Ode to a Dog Show

Patience and young Swede William

 

This Labor Day Weekend I joined Patience and our waggle of whippets on the maiden trip in our motor home to the dog shows in Amana, Iowa.  The experience reminded me of something I wrote after my last dog show - the Eastern Specialties in Atlanta GA in 2005.

Ode to a Dog Show

 Here I sit, pen in hand

Somewhere in Atlanta land

Looking at this page with dread

Just as empty as my head

Dogs and people prancing ‘round

One’s a canine, one’s a clown

All their faces etched with hope

Until they hear the judge’s “nope”

Which quickly sends them on their way

…but tomorrow is another day, and

all the nopes can’t dash the hopes

Atlanta, Sept. 05

MY BOOKS part II

HERE I SIT #1

Here I sit with pen in hand,

Dreaming of the Promised land.

Unfettered days of my design,

To do the work I claim as mine.

But then I wonder-as here I sit,

Will this be more of the same old shit?

Alas, for me, only time will tell,

As sure as this line rhymes with hell.

The days pass by with their silent dreams,

Ever faster, or so it seems.

Can I withstand so much unknown,

Till we reach our new Kentucky home?

12-01

HERE I SIT #2

Here I sit, pen still in hand,

Hoping for that promised land.

I knew it once, so long ago,

When lines and verses would come and go.

Where once the muses made their home,

My spirits sag as now they roam.

I left that place, or did it leave me?

So now I sit , to wait and see.

2003

AN ARTIST'S LAMENT

We are all idiots, idiots we are,

Sometimes I wonder how we’ve gotten this far.

On roads of trust and paths of glory,

Working hard to tell our story.

We build our lives on hopes and dreams,

Achieving some, or so it seems.

But are there choices for you and me,

As we strive to claim our destiny?

Does it matter, do we care,

As we follow our dreams everywhere?

Sometimes we’re up, sometimes out,

From affirmation to relentless doubt.

Why go this way, for goodness sake?

There must be other paths to take!

2003

Journey in words

MY ART

I cannot describe what I feel when hose first washes of color and lines are placed on the paper, and the subject begins to take form.

It becomes – it simply becomes – and I am an intricate and vital part of that becoming. I am part of the birth of that image, an image that will eventually be seen by another.  Perhaps they will be able to share in that becoming when some part of their life, and a memory, or feeling, tucked quietly away somewhere will be awakened.

And their life, for a brief moment, will be linked to mine.

6/80

FOR ME

Who would know my dreams, my fears

All the hopes through all the years

My rooms, my spaces, large and small

Would anyone really care, at all

Books and journals, neat and tattered

Which in my time were all that mattered

An empty pen, long since gone dry

That in its time kept my

World of dreams and aspirations

Bound in notes and illustrations

When I depart for who knows where

Will anybody really care

About all the things I cherished so

And with great reluctance, let them go

2/21/78

I AM NO ONE HERE

I AM NO ONE HERE

  

I call my name

And no one hears

The song began so long ago

I heard it once

And did not know

How clear the clouded dreams

Seen only by the blinded heart

Or so it seems

Soft and gently across my soul

Outrageous winds

Continually roll

We claim the mystery that is ours

As despair retreats

Before silent tears of joyous hours

1984