The Shepsky Pup
And Poems of Autumn Rain
This first poem is a tribute to my fabulously dear pup Felix. He will be just two years old sometime in late December.
I’ve called him a shepsky (German Shepherd x Siberian Husky), but I’m certain that is an oversimplification. Some of his traits likely come from a healthy infusion of Australian Cattle Dog and other assorted ancestors. In any case, he is, in his way, a perfect friend with a sage heart.
It must have been God Almighty
Who invented the idea
Of a twenty-three month old Shepsky pup:
The insatiable affection,
With just enough experience to use those eyes
And an accompanying pathetic tail-quiver
To melt me irretrievably,
And no compunction at all about using them;
The bounding energy
Which would require an archangel to keep up with;
An utter assurance that his front paws
And about two thirds of his sixty-odd pounds
Belong on my lap
In place of this keypad
On which I am writing about him…
Please pardon me a moment…
Am back now—
Thank you for your patience…
An imagination that can render
A largish rock into a rabbit,
Or is it a cow?
To be chased, herded, sent to earth
Under sofa cushions,
Which he refuses to comprehend
Do not belong on the floor;
But also able to understand
The peculiar potency of lying still
And fixing me with beautifully imperative gaze
To which he affixes his latest request;
An increasing capacity to slow down
Just enough to sit when I ask him,
Despite a whirlwind’s flurry of circles and paws
A moment before;
And especially, especially,
A certainty that enormous hugs
Will cure most of what is wrong in the world–
“Group hug,” we say,
And he snuggles into our arms,
Standing on two legs like the rest of us.
“Group hug for Felix.”
He knows better:
He knows it’s for all of us.
This haiku describes a common garden scene I enjoy.
Atop the fence post
the quail looks at the garden:
round gray finial.
We’ve had some precipitation recently—hurray! It inspired the three poems which follow.
As night grows darker
even the rain goes tiptoe,
still I hear its steps
I wrote this haiku at sundown as the clouds cleared after a day of sporadic rainfall.
the pale ghosts of rain
pass silently overhead
as day dies also
After the Rain
I love the mist that comes after the rain,
When the light is cuddled close to earth,
When the breath of the clouds is moist on leaves
That sigh in their sleep or wake to sing
That the earth is glad and the light is young,
That the kiss of the clouds is deep and sweet,
That the gray of the mist is rich as gold
That falls from the sun and makes all new.
The autumn mist has made all new.
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