweet Border Collie, I call Sam-
along with Teddy, who so quickly sat
and growled, "Yes, I am furry too- I am!"
They pay attention to the tales I tell-
to entertain while we all sit and drink.
I know they like my stories very well-
they look at me with happy eyes that wink!
Oh, I'm so very happy when we meet-
enjoy our teatime fun, just them and me.
Our cozy gatherings are such a treat!
I share my love with them- not just my tea!
There stands the Victorian house
by the small dogwood tree I planted at the age
of nineteen thinking of a colorful spring;
what a subtle joy palpitating inside
at a short distance, before Lassie starts barking:
her hearing is sharper than mine!
I stop walking with a curious reflection:
who built this house by a busy highway,
was it a desolate place of deep mediation?
wilderness was all around, unpaved roads
that raised dust that harmed breath and eyes,
and despite it, one savored its tranquility!
Monarch butterflies made some strange sounds,
and gathered on the branches of the long-leaf pines,
they decorated them with the blueness of their pretty wings;
swifts watched them and dared not make them their preys!
Were they taking a nap after the long journey from Birmingham,
where they couldn't survive the extreme heat towards noon;
I caught a few of them and gently caressed them releasing them
into that space sparking with light crossed by a vagrant balloon!
The Victorian house by the smallw dogwood tree was torn down
by heavy machinery to make room for another luxurious hotel,
I gave away the Border Collie, he made a great sentinel;
leaving against my will after decades was a heartbreaking decision!
It is easy to forget that in the main we die only seven times more slowly than our dogs.
Jim Harrison (1937 - 2016) - The Road Home
First Bobo, a cocker spaniel,
I remember only from pictures.
He ran way before we moved
to Canada when I was four.
Second Kizzie, a cockapoo, Mom got
when the family moved to Texas.
I only saw her on holidays and such
as I stayed in Canada. She lived
long and was with the folks when they
retired to British Columbia and was
into her teens before they put her down.
Third Sadie, 3/4 Newfie - 1/4 Bernese,
a big black dog, with a big appetite
for apples from a special tree and
the socks our daughter, a toddler
cast off around the house.
I still chuckle remembering
the scattered remnants lining
the farm lane that spring.
She was over ten, and in pain
when we put her down.
Her ashes remain in an urn in the garage.
Fourth Rizzo, a fencejump cross of
Gordon Setter and Belgian Shepherd,
my wife and daughter got him from
a friend, while I was off on a canoe trip.
A headstrong dog who would take off after
a scent or car to return when he pleased.
On leash, he'd almost pull you off your feet.
With age, he grew territorial and
after the third biting incident, I took
him to the vet to be put down.
But she gave him to an older lady
with a fenced yard who put thirty
pounds on him and he lived to
fourteen or fifteen.
Fifth Hailey, who was five when
we got her from the shelter.
A Border Collie - Shepherd cross
and definitely our daughter's dog.
She'd bounce foxlike through the fields
and on evening beach walks, loved
to fetch sticks we'd toss into the waves.
She was over fifteen and failing when
we put her down, days before
our daughter's wedding.
No urn this time.
Sixth Xena, a Shepherd-Collie cross
and beyond doubt a princess
but more sweetheart than warrior.
She has the canine equivalent
of ADD and a bark first policy
when something new appears
and will retrieve sticks or balls
until your arm falls off .
At over eight, she's running strong.
Seventh, Sam, a mostly Shepherd mix,
she's our most 'rescue' rescue dog,
smart, loyal and obedient
a wantobe lap dog with a feral streak.
She responds in kind to aggressive
dogs and we muzzle her on walks.
Now five she'll be with us for a
good while to continue the tally.
Thoughts of a Border Collie While
Pondering a Bone
Mine, mine, mine, I think
as I drip drool on the floor.
Bloody meat clings
tenaciously to the hard bone.
White fat, like veins of gold,
marbles the red treat.
My owner is thawing this delicious
delicacy on the counter.
I watch and wait with longing
as I think of the animal odor.
Sharp canines will soon tear
and rend all from the cow’s femur.
My probing tongue will pull the tangy,
succulent marrow from its hiding place.
When all has been eaten, it will
become my favorite chew toy as
I will gnaw, gnaw, gnaw until not
one atom remains.
Then I will lay back in the cool shade
and realize I am a lucky dog.
Dismal clouds, a steel gray sky
lay heavy, on a wrangler's eye
And the ice upon the time-worn world
of trodden hills, and where sheep have grazed
have glazed the trail, along the way
To flee from the sting of winter's keep
stray sheep seek shelter among the trees
A border collie, takes command
and herds the flock to form a band
Wild geese form arrows sharp and clean
As instinct guides, and trust is keen
While northeast winds so white with sleet
Bury plains, once gleaned of wheat
With the weight of burdens never done
the lone man works without a sun
entrenched in white beneath his feet
wearing overalls, boots soaked in peat
and fleece upon his heart of toil
His back is bent with glistened soil
His lone companions know the way
Two steadfast horses, have earned their hay
A border collie, never strays
Wearily waiting till the master is done
He labors on, as the evening falls
To a distant light, where his hunger calls
Too cold to wipe his dampened brow
His limped hat... it glistens now
With cheeks of red, he steels his breath
Like forefathers did, until the death
Humble pride, a job to bear, another day that he will wear
__________________________________________________________
Based on the Painting by Richard Beavis.... Highlander Driving the Sheep
For Contest sponsored by Isaiah Zerbst
As a child I lived in an old farmhouse
I was just three years old
The earliest memory that lately
In my mind begins to unfold
A creaky old place that made noises at night
Bumps and creaks, phantom footsteps would keep me awake
Shadows caused by lit candles caused such a fright
In winter there would be frost on the bedroom windows
And frozen condensation on the glass pane inside
Formed a picture of sorts which shone in the moonlight
Which freightened me greatly and sometimes I cried
I would pull up the blankets and cuddle up tight
Cocooned in my bedclothes I felt safe from harm
So as to keep warm and hide from the cold frosty night
As the old house creak which was part of its charm
As time went by and the older I became
Things started to change for the better all became clear
It was all in my mind’s eye Just dreams and nightmares
Just brought on by fear
Downstairs was the Kitchen the main room in the house
With a big old wooden table a bit worse for wear
And an old Arga stove where all meals were prepared
And in the corner an old rocking chair
The front room was used for a Bar like a pub
Which on a Saturday night could be lively and noisy to boot
Where Dominoes and Darts were played freely
And occasionally someone played a tune on a flute
Outside in the Cowsheds three cows stood and surveyed
About thirty Chickens out in an enclosed pen
Which Calliban our black and white Border Collie
Would wake up and check on now and again
At six years old I learned how to milk a cow
An experience I never fail to remember
And to drive a tractor whilst pulling a plough
And picking freezing Brussle Sprouts in mid December
Mostly I remember Harvest time collecting the hay
From the three fields that we had just over the road
My Childhood memories are never forgotten
Memories remain with me like a heavey load
Their Etched in my mind forever like a picture
I was nine when I left our old house in the lane
And I remember it as if it was yesterday
And oh how I long to be that child again.
A poem~ For Alyssa
"Lost border collie...Jordan"
Dedicated to the beautiful children
lost in a Florida massacre!
We can't find Jordan anymore
He's lying under Alyssa's bed.
He does not know she is dead
A killer's bullet in her head.
The TV stations ..ratings mad,
Flash her picture.
Jordan's eyes grow sad
Her father is stark raving mad.
So, off to the cemetery they go
With balloons and flowers
And bleeding hearts... And...
Endless tears, sleepless nights
He cannot walk her down the aisle.
Nor will he see her children smile.
And those of us with progeny
Feel their pain with ultimate agony.
Panagiota Romios
I shall not linger, tarry, where,
Beneath the oaks, out of the glare,
I had a dog to bury, ere
I lose control, emotions flare.
Among the roots, precise, with care,
There was so little room to spare:
A cairn of rock so none would dare
To dig, to make inquiry there.
Failed him, of this I'm great aware.
At times, a bit too much to bear.
It is a tragic, sad affair,
And so I dug internment lair.
The two of us, a bonded pair.
That wondrous coat of fine black hair!
But, damn! His actions: hard to square.
With growling, fearful, narrowed stare,
Attacked an infant, small and fair;
Gave all of us an awful scare.
I vowed demise, a solemn swear.
The righteous end, and yet, beware:
'Twas grief, not vengeance, in the air,
Commended with a tearful prayer.
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(In memory of Dizzy, the devil dog, a border collie I had for about 10 years,
but had to put down when he attacked my grandson. The experience is not
recent, but the emotion is still raw after all these years)
Standing on the porch savoring the taste of a cold Blue Moon, I pause.
A day's work has ended. I watch as our border collie Rusty navigates the pasture, Herding cows into the barn. Each one moves to its proper stall, Finding their way, as we all do when we recognize our home. The sun has set. The last light of it’s feeble reach remains on the horizon, thin pale arms Reaching to draw the shade. The first star of the evening reveals itself
As I turn my gaze northward past the old oak, where the rope swing hangs
Like an exclamation point! Beyond this, there lies a hollow cave of dark,
Formed by weeping willows rooted to the banks. This is where our farm begins. The creek unfolding from tears the willows cry, becoming a drink that nourishes the land. Life flows from the water as it flows from the earth. In the stillness of this evening I look to that dark place of origins, where the light is most absent. In that place, Just above the surface of the water, I see the first firefly of summer as it slowly blinks:
I am here I am here I am here.
Others heed its call adding voices to the choir. The sleepy meadow fields
Reflect the night stars above, fireflies mirrored below. They provide a glimpse of how the night has been forever. Crickets chirp, frogs croak, as cows begin their dream of greener fields. Here, I am lost and I am found. Staring at the earth’s reflection I experience the quiet birth of bliss that comes from sudden realizations. At the height of our brightest light we become all of this, A passing memory. The light of our humanity pulsing as one heartbeat,
Matching the fireflies light, as we blink into forever:
we are here we are here we are here.