Tag Archives: Dog

Moon at Midnight – Part IX (day 1983)

(part VIII)

That first night Amy put an extra serving
Of stew on for me
With the most delicious dumplings I’ve had
This side of the Mississippi
And a most rare treat of cookies
I couldn’t say no to
As we ate, Clarinet’s big eyes
Kept finding me and we’d laugh and giggle
For I wasn’t used to strangers, either!

I did not have any of Frank’s ferments
That he had made himself
And was quite proud of
I had sworn off any alcohol
Since the devil had taken Emma, my sister,
Off with her and a shotgun
But this I didn’t tell ol Frank
Too kind of a man he was.

As dawn broke, I was already awake
I had elected to sleep outside
Beside their fire pit
Keeping a low fire going for most of the night
That affording me some enjoyable heat
And kept the dogs close
I was eager to see more of their spread
Which I think Frank picked up on,
Showed me his garden,
They had two sheep and one goat
The goat they said was a wedding present
From Amy’s parents
And two good looking quarter horses
He was very proud of.

We decided that the best thing I could help them with
Was to help fall two cedars
And buck and chop for the oncoming winter
They were already quite prepared
But I could see that Frank was a smart man
And knew what needed to be done
When somebody was asking what could be done.

At first we used his two-man saw
That must have been two meters long
To cut down the carefully selected trees
You don’t really know the sound of a falling tree
Until you’ve stood on the ground that shakes
When one of those silent giants falls
The two that we picked were about
Sixty cm in diameter
And with Frank’s well kept saws
We had the both of them on their sides
Within half an hour
For the rest of the first two days we made our way
Up and down the trees
First cutting off all the branches
Then bucking everything into
Thirty cm rounds
It took the better part of the next three days
To chop the rounds into
What could then be used in Amy’s warm oven.

part X

Ode to Autumn (day 1931)

When I was a little lad
I can remember quite vividly
How I’d run around in wool:
Jackets, mittens, and a toque.
Rosy cheeks would rush between
Piles of raked leaves
Exploding as a shaggy dog may
Tongue half way to the ground.
I remember putting my nose
Pressed right to the ground,
Smelling dirt and grass
And observing in minute detail
Leaves turning from green to brown
Crackle them along veins
Once so vibrant, so alive, fresh
Now so similar to the dirt
Squished between my fingers.
Bugs, beetles..
Busy in the dizzying mirth
Of all such decay.
Here, I would stay,
Madly fascinated with stacked flower pots
Textures of clay now everywhere!
From where did they come?
Every Autumn was fun,
Preparation everywhere,
Chopped logs and canning jars,
Hockey sticks and Halloween,
Snow banks and toboggan pulls.
I can remember the dying sun.

Wrinkled Saddle (day 1818)

I am a story of now
Without apathy of indecision.
I am a garden in blossom,
Peak of the trail,
Midnight and stardust,
Lover yet exhausted.
My pages are wrinkling
Which I’m slowly flipping,
My saddle worn upon
A horse well ridden,
Dog companion,
And my decision.

Shack in the Mountains (day 1723)

Left my heart up in the mountains
I’ll need a shovel to get it back
One too many lonely days
Without a warm gunnysack.

Had a song bird on my deck
Whistling a tune I’d never heard
Sent for a fine six string guitar
Came back with an ol’ banjo.

Went off in the meadow with my lover
She had on a little backpack
Got stuck in a swamp with little booties on
Came out with her bare feet black.

Oh, troubles around every corner
Whether you’re looking back or not
Creek still runs, dog still laps
And I’ve gone back to my lonely shack.

Lights In the Park (day 1568)

Where I come from, wounded soldiers are hid behind shadows and only come out at night when small dogs are being walked by wobbling, aging men wearing the same thing they’ve worn for 20 years. The leash, however, fits just as it should. I wonder, rather curiously, what sports or video game they’re missing as they pull the mutt home.

When I sit and stare at the business, it rolls by in a drawl so thick, screaming girls in stretch limos seem normal down city streets where younger hip dudes with Chuck Taylors on discard the evening’s steaming pile of dog shit into an overflowing disposal bin painted green.

Lights on a distant sports building shift through the lower half of the color spectrum, causing the young girls white dog to turn a more rusty yellow. I try not to look at her puppy while she ruffles the poop bag. Young white boys talking in a foreign tongue park their father’s white suburban in a permit required zone and pass their joint around as if it’s their first nudie magazine at summer camp.

I sit silently, sipping on my micky of Sailor Jerry’s and pretend there’s nobody I’m thinking of and somebody to walk home to. I left the light on beside the bed to give off some sort of impression anyways. 

20150912 - Ned Tobin - 1

Dog (day 1547)

Your dog is alone,
I’ve watched it there for some time
Helplessly humoring passing strangers
Who stop and speak English to it
Like it’s an infant,
Also unable to understand
But slightly more irritable. 
I am unable to really feel the pain
Your poor dog must feel tied there,
Bowing – sitting – to other’s commands
And letting unknown humans
Stroke their pampered hair
With greasy fingers,
Who knows where they’ve been!
What choice does it have?

A Proper Man’s Time (day 1381)

Darker abstracts of our life
Face open windows
When calms begun once again.

In a proper man’s time
There’s a short road to freedom,
In a proper man’s time
A line’s lost in old wisdom.

Could the full moon retreat life,
Could it catch hold of time?
When the blinds keep a blowin’.

In a proper man’s time
There’s a short road to freedom,
In a proper man’s time
A line’s lost in old wisdom.

Old dog’s been here resting
Against the old wooden door.
Got his head in the sunlight,
Open window no more.

image

Duke (day 1367)

Dear George,

I watched the twins go back and forth on the swings today,
It kind of made me feel sea-sick, like when I used to go high.
I remember it was always funner competing
Against my brother or sister to see
Who could go highest.
Did you jump off at the end?
Perhaps that’s why my feet get sore sometimes now.

Could you ever have dreamed we’d both have twins
When we’d first met?
How we’ve both become family people now.
I like the family though, my small bit of world
I’ve nurtured around me.
It’s different then a close knit group of friends
All keenly interested and active in each other’s lives,
But I’m influential all the same, and I like the closeness
We all have regularly. My whole world.
Do you also get this feeling with yours?

Duke, our little fox terrier is getting quite old now.
Do you remember when we first got him?
I was looking at the photographs of him
As a puppy the other day, so cute.
He sits and comes when called,
And when we go for a walk he’s always very obedient.
He gets along with the kids so well.
I hate to think of life without Duke, but we must brace for it a bit.

Hope you’re well George,
We all look forward to your visit this summer.

Sincerely,

Julie.

Lout (day 1139)

Don’t panic
We’ve got the hizy-hizzy heazy
Flushing down these knees
Lay it low
Like a mother-fucking flow
And come
With me
A while

Now the story here
Is about a lout
A grease so green
A log so dense
A steam to cream
The dogs always howl
The moon always cries
The birds and the bees
Are all lost in the trees

You see, the grease is a man
That scares all the dimes
A long overdue
21 gun salute
An ulcer in my throat
A never ending torrent
Dead grass wilting my boat

But I’m an undercover agent
A toonie-two balcony
Who takes the first initiative
To catch the best of them
So I’ve found the skeezy
With my mother-fucking prerogative

I built a nice and cozy
6 foot comforter
An uncles intelligence
And my pure brilliance
To take this fucker
This leach of an innocent
To that: a rat
To nibble on the little
Toes of
The mother-fucking rest of him
The lout, the host
Is in the grave.

My Land | Chapter I (day 1124)

There I would rush around the stone well, the little arch covering darkness and holding a squeaky bucket as it slips. I glide as the dog snarls, hovering just far enough away because it knows what’s good for it.

A deck chair squeaks back and forth like the broken weather vane whispering from the roof. I eye it slowly as sun peaks over my mystery horizon and look around for a glass to quench my thirst. Sometimes a savage I must be.

Small herds of livestock check their watches against the consistency of the grass, it’s not easy being a rambling herd. Especially in these dry times of year, especially with the river running so low.

My spurs rang through the air like the hot sun stung, not a soul around this dry place.

Cursing, I sat down at the weathered kitchen table; a hard seat and cold beans. A window and dusty particles distracting my angel heart, because I am here to love and the long coat isn’t my true calling.

I tracked like the Cheyenne, a good ghost. I could find a trail on a rock boulder. The wind spoke to me as it washed over the vista, and I was a good long shot.

[note: to read the full epic track my land]

Post Navigation