Small
in a vast world,
& aware of her diminutive size
No bravado here
Alert & wary
Yet ready to trust
when approached with
patience & kindness.
We’ve all been her.
— C.Birde, 5/24
Small… — A Poem
Departure — A Poem
Run, run, run
run free,
unfettered by mortality’s
pale restraints as,
when first we met,
you ran,
Electron made flesh
in four fleet paws that,
for seventeen years,
obliged earth’s gravity
in jovial orbit.
Run, run, run
run free with yip &
click & jingle, & leave us,
dear Josie,
to the heartbreak
& surreality of your
departure.
— C.Birde, 10/22
Little Dog Walks — A Poem
Near
the stop sign’s
scarlet flare,
our feet
in a depth
of green,
green
grass
Patient –
sensing,
feeling,
recollect-
ing steps –
we stand
& wait for
the sweep
of Autumn’s
mournful
wings
to p a s s.
— C.Birde, 9/22
Snow Dog — A Poem
— C.Birde, 2/21
Dog-o-Logue — An Ode
Stroke my ears
and speak to me
in praiseful tone
of my abundant
canine virtues,
And I will grin,
and wag,
and tilt my head
— just so —
in attendant
dog-o-logue.
— C.Birde, 12/19
Dogging — A Poem
She dogs
(literally)
my heels.
Small paws click
across the floor
in hopes of telltale sign
(she reads between
the lines)
of her aim.
We could walk forever
(figuratively)
and not satisfy
her need
to explore those clumps
of grass and slants of
broken curb we’ve visited
before.
I understand —
habituated to routine and
self-made grooves,
I am grateful of her insistent,
pleading
(anthropomorphized…?)
stare.
At leash’s end,
she leads me
(freely)
out,
around,
and everywhere.
— C.Birde, 6/19
Josie — An Image
Canine
in image
is L A R G E R
than actual
size.
— C.Birde, 8/18
Capriccio — A Poem
tiktik
tika
tik –
Staccato click
of claws
on gravel, grass, stone.
Clink and jingle
of tags,
oval and oblong;
steel burnishing
brass.
Metronomic wag
of tail.
Four fleet feet,
a scant ten pounds,
she sets a lively pace
and pulls me
— up —
the MoUnTaIn.
— C.Birde, 9/17
SunDog — A Poem
That space —
just inside
the side door —
splashed with
January light…
Enough to lure
both cat and dog
to vie for
possession
of its gradually
narrowed wedge,
its bone-filling
memory,
of warmth.
— C.Birde, 1/17
Dog Tail — A Poem
There was a little dog
who had a curl of tail
right at the base of her spine.
And when she was bad
she was naughty as could be
But when she was good, she was just fine.
She enjoyed a good long walk —
up the mountain, round the block —
where’ere her pointed paws might wander.
And when she had found
some curiosity,
that curl of tail would still, that she might ponder.
All chores she would attend
in unrelenting fashion —
from window, porch and door and garden.
But come evening’s fall,
darkness pressed to every pane,
The nearest lap she’d seek to curl that tail in.
–C.Birde
(With apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
