Dog Poem I
What should we think of dogs?
Should we regard their exuberances as misplaced?
Why all the fuss over me, I think, as I fuss over him
and his simple repertoire of expressions that never get old.
Does he not teach me more than I teach him?
For what indifference the holy dog has to success!
He treats equally the experience of the squirrel
who daily frustrates and taunts him,
as that of the postman-burglar
whose nefarious activies are e'er thwarted!
Dog Poem II
They say big dogs don't live as long as small dogs
And there are those calculating fools
Who take that into account
And seek to limit their lifetime quantity of heartache
as if they actually pretended to believe
the heresy that all dogs are the same.
Chancellors of the realm,
They stand thrice a human's height,
grandeured old men groved
in long-standing meetings
discussing weighty matters
such that their piney limbs
droop or soar depending on their mission.
In spring they alight with candles on each bough,
bright lights of irridescent green
limbs aglow like fireflies--
though constant and steady
like the annointing of Baptism.