This poem and drawing is based on the word “spell.”
A little bit of woof,
A little bit of ruff,
Some bones, some meat,
Just enough.
Mix it together
With a “poof” and a bow-wow
You magically transformed
Into a cow.
dog
Haiku #46
Curled into a ball
His body rises and falls
Doggie’s midday nap
Frienemy
I haven’t been writing much these days, so in order to inspire myself to pick up a pen and write, I have decided to spend some time with The Poet’s Companion. If you haven’t heard of this book, I highly recommend that you check it out. It was a book that I bought for a college poetry class and it teaches you different writing techniques, and at the end of each chapter, it provides you with a list of writing exercises. Every time you revisit the book, you are bound to write something new, as your thoughts, experiences and perspectives will change over time 🙂
I read the first chapter yesterday and did the first exercise, which was to list out memorable events from your life (big or small) and write a poem about it. I ended up with this poem.
Frienemy
They run in a frenzy
from the cement to the grass,
from the grass to the cement.
A blur of black and white rushes
past you as fur brushes
against your leg.
Paw scrapes against cement.
You see a tuft of cotton
in his canine mouth.
Your heart skips
a beat.
Snow white fur,
no signs of blood,
but could he?
Would he…
take a life?
The chase continues –
Happy inches away,
just inches away,
from Hopper.
Exhausted,
Hopper collapses
in the wet grass.
Happy pounces…
his two front paws,
a mix of brown and black
over Hopper’s white body.
Content at his victory,
he simply lies there,
listening to the bird’s chirp.
The wind rustles their hair.
What a beautiful day…
with a frienemy.
Image from Google
Image from Google
Living with Stress
In my previous post “A Poem for Your Thoughts: Experiment 1: Stress,” I posed this question: If stress were tangible, would it be a person, animal, plant or object? One of the first images I came up with was a dog biting your pant leg. My dog liked to do that a lot, it was adorable. But it was also a little annoying, especially when you had things to do. Anyhow, when I decided to write a villanelle piece to describe stress, this image didn’t quite fit in because it was too cute. I created a new poem just for this.
Living with Stress
Stress follows me around
like a puppy dog
biting my pant leg.
He chases after me, watches me,
glares at me, snarls at me.
He tugs and pulls,
but he never lets go.
I push him and shove him,
shake my leg, shake my fist
tell him “shoo” to no ado.
He only barks and whines.
This damn stray
won’t go away.
He follows me
from the house to the car,
from the car to the office,
here, there, everywhere,
I drag him by the pant leg,
he just won’t let go,
slowing me down
from chasing dreams
and buttery happiness.
Tired and annoyed,
I take a breath, lean down
to pet him, love him,
pick him up and hug him,
set him down to play.
It’s okay.
Stress is now happy,
Stress will go away
and come biting back
another day.
The Paper Box
While looking through pages and pages of my journals to compile my poetry book, I came across this poem that I wrote a couple years ago when I thought I had lost my best friend. I had forgotten that I had wrote this and it brought back sweet memories.
The Paper Box
I looked down at the crisp sheet of paper.
I had written his name in cursive letters.
Whether it was superstition
or a sign of faith,
I slipped his name into a paper box.
My best friend had been gone for days.
Where did he go?
I didn’t know.
I looked far and near –
from the neighborhood to the parks,
I searched everywhere.
I longed to see his face –
his round little eyes,
his pink curling tongue,
his floppy, girly ears.
I wanted to hold him near.
I wished that he was happy.
Yearning for his return,
hoping and praying,
and continually saying
that he was “OK.”
Then my prayers were answered
and he came home one night.
Wagging his tail and full of life,
pouncing with all his might.
He was glad to be home.
We embraced him with our love.
He had been gone for a week.
His energy decreased
after the first night
and he refused to eat.
Skinny and starving,
looking frail and weak.
My heart ached to see him.
The poor boy was ill,
but I loved him still.
With tender loving care –
stroking, feeding, petting –
Slowly, but surely,
we nursed him to health.
Happy was home,
that much is true,
Paper box, thank you!
Whisperings 