SOME POEMS <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

These are little poemlets of some animals I have and have had. They were little exercises --I wanted to see if I could capture their personalities in as few words as possible. Cassidy, Combat, and Lucy, are guinea pigs. KoKo is a lhasa apso mix and Reggie is a pekinese/welsh corgi mix. Groucho was my sweet potbelly pig, who now lives at the Potbelly Piggie Bank, a local ranch with lots of other little piggies for him to play with.

MY BEASTIES

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Cassidy, Combat, and Lucy

Sprightly little bricks
Without a front or back.
Out-of-tune accordians
Played by jolly jacks.
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KoKo

A wet slop, a cold slap,
A dust mop in my lap.
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Reggie

A mighty ogre, one foot tall,
If he can catch it, eats the ball!
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Groucho

An operatic baritone
Sings for meals and sleeps all day.
A plow, a shovel, tank, and pillow,
Rules the roost with a megaphone.

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I belong to a Poetry Society called "Word Weavers". We meet once a month in the conference room of the Globe Public Library. Every once in a while, our President, Pat Blanco, gives us an assignment or exercise to give us practice writing different kinds of poetry. Dylan Thomas invented a poetry form called a "Diamond", where the first line of the poem has one syllable, the second has two syllables, and so on down to the middle line which has 10 syllables; then you reverse the order so that the next line has nine, then eight, until you are back to one syllable in the last line. This was my response to that exercise, and is called "Lady: A Day In the Life of a Dog", written about a dog I had at the time. It was fun to write, I hope you enjoy reading it. (This is the only poem I've ever had published -- it appeared in the local newspaper.)

The
good dog
lies resting
in the warm sun,
panting softly, spent.
Content, she looks around
her scent-filled world, sleepy
after her spritely morning's run.
I see her twitch in lively dreaming,
chasing again the squirrel she had flushed
from under that manzanita bush.
Now she wakes and stretches, lazy,
scratches at a flea, and seems
to have no stressing care.
The day is finished,
the sun has set.
It's time for
dinner,
rare.

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The following poem is one of my favorites. It's Free Verse, and I like the sounds of the words and the imagery, particularly. I also like the various rhythms in the lines and it's best enjoyed read aloud. I said the above poem is the only one I've had published, but that's not quite true. This poem was printed in the Word Weavers' brochure, along with a few other poems by members.

BRIGHT, DARK GREEN

A field of bright, dark green grass.
   Waist high, needle-thin blades.
      Supple and crisp to the touch,
         They give not at all to the breeze.

White, three-cornered flowers
   with centers of red
      perch on the tops of long stems 
         like butterflies scattered
            by the hand of a child.

Clear blue sky and a dragon in the clouds,
   The scent of new-cut hay.
      In absolute silence
         a bird song is felt,
            the breeze stirs the air with a sigh.

A haven of solitude or garden of joy.
   A respite from life's glare.
      Somewhere to go whenever I want --
         the bright, dark green fields of fantasy.

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