I've had such good comments on my dog posts that I'd like to keep them coming, so I'm trying out an idea I've been stirring around awhile in my head, or rather the stock pot in my head. (I almost wrote "stock poet"! )
Three years ago when I visited Iron Station Elementary School, I stood before a lunchroom full of K through second graders, seated on the floor, chirping like little birds until the teachers made them hush so that I could being my "presentation." But what in Dog's name was it going to be! I was terrified. Please, Dog, throw me a lifeline, and He did. Ask them about their pets! So I did. What are their names? Up shot the hands. We spent quite a few minutes naming our dogs and cats and then I read a poem, which one I now can't remember. I took some of their pets' names and began riffing a little poem on them, which seemed to delight the children. Then the 30 minutes was up! As they filed out, many of them wanted to touch the cowboy boots I was wearing, a gift from my friend doris davenport. Of course I let them, although the teachers were trying to hurry them out as quickly as possible before the 3-5 graders arrived.
So, since we have been talking about our dogs, I'm going to invite you to compose a comment/essay/poem, whatever form it takes, about one of your animals. Furred, feathered, scaled. You name it.
And then I will pick one or two I especially like, share them in a post, and send the writers a copy of one of my books---or a poem I've written especially for the occasion.
8 comments:
Hi, Kay,
Recycling here, something I wrote in '92 (back when some of the dogs slept in the basement rather than the bedroom.) The last three lines "To run" etc should be in italics but I don't know how to do that in a comment.
Full Moon ~ 4:30 AM
In the basement, dogs are restless -
Soft whining, imploring,
Door scratching, demanding,
Surfacing from sleep and warm blankets, I rise,
Push my feet into slippers and stiffly descend steep stairs.
The dogs dance, electric with excitement
As I fumble with the door.
Outside the setting moon illumines fields, woods, hills ...
Bright as night.
My heart swells; unseen fur rises and with it an ancient longing...
To run ... to hunt beneath the moon ...
Paws wet in the dew-crisp grass ...
To see forever...
i don't have a pet poem right now in me but i'm gonna try later and come back but i love your story of how you started engaging with the kids by asking them about their pets. that is so great!
Great idea, Kay. Do you want our submission as a comment or emailed to you? I have some pet stories.
Thank you, Vicki, for that haunting poem! Jessie, looking forward to what you send me--you, too, Glenda. And a few more have been promised.
I wish essays and stories didn't take me so doggone long to write. I have a wee piece I'll send, about Erland the fabulous dachshund.
I'm enjoying the poems! I've e-mailed one of my own and thank you, Kay, for giving me the incentive to get my tribute to "Lady" written.
I apologize if this is too late, or the wrong way to send something. I use this poem with elementary school kids as an activity on organizing lines.
Drama of Life
a clanking rumble
garbage truck
spurs the dog
to leap and growl
dash from door
door to window
huff and stare
bark then cock
angle ears
sniff and bristle
whine and sit
finally curl
in the corner
of the couch
contented with
knowledge that
for this one
more day life
her life
had meaning
I'm coming waaay late to this...but have been enjoying reading your blog during a little retreat time at the beach. Here's a poem I wrote about my friend Suzanne Baldwin Leitner's much-loved doggie during another retreat.
Animal Care
for Bleu
To utter the word, walk,
and see the tips of ears lift,
the furred eyebrows raise,
to open the door
and hear the tread of paw
and click of nail on the steps,
to see the sway of back and haunch
yearning towards the earth, to feel
the dew on sandaled toes
as you follow nose and tail
exploring every clump of grass,
fence post, mailbox stake,
to feel the breeze
against your neck as you move
in and out of patches of shade,
to see the tongue, hear the pant
of breath as you round the corner,
head lifted to the scamper
and pause of squirrel, to hold
the curved strap of leather
in my hand, feel the tug
of desire, to be led forth
into a new morning.
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