early wake-up call today
tomorrow the same
More NaPoWriMo Poetry.
It’s Wally’s year and a half birthday… adolescent dogs, like adolescent boys, are all legs/feet/stomachs and wanting more attention than they get. And, like adolescents of all types, haven’t yet learned the socially appropriate ways to get attention!
All day long, on my feet
working and guiding and caring
a moment of inattention
and all is lost
Posting here because the social media platform I usually use is not cooperating!
Wally ran away again. My fault. I was distracted while getting ready to take him out and opened the door before the clasp was fully closed on his collar. He’ll either come back or he won’t, but it is too dark to look for him and no way to entice him home without also encouraging wild predators to come to the house. We really need that enclosure finished… meantime I will have to try to calm down enough to get some sleep tonight since I don’t have the luxury of sleeping in or calling in sick for a lost dog.
update posted on April 13: He returned, about two hours after he fled…
came from the south
advancing in waves
crashing against the mountains,
buffeted the trees
and the grasses
and the birds
flying high or low
could not escape
the crush of the moment.
moved alongside the traffic,
now pummeling against,
now swiping left
and the cars dodged within the lanes
into the darkness ahead.
pushed the waters into hills
leaving valleys in the lakes
gasping for time
the frogs and the fishes
at once hidden and exposed
waves on the riverbanks
reveal and destroy.
tore apart the peace of spring
rent the fabric of newborn fields
pierced that moment in the day
when quiet was about to fall
into the terror of the storm.
[This poem was inspired by a drive north in the middle of a windstorm that uprooted trees, caused multiple accidents, and damaged many areas. This coincided with the U.S. taking military action without approval of congress during a terrible upheaval in the nation.]
More poets can be found at NaPoWriMo.net
On the seventh day of the fourth month of (yet another) year.
It was too little
and > >it was too much.
It came too soon, too late;
too late, too soon.
Too little too late, too much too soon are more often bemoaned,
Too much too late, too little too soon
just as bad, in an inverse way?
Why, when, wherefore (having so recently seen another Shakespearean tragedy…) &emdash;>
How are we to measure, or judge, or distinguish
from that lie
and that moment
from this time?
The time flying past like a magpie in the story, catching up the wish
to carry it home.
Somewhere, it will all make sense again.
I will stay until the wind changes,
said Mary Poppins to the children.
Like Mary Poppins, I came when the wind was right.
And when the wind changes, I must go.
The life that is torn between service to this cause
and that person
is a life of pilgrimage;
wandering as need and opportunity are exposed.
Today, I am here.
This moment, I am present to you.
Let’s see where the wind takes us.
Hundreds of miles from home
I am home again
with my grandfather
walking the streets
past the bookstores and
ice cream parlor
past the little shops and
around the park
Home again with my grandfather
When I am with my grandfather, I am home.
More NaPoWriMo poetry can be found at the website.