Diving With Osprey

[PClem]

Thanks, Emilio.

The Village (an almost found poem)


Welcome to the Village -
where 26,000 acres are filled with forest and golf courses.
Where half our residents are located in a dry county and half in wet.
Where all find the local grocery amenable,
stocked 2/3 foodstuffs and household goods, 1/3 alcohol.
Where the local paper’s police report is replete with complaints
of the golf ball stealing fox.
Where in the editorial page the woman
from Maricopa County Arizona announces having bought
property in said development, demands
to know Property’s intentions to keep her safe,
whereas, she believes in ISIS’ intention to infiltrate.
Where are the plans to seal the perimeter,
to prevent terrorists from infiltrating the forest.
Where the proof that these people won’t purchase
homes for bomb making purposes?
Wherefore, she would like to suggest
real estate agents be trained in profiling, perhaps
random searches of homes?
Whereas, the man, formerly from Kansas, replies,
“M’am, your concerns and suggestions are admirable,
but why stop there? Let me suggest
strip searching residents at the gates, enclose
our community in razor wire,
landmines on the golf courses and let’s not forget
our well trained militia aka the lawn bowlers.
Where the debate begins over raising fees
for the bomb sniffing dogs.

[PClem]

What Old Dogs Teach


My dogs teach me everything I need
to learn about old age.


My house is an infirmary between islands
that we cannot traverse. Marooned


from different causes, same results -
a bilateral hip surgery, a vestibular disorder,


floors tip and slide. I can’t tell if this ache
is my own or sympathy. Hope tips


as a scale weighted with fool’s gold
from one side to another. Who knows


which side holds more value,
the one that wakes each morning,


patient, resigned, inventing signs
of progress or the one who stares


for minutes, avid and convinces herself
that sleeping dog no longer breathes.

[Bench]

Loving this thought provoking thread. Particularly liked the deer's stages of decay, reminding me of someone's decline in a hospice. It must be different in the States. Around here, you hit a deer, and someone has taken it home for the pot before you get back from the shops.

[5th column]

Hi! A couple of lovely moments in Dogs: My house is an infirmary between islands / that we cannot traverse and I can’t tell if this ache
is my own or sympathy. Add to that a rather nice conclusion and you have a winner.

[Jee Leong]

A fine final image in the last poem. I've never had a dog, but my ex did, and he looked at his aging dog as in a mirror.

[Mike M]

I love the little turn at the end. The great last line of "What Old Dogs Teach." (I think new parents do that - stare at the breathing, to be sure it continues; convince themselves it doesn't.) The whole last stanza of the unoccupied left hand: "Shake shake, lesser sister the tipsy
margarita, tap dance on the back
of the hymnal, hang loose."

That.

[mukehx]

I like the abrupt ending. You do really well to highlight the difference between death and presence

[Donner]

Hi, Laurie,

I'm very partial to Pine Siskins, we have flocks of them here. (So is my cat. He appreciated them as manna when I read him your poem.) I love the cake poem, I think it's my favorite. As short a poem as it is, I'd rethink some of the line breaks in "Red-bellied", at L2 and L8 in particular. "The Village" made me laugh, the "Deer" gave me a perspective I've never considered and the trouble with dogs (and cats, for that matter) is that they age far faster than we do, causing us to grieve over and over.

I hope you finish, NaPo isn't NaPo without you and your insightful words.

Donner

[M]

Laurie,

So sorry to hear about your doggies. They become part of your family. Almost lost one this summer, and it wrecked us all. I hope they're ok. Enjoyed your thread so far, as I knew I would. In the first one: "Cause unknown, perhaps it forgot/how to fly"...very good. The Great Cake Experience was fun and frustrating at the same time. And I also, now, want cake. The deer poem was aptly disturbing and beautiful. Loved some of the line breaks and this part was heart stopping:

She confesses, I too have eaten flesh -
once, I pretended it was only infant
grasses; I snatched two nestlings on the ground.
The crunching of small bones excited me.

"infant/grasses" was superb, and I could hear "the crunching of small bones". My favorite, so far, was Left-Sided Neglect. I've given it several reads, and it somehow makes me feel taken for granted and then empowered every time. I never thought I would say "I can relate to a left hand", but. That's what good poetry does, I guess. "What Old Dogs Teach" -- each couplet stands well, making a strong statement. "My house is an infirmary between islands/that we cannot traverse. Marooned" was perfect, and "I can't tell if this ache is my own or sympathy. Hope tips" speaks so much.

Best wishes to you and your fur babies. I hope to see you back soon. Donna is right...this experience is not the same without you.

[Dunc]

Laurie

Love the question in Left-sided Neglect and your counsel to left hands everywhere.

Deer is wittily grim, though it must be a warm climate to get through the beast in under a week.

The Village drew a wry smile. I've met those people.

Old Dogs — ah, it happens to us all, dogs or not. Let's hope we're as didactic when the time comes.

Regards / Dunc

[Acolyte]

"Deer"'s prey pun set me achuckle. "The Village" is filled with voices I hear too much these days. "What Old Dogs Teach" begs a larger reference to the old saw ("can't teach...") and oozes physical and heartache. The final question is one I don't know the answer to, myself. *hug* Looking forward to however more pieces grace allows.

[PClem]

Thank you everyone. I plan to finish, maybe limping along. So much this month. Just got rid of company, now we leave for vacation tomorrow for a few days. Hopefully, that means writing time. The dogs are both doing great! Pippin had his first nature walk tonight! Short, but very sweet.

This row


you set me to
with only this hoe,
is a crooked path
on a hill, no
it’s a fuckin’ mountain,
the goddamn Himalayas,
the snow packed three meters deep,
rocks treacherous beneath. It’ll take
a dozer, a backhoe, a jackhammer,
every cuss word I can muster
to sow this plot.
I’ll leave you
to reap.



Why I Love Driving AR5


The guy who guns it
on the curve to pass
on the double yellow line
and gets stuck behind
a logging truck.


In Spring, the turkeys,
in Fall the deer, who know
why they cross the road
and what they find
on the other side or sometimes
in the middle of the road.
We will try to swerve
and watch. Silly birds,
silly deer. They look
like us in love.


The yellow house that falls
apart alongside the road in Crows,
board by board it disappears.


The farmer’s pond and the deluges -
the race to outrun the slow edge
toward the road in a thunderstorm.


The ever-changing trees that remake
the rooms of the road
as though bored with green,
they need a splash of red, now and then
compensate with muted tones of gray.


The hush of fog, the thoughtfulness of dusk.

[M]

I'm so glad you're back!!! And very happy to hear that the dogs are ok.

The end of this row is perfect.

And AR5 makes me want to go for a scenic drive. The house that disappears one board at a time is great, and I love the idea of trees being bored of green.

[PClem]

Thanks, M. Still working tonight to get caught up. Won't get there but there will be less to day down the road. Hopefully, I can write on the road and fluff on my phone

On Trend

Flicker, they say you dress
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[5th column]

In Trend: the gift you don't unwrap until the last line.