Tag Archives: dreaming

Introspection


What if I were God

and you were just a part of me?

 You, the corn on the bottom of my foot

an irritation that hurt when I walked

Would I rub you out with an emery board

or clip you off, and drop you on the floor

then sweep your bits under the rug?

What if I were God

 and you, a breast that disappointed

by being too small, too flat, too thin

Would I slice you open, fill you with gel

and hoist you into a wire-rim

then strut you around – my parceled goods?

What if I were God

 and you, a beggar who walked my street

a living reminder of There-But-For-Fortune

Would I cast my eyes the opposite way

and pretend you didn’t exist

then demand the police move you on?

What if I were God

 and you, a kidnapped slave taken for sex

hidden from laws, devalued as human scum

Would I say it was up to you to fight back

that you should have known better

than to walk alone at night?

 What if I were God

and you were part of me?

 Would I love you?

 

 For Poetry Potluck Monday: http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/

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Arlo’s Garden


 

My first old golden planted himself everyday

in the garden by my patio chair. That’s where he took his nap.

At thirteen, all Arlo needed was water, food and tennis balls

and, of course, he needed me.

It wasn’t until he died that I realised

how much I needed him.

If he’d been a man, I probably would have married him.

That dog set roots in me,

roots so deep, that even after he was gone,

within a week, they sprouted another

homeless old golden named Shadow.

Shadow lived to be fifteen and a half.

Then one night his eyes looked into mine, and they said

Thank you.

The next day he died, and I missed his golden

shadow beside my chair, and under my feet,

but I felt his soul staying right with me for six weeks.

I buried some of his fur in Arlo’s garden.

Then it took root, blossomed and brought me Libby.

She’s thirteen and real chipper. Kind of bossy too.

She’s not like the boys, but I love her anyway.

I understand her. We both think like girls.

Libby lays on the lounge chair cushion

that I took off the chair and put on the patio floor

so she could lay beside me as I write.

She likes her comforts and I like her company.

Today I looked up, meaning to say a word to Libby

let her know how much I appreciate her help,

but her cushion was bare.

She didn’t raise her head to smile.

I saw some dirt strewn on the ground; I gazed across

to the strip of garden where Arlo planted roots

and where Shadow’s fur blossomed.

There Libby had planted herself, fast asleep and dreaming.

I couldn’t help but wonder as her paws twitched

and her muzzle nursed a bark

if two big goldens weren’t running beside her,

chasing balls, catching skunks,

and swimming the deep spring river.

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Filed under Non-Fiction, Poetry, Uncategorized

Raffy’s Nap


Laid under trees beside the field above Timberscombe village

where the shadow is cool, and my mother’s jacket, spread on dry leaves,

protects my skin, I sleep in the heat of a late spring morning in England.

The breeze ripples with sounds of lute and flute while grunts of rams

and grulls of ewes, call to lambs that breach the keep in the field above me

and droning bees hum under roasting sun beside budding archeologists.

My sleep – so deep – the edges of now and then cross in silent patterns,

while pottery shards, chips of flint and smelted ore weave history into present

and now into past; a dream that never ends even as I stir and wake

and rise to the ancient hill fort and the school of children upon it.

Curious, they scratch and dig, some painted with blue, the color of woad, in swirls

upon their cheeks, and I rise in surprise when an iron age remnant hidden from sun

for two thousand, seven hundred years, is placed in my infant hand.

“Look,” I tell them, “a pebble.”

 

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Filed under Non-Fiction, Poetry, Uncategorized