Untitled-The Mississippi

I am a stranger to its nuances

its secrets hidden beneath and at each bend,

but its power calls

its history beckons

as flattened waves caress the muddy shores.

Sailboats astride

power boats along

seventy-eight car freight train adjacent

neighboring bridges opposite

one rusted red-brown while

on its glamorous sister

cars traverse the shining pewter span.

Calming,

resolute

alive

current of two sorts: past and water

gulls screeching

crawfish digging

turtles burying

monarch hovering

eagle soaring.

The Mississippi River.

Written on the banks of the Mississippi in Dubuque, IA 9/09  C

 

Annie, Farewell

 

Annie, you came into our lives

On your one-year birthday

So fearful, so quiet, so timid

Learning the way of family life

And friendship

And joy

From Maxx,

Watching carefully,

Then accepting, loving, no longer hiding.

 

Your favorite days

Were always a run on the beach,

Chasing the birds, the dogs, the spirits

 Us almost losing you on a fog-filled beach in Washington

Our only clue your jingling collar

As we yelled for you in vain, and hope.

 

You have hiked from San Francisco

To Portland

To Sedona

To Chicago

To our neighborhood,

Seeming to smile all the way

The kindest soul I have ever met

Who taught many people to love dogs

Just sitting patiently

Rolling over for a rub,

Stealing a kiss

Never asking,

Always giving.

 

We shall miss your gentle aura

The softness of your fur

You herding us playing baseball or football

Your kind brown eyes

Your patience.

 

Be free

Of your aged body

But your always-young soul,

Find your friend Maxx

Who taught you to love

And be there to lead me

Someday.

 

 

 

 

Written for my wonderful Annie, who we lost just shy of her 17^th birthday. 

5/3/1992-3/26/09

 

Words from a Run

Here is an untitled poem I wrote partially in my head this morning while on a run in my neighborhood.

Crinkly and curled

some hollow, others flattened

coiled into half-letter shapes

C  I   S  L  N

pointing the way from the soaked grass

over the raised curb

and onto the street-

now unable to move further

having escaped their rain-filled holes

they wither, dry out, and die

unable to slide home again

after the storms end.

 

So sorrowful,

oodles of stretched out worms

I aim to avoid

along my pathway.

 

It’s funny, that writing in my head I can never remember the exact words when I transfer them onto paper. But I can certainly still picture the worms I saw today! C