** The Pupu and I Go Walking **
Under a slice of melon-orange moon,
We’re off to walk (the pups and I)…
Far along for long,
‘Til our energy has gone..
We totter over to the nearest lawn
And lie down there to sleep.
The grass is so cold, so wet with dew
We’ve gone off only for a walk, but died, too.
But, wait! Push away the urge to weep!
‘Tis not the intended ending that it seems…
St. Peter denied us entry, declaring.
“Your time is yet Long to come. So, Leave!
Resume your walking far and long…Back to dream
On a lawn — too cold, too wet, Earth-green.”
————————————————————————————————————————————-
(c)sally young eslinger 6/23/2023
Thanks be to God
Categories:
st peter, dog, earth, heaven, imagery,
Form: Rhyme
Who is this woman standing here?
is not a lady of conscious clear
whose time on earth was not spent praying
of dubious character mankind was saying
as death takes hold and her spirit vacates
she stands at heavens pearly gates
as they open she enters in.....
St.Peter smiles and tells her then....is not all mankind full of sin'?
Categories:
st peter, death, heaven, sin,
Form: Free verse
April 6th The Messenger Dog of God
One day
While studying in Rome
As a priest
I notice a small white dog
Staring at me
He glances at me
Indicating that I am to follow him
I get up
And follow this strange dog
He leads me deep
Inside the hidden depths
Of the Vatican
Finally stopping by a door
I open the door
And see St Peter there
He smiles
Dismisses the dog
Who moves on down the hall
Finished with his cosmic duty
As the secret messenger of God
All in a days work
I ask why am I here?
St Peter says
Why are any of us here?
It is time for you to go
But I don’t want to go
Don’t want to leave this mortal plane
St Peter smiles
Says it is time to go
I wake up
Back in my bed
With my wife
And realize it was all a dream
It was not yet time
To go
But I am afraid
I will find the messenger dog
Outside my door
Any day now
The grim reaper waits
And it will soon be my time
Categories:
st peter, animal, god, judgement,
Form: Quatrain
Cobbled traces ankle-turn the December night,
hobbling church goer's on sleet-covered streets.
Lines of warblers rise at the sides,
confined side walkers avoid the car play.
Wet headed wanderers, at large in the dark,
set chill chapped hands to their wind-burned cheeks.
Off key, they carol from the quay to the close
Three Kings rings out joyous from post to lamp post.
Through honeyed light and the nave’s open door
to hear the Domspatzen, the church sparrows, sing.
Boys and young men porcelain in candlelight,
rois without queens, one race, one sex, employed.
Brilliant as finger rubbed glasses, they trill;
we're silent: in sound wrapped, close-eyed, waylaid.
Each dulcet tone blends with organ and bow
teaching church doctrine with tenor and alto.
Published by Page & Spine Winter 2016
Categories:
st peter, children, faith, music,
Form: Verse