Here is another poem about D.B., written in 1983.
Oh! How I love you,
You little ball of fur.
Your little booted feet,
up to your little white chin.
Your long, soft
fur is a comfort
when I’m sad.
Your watchful eyes
help me see clearly
that you love me
as much as I love you.
Though you may
bite and claw me
when you’re mad,
I know you understand
that I love you
and you are me
little kitty-kins.
I just found this yesterday. It is the beginnings of a poem I wrote while sitting in a waiting room, feeling anxious. It was written sometime in late November, early December of 2011. The music in the waiting room is filled with anticipation, like the sound track of a video game on a constant loop….
These two limericks were written in my diary on April 19, 1981. Yes, I am aware they don’t make much sense. 😉 There once was a very cool cot Who was always smoking pot He was so high He thought he could fly But now he is forgot Many people don’t know if Or why…
This poem was written circa 1975. I’d forgotten all about it until my mother called me and told me she wanted to read to me a poem written by a 9-year old girl. When she was done, she asked me if I remembered it. I said it sounded familiar … maybe I’d read it on…
For the past two weeks I’ve been dealing with my dog’s health. She’s been sneezing blood all over the place — a bad combination of high blood pressure and aspirin seemed to cause it. Anyway, I’ve really had blood on the brain lately, thus this somewhat dark haiku for this week. Cleaned gore off the…
Written Feb. 15, 1991. Feed me I’m hungry Hungry for Knowledge Love Understanding Am I a gaping wound or a black hole? The analogy is moot when compared to my hunger my need my desire Help me I’m drowning drowning in an ocean of famine of frustration of possible ignorance You hold the food that…
Written in 1983. I stretch for endless miles. My brethren stretch out beside me. I have many visitors. Yet I am always alone. Bubble gum and cigarette butts on my belly, Dirt on my back, I lie and watch the creatures who forever traverse my stomach. The old lady who pushes a cart Cares about…