Monday, August 29, 2016
Thursday, August 25, 2016
There’s little that’s haphazard in my day:
It’s patterned tightly, like this sonnet’s form,
Proceeding in a regimented way,
All things accommodating to a norm.
And yet in this, a paradox is found
That by this seeming onerous constraint
I am more liberated than I’m bound
Can I but show the patience of a saint.
For form inspires versatility
And leads me where I wouldn’t think to go,
Discovering what waits in latency,
Making as yet un-thought ideas flow,
Which now this sonnet newly demonstrates
While this phenomenon it contemplates.
Monday, August 15, 2016
You’ll never see Doc Martin flash a smile:
The best his visage registers is grim.
He might tell you it’s an excess of bile
Or just his disposition to be prim.
So how Louisa fell for him is hard
To fathom, though his rectitude appeals;
He’s quite the opposite of Abelard
And of the sort who rather thinks than feels.
And yet, his diligence and rectitude,
Apparent in each weekly episode,
Are recompense enough for his being rude
And for the bristly brusqueness of his mode.
Though he’s a hero who is clearly flawed,
After each episode you’ll still applaud.
Sunday, August 14, 2016
GYPSY AND TIGGY
Our two dogs have their special traits and ways,
Quite different, and yet compatible:
Tiggy is the one who frisks and plays,
While Gyp, the elder girl, prefers to mull,
Her chin on her front paws, lounged in a chair;
And yet they’re best of buddies—except when
I’m tossing them some treats for both to share,
Which I soon found I shouldn’t do again—
“Food before friends,” I quickly learned, is true,
An ancient jungle rule that still applies.
But otherwise, there isn’t much ado,
Not games as, say, two kittens might devise.
We think of them as children, much adored,
While they of us: M’lady and M’lord.
Saturday, August 13, 2016
MORNING RITUAL WITH DOGS
First off, it’s running to the yard to pee,
And then begins the hunt for errant squirrels
Who wait for nuts I toss abundantly,
To the delight of our two frisky girls.
And Tiggy, though she knows that I have treats
Appropriate for her, prefers the nuts
And rather’d keep the squirrels from their own eats
By scampering after their fleet fuzzy butts.
Then they come in and eagerly await
The Greenies and the Jumbones I hand out,
Which usually aren't quite enough to sate
Their appetites, so I’ll soon hear a shout.
“All right, all right, you girls—just one more each.”
They’re glad to know I’ve learned what they’ve to teach.