short-haired puppy dogs
bundled up for a quick stroll...
long St. John's winter
Pet Poem, My Pup Hufty
(My fist year living away from my parents)
I wanted a puppy. I didn’t choose her,
But she became mine, staring out the third-floor
Window of that Chicago apartment, together
Watching it snow as I asked her, “What do you see?”
My artist friend picked her, “For her beauty,” he said,
Tho I didn’t see it, as she was a short-haired blonde,
While our family dogs had been black and scruffy or
Mostly so...Still, we’d walk daily in cold, falling snow.
On the shore of Lake Michigan, I’d let her run free
And she found great joy in scrambling over Ice
Plates set askew, angles to angles, waves frozen in
Mid-motion. She thrilled in the attempts to run.
Happy, I watched, cheering her on, then on
Back at home, she shadowed me, famous for
Sleeping on my sketches as I worked and growling
Away apartment mice. She traveled in three states
With me. She was mine completely and still is...
Watching for me over the bridge...
To come and so walk together again under
Falling stardust with the rest of our waiting pack.
**********. ************. ***********
(c) sally Young Eslinger 12/2020
Thanks be to God
Oh how I do love cats.
Not rats or bats,
Spats or hats;
(although I do own a chapeau or two).
I love cats of all sizes, colors and shapes;
even though they get in a lot of scrapes.
I love calicos, tabbies, marbled too;
I really love a Persian Blue.
I love them whether they have boots or socks;
I adore all their furry frocks.
Short-haired, long-haired, cats are great;
With cats, I love to celebrate.
They bring such joy and elation;
but, when they get in an altercation,
I calm them with my guitar strings;
cats do love to hear folks sing.
They stop to listen to my songs,
but they definitely don’t like drums or gongs.
So I sing and they calm down;
quite tranquil then’s, my kitty-crowd.
Home protector
lazily lounging on the ground
Got a belly full bark
that rumbles
with a low growl sound
Droopy ear napping,
dreaming ‘bout buried bones
in the backyard
Brown closed eyes,
nose motion detector turned off
Short-haired security of the domicile
is now taking a cozy layabout
So hang up the dog paws sign:
Welcome, open house —
All uninvited guests
leave a Scooby snack
by the backdoor
on your way out
A Giant
There is an unknown legend that comes
from the great Black Forest
of a creature fearsome and oh, so glorious.
Though his brain be small
and barely larger than a walnut
his head and jaws are held in fear and awe.
Those huge brown eyes hold such a stare
and his teeth are sharp as nails
with claws long and pointed reaching everywhere.
The body black and boldly trimmed in brown
short haired waistcoat thick yet soft
rapped snuggly at his belly round.
The form is slim and trim, the torso long and lank
a streamlined tail waving in the sun
satisfied when its task is done.
There he is, can you see him frown
thrashing through the field
everybody running as he comes into town.
His sound is loud and deafening,
it roars like echoed thunder
as feet imprint the earth he plunders.
There he stands with renewed vigor and vim
challenging every eye on him.
What's that you say, you're unafraid,
He is but a tiny Dachshund?
Stand back my friends, you doubting disbelievers,
be fearful and leary, despite his size
he is a giant,
a Rottweiler in disguise.
swift, creeping cat, bellying
lightlessly across
the backyards by night
a Cimmerian shadow with dun
short-haired quickness
not
so easily
caught
along the mottled sidewalk
the bounds of the city blocks, cast slight
beneath the dappling yellow of the
street lamps
a coloring
almost unseen ( for its own sake,
unseen )
a feline faith
dining on mice heads and rape wine, and
long adapting
daydreams
desire but bits and baubles of unfettered
fate
free and stupid to winnow its own blue
ambit and way, its own quirky
arc
blue guitars tuned with cat gut, oh
strings of mouser stomachs and bladders
twisted, tight weaves to
seized and
plucked
notes
( by fingers that once strung the
bow )
Hot long haired boys
Skating around town
Being the cool kids
Short haired boys
Walking around school
Always the cool kids
Young, dumb, and popular
All the cute guys
None that I could never get
Skating around town
Smoking joints and cigarettes
Acting like they are the cool kids
Soon after I'd paid
My sixty
Or seventy pence,
I found myself
In what I thought
Was a miniature London.
I saw girls
In chandelier earrings,
In stiletto heels,
Wearing evening
Dresses,
Which contrasted with
The bizarre
Hair colours
They favoured:
Jet black
Or bleach blonde,
With flashes of
Red, Purple
Or green.
Some wore large
Bow ties,
Others unceremoniously
Hanged
Their school ties
Round their
Necks.
Eye make-up
Was exaggerated.
The boys all had
Short hair,
Wore mohair sweaters,
Thin ties,
Baggy,
Peg-top trousers
And winklepicker shoes.
A band playing
Raw street rock
At a frantic speed
Came to a sudden,
Violent climax...
Melodic, rhythmic,
Highly dancable
Soul music
Was now beginning
To fill the hall,
With another group
Of short-haired youths...
Smoother, more elegant,
Less menacing
Than the previous ones.
These well-dressed
Street boys
Wore well-pressed pegs
Of red or blue...
They pirouetted
And posed...
Pirouetted and posed.
"Wicked Cahoots" and "The Woodville Hall Soul Boys" stem from stories written in the late 1970s; while they first saw the light of day in versified form in 2006.)
The short haired calico cat
Came through the doggie door
Having no idea Ashley lounged
Inside 'pon the floor
Ashley spied the short haired cat
The cat springing into alert mode
Voila' the chase was on
With lightning speed
They were in flight
Flap, flag the doggie door explodes
Then just a tiny flap
The Chihuahua just loves
A good chase and fight
Who knows what it is??
Ha!! Ha!!
Old Granny had a big brown kitten, which was the love of her life.
Old Granny’s eyes were failing, of that there was no doubt.
She swore her cat was a gentle Persian, a sweet little cat.
Now everyone loved Old Granny and so tolerated how it did act.
We didn’t have the heart to tell her how wild it was, you know.
Like the time it jumped thru her screen window going after a bird.
Or how it tore up another screen to get to a squirrel up in a tree.
Or how it climbed the preacher’s leg to get his bowl of ice cream.
The chicken coup was violated by another fateful event.
But granny wouldn’t listen, because she loved that crazy thing.
She said it was a kitten, but it had very Huge, great big paws
And as it grew that sleek, short haired, big thing, truthfully began to roar.
It eventually laid in wait for anything that would cross it’s path…
Oh my goodness Granny… Goodness! Goodness! Goodness!
That’s a mountain lion and NOT a cat!
From that day forward we called her Old Granny Goodness…
For the trouble she could find, Oh My Goodness
Everybody loved her, she was the talk and entertainment of our town.
But a more loving and dear soul, will never be found.
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