Life With Horace

poetry & essays

Category Archives: dogs


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the first present

there are trees here too
grown out of deep soil pockets
heads above the hardy root dug
mountain friends of home
this gathered woody host a nest
to hold a house containing
every one I love
still sleeping as the light
creeps up all cloudy
through the rain
a christmas only minds eye white
no clear skied sunrise
catching tree tops
by surprise
red bronze briefly
glistened by those gone ahead
dropstrings of love and memory
beams creak awake
almost the hour
for letting loose small bodies
counting moments since last night
behind me thumps and sighs
two sets of eyes meet mine
my patient dogs
the first gift of the day
belongs to them
and we are kitchen bound

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a small gift of words, a time filled with more love than things, christmas as it should be. my heart is very full.


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Woods whispers

Once home directly to the woods,
downhill into the shadowed green,
ecstatic dogs all tails and lopes.

They move from spot to spot
data-mining smells and sounds
then leave their marks.

Feet silent on the needle drop
my harmony mostly restored
ankles softly kissed by ferns.

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a shortling to celebrate the gift of having woods to lift the day off my shoulders.

Horace, black on black


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Haiku for tuesday with notes

accepting the muse
black head warms my foot again
reaching for note book

 

 

 

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Horace likes to sit under the kitchen table when I write, with his head across my foot. I had planned to write later in the day today, but clearly my muse thought otherwise.


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Morning as palindrome

As words begin their dance
glancing out at spring
sitting down at last to write
confident of its receipt
asking for serenity
another day a perfect gift
reflecting and give thanks
I close my eyes to sip
hand cupping warmth
coffee and the ritual of smell
checking lilacs apple buds
birds scatter at the noise
opening the outer door
woods featureless and flat
moving softly hug the quiet
slightly damp delight
one slipper at a time
morning work for dogs
stretch sloughing sleep’s cement
a feather shawl to float away
night journey remnants linger
as clouds replace the sun
light diffuse and gray
dog nose to tail against my arm
first awareness as I wake
a dream departs

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Day 28. I loved writing this. The prompt was for an event or story in reverse.


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San san for aggie

Sitting up her eyes meet mine
A dog, she cannot hold the stare
full of love, she can but try
trust earned, love gained a certain sign
My eyes smile back with soul laid bare
this gentle dog now surely wants to play
we run the grassy hill my dog and I
eyes search for sticks, she loves to lead the way

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Day 14. a san san, seven lines with three images or words repeated three times abc-abd-cd.


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haiku for a winter saturday with notes

snowfall perfection
singular joins the many
floating from the sky

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saturdays mean one can exhale. today there are no chores or projects in an old house always in need. today will be spent with friends, mingling our joyous and foolish dogs, and gathering for a meal. there will be much laughter. the mind will stretch. a gift.


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moonset

the still bright reach
of setting moon on snow
slender plum tree shadows
reaching from the west,
coyote yips and calls
caroming off the mountain
through black ice
ribbon wrapped woods,
snaking through
my open window arrow slit,
rousing the defenders
of this sleeping winter bastion
to make their voices heard
our pennant flown in answer

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nothing gets dogs up from sleep to full on barks faster than the coyote pack at night.


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haiku for Sunday with notes

winter morning’s dark
dogs wait blots against the rug
bach fugues dance softly

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music and sunday mornings go hand in hand for me. the dogs are stretched out against the soft jewel tones of the old oriental rug on the dining room floor, in the soft lamplight of early morning. baroque music on the radio. coffee next!


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the muse as foot warmer

horrie on my footIt turns out that I do have a muse. His name is Horace (Horrie) and he is my shadow, fetcher of slippers, foot warmer, and writing companion. A smart three year old black lab, he knows I am his work, is pretty sure that if I go out he should come along, and much of the time he does.

The other lodestar of his universe is Aggie, my steady, wonderful Newfie. Aggie raised him. They are inseparable, except when I’m writing, but Aggie sometimes honors us with her presence in the kitchen (my writing place).


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the empty hour

driving south with dogs and moon
my sole companions
through a world now shuttered, faceless
not quite dead, a piece of time
between the dregs of night wound down
and any thought of lighted day
no nameless lurkers crowding thoughts
as unaccustomed full face brightness
pushes back those waves of menace
rushing from the black hole dark
until their clinging dread recedes
then trickles off the shouldered road and trees
fades dark blank glass and shadowed cars
to question marks, a thousand lives imagined
in the moments we pass by
my honor guard lies nose to tail
the comfort of their smell and noisy dreams
has wrapped my shoulders well against the chill
and we move on

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we all know this time of night, and driving through it in the light of a full moon changes everything.


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top of the eighth

numbers (have) never mattered
no importance given,
celebration while rome danced
the very thing,
my road stretched out ahead
endless to the next rise.
today I pause to count
and though the exit sign
is out of sight and mind
I sense it up ahead.
memo to the fates
you are heard and understood,
but while
music is in my blood
and on my tongue,
words spring from my hand
to shout upon the page,
light and color unshutter joy,
there is love to fill me up
and to return without reserve,
my legs strive to scale the heights
and cover distance yet again,
the tendrils of my soul
reach out to wetlands
and woodland heartbeats
in the company of birdsong,
my flesh can still be
branded by a lover’s hand
to summon undiminished ecstasy,
why then, oh yes
I am most certainly alive,
not just living, treading time
but riding it full throttle
to the very end


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a burst of chickadees

despite the morning’s
snow and wind,
the birds came, knowing
they would feed here
in the sheltered tuck
of our house’s ell.
when they had
picked it clean,
I ventured out
with snow drunk dogs
to heap the platform
high with seed again
and stuff the suet grid.
as I struggled,
being short,
to place the hanger
on an apple branch,
a flutter led my eye
to see a burst
of small black caps,
spread scattershot
through apple arms
and lilac upright spray,
brassy bold, waiting for
their feast,
and us to go.

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not knowing what form the snow would take, it was a shock to see upwards of 30 birds (no exaggeration) together at our feeders this morning, in the middle of swirling snow and wind. mourning doves, jays, chickadees, cardinals, titmice, nuthatches, downy woodpeckers, hairy woodpeckers, a red bellied woodpecker, slate colored juncoes, the odd sparrow all came and went, constant movement, an amazing sight. our chickadees are pretty fearless, and they regularly wait (and scold us if they think we move too slowly) when the other birds have fled. the sight of 15 or so of them spread out in the branches while I filled the feeders was marvelous.