PoetryPause Blog – Matthew Ashbrook

Tag: Pets

Last Charm

by on Jun.07, 2012, under Poetry

Four months on the lam,
Though always quite near –
The dog driven by
Trepidation and fear.

She developed her habits
But just out of reach,
And weathered the winter
Like a day at the beach.

Chasing the shadows
That frequent the woods,
The sounds and the smells
As any dog would.

Ever more trusting
As time passed away,
She let down her guard
Then she I betrayed.

Like Judas to Jesus,
Her trust I waylaid
And the light in her eyes
Would soon start to fade.

She entered a doorway
With me standing near,
Opportunity struck,
The doorway she cleared.

I brought the door shut
And secured her in place
While a crestfallen look
Came over her face.

I’ll bear the guilt daily
As she’s kenneled and led
On her wooded walks leashed
Where together we tread.

But she’s safe from the hunters
Who would bring her to harm,
The memory of freedom
Like a bracelet’s last charm.

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Oso’s Sad Tail

by on May.29, 2012, under Poetry

His days of freedom over,
He’s tethered to the deck –
His psyche is effected,
His attitude a wreck.

The warnings are forthcoming
Unaware, he has no fear;
Someone’s going to shoot him,
He’s chasin’ all the deer .

I wander out without him,
He looks as if to cry;
He’s used to travelin’ freely,
He looks and wonders why.

Authorities have warned me,
Don’t let him pass from sight –
The hunters nurture deer growth
And shoot what brings them fright.

Demoralized and saddened,
His eyes tell all a tale –
The dog depressed, defeated,
No longer wags his tail.

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Unbound Hope

by on May.29, 2012, under Poetry

A souvenir hunter,
A scavenger sort,
‘Though ‘coons and opossums
She’s usually thwart.

An assortment of junk
Greets me each day
When returned to my home
From my day spent away.

Little plush toys
And pieces of rope,
A rubber bound gasket
An old telescope.

Vaguely they’re sourced,
For there’s little around –
Just acres of forest
Held up by the ground.

This morning she’s holding
A baby blue shirt,
Laundered and whole
As she sits in the dirt.

A trove of great treasures
Is there to be found
By those who imagine
Untethered or bound.

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Running with Hope

by on May.03, 2012, under Poetry

My dog’s runnin’ wild,
She’s free as a breeze –
She howls in the distance
Through a forest of trees.

Unable to catch her,
Avoidance her gift –
No trust in her master,
A loner adrift.

But she wanders beyond
The home that she claims
And the neighbors are restless,
Their passion enflames.

She’s disturbing their chickens,
Annoying their deer,
Frightening their puppy,
Fed up now, it’s clear.

So it’s off to the vet
For some meds and a way
To drug her to slumber,
Her wandering allay.

To catch her and keep her
In kennels reposed,
Or she’s gonna be killed
With a bullet imposed.

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Dopey Dog

by on Apr.27, 2012, under Poetry

He’s done it again,
You’d think that he’d learn –
He stumbles in pain
And aches when he turns.

A dash from the deck
To jump in the car
Through the hatch in the back
But now he sees stars.

The hatch wasn’t opened
He bounced like a ball –
Careened from the glass
In a haphazard fall.

He possesses two eyes,
He’s clever, not slow;
Anxiety blindness?
I really don’t know.

He gets rather hyped
When it’s time for a ride
And nothing will stop him
From getting inside.

Perhaps he believes
That the will overcomes –
If you see and believe,
Assured it becomes.

But the physics defy
His soul’s inner call –
And the grace of his leap’s
A calamitous fall.

All mothers warn
To look ‘fore you leap –
At motherhood’s wheel,
His mother asleep.

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Night Howl

by on Apr.26, 2012, under Poetry

A howlin’ hound
At two-fifteen –
No way to wake
From sleep serene.

A starless night,
A blackened sky,
A blue tick startled,
Baying cry.

Chasing shadows,
Ruptures night;
All that’s hidden
Chased in flight.

Through the air
In echoes heard
A yowling wail
Most absurd.

An hour lost
Of slumber sweet,
‘TIl she beat
Her own retreat.

No way to wake
From sleep serene –
A howlin’ hound
At two-fifteen.

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Oscoda Woods

by on Apr.15, 2012, under Poetry

The trails are cleared,
The walking is good,
The trees getting dressed
Where naked they stood.

The bramble and weeds
Have taken to green,
The snakes and the toads
Everywhere can be seen.

The dogs both hunting,
Their noses in tune
To the smells of the earth
Where odors cocoon.

An occasional rabbit
Is flushed from the brush
And they lock on the trail
In a howling rush.

Unsettled or spoiled
And good company –
A comfort to creatures,
A comfort to me.

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Feeding TIme

by on Apr.03, 2012, under Poetry

They’re growing restless,
They stir in the field,
They sense the time coming
When their feeder will yield
Some newly flaked hay
From a field of maize
To munch and digest,
Sustaining their ways.

They look toward the house,
They see me within,
I smile and wave,
And soon we’ll begin.
When I’ll don an jacket
Grab apples to go
And head for the field –
They all seem to know.

An internal clock
That runs with the sun,
Sets them in motion
And off they all run
To the gate, to the feeder
Then back to the gate –
Not much they can do
But anxiously wait.

Their focus is certain,
Their countdown began,
The feeders will fill
They’re hooked to the plan.
Creatures of habit,
Creatures inclined
To move with the stars
In rhythms aligned.

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Gamboling Gamble

by on Mar.27, 2012, under Poetry

The blue tick’s no chance
Of surviving a blow
From the hoof of a horse
As anyone knows,
But it doesn’t discourage
Her frisky attacks
On the horses she chases,
All sense clearly lacks.

She howls at their ankles,
Their tails she’ll bite,
They’re a tolerant bunch
Aware of their might.
Twelve hundred pounds
To her forty-five weight,
If she’s kicked in the head
The learning’s too late.

When their patience wears thin,
They’ll turn on the dog
With flailing hooves
Conduct dialogue,
As she scampers for safety,
She’s nimble and quick,
Someday she’ll get careless,
Be struck with a kick.

Then she’ll not be the same,
She’ll be dizzy and dull,
She’ll be walking in circles
From a brain that was culled,
But ‘til that day comes
She’s myopically trained
On the horses afoot,
Unbridled or reined.

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A Dog’s Life

by on Mar.25, 2012, under Poetry

His middle name’s Mischief,
His exploits are known –
With neighbors and strangers
His standing has grown.

But he’s had quite a week,
More exciting than most;
A life to its fullest,
The life he can boast.

He started the week
With a trip to the woods,
Then a storm came a-callin’
With its thundering goods.

Two days on the lam,
No sign could be found
Of a dog that fears thunder –
A fear that’s unbound.

Though a vigil was kept
For his wanted return,
Two days and a night
Soon hope would be spurned.

Then the Sheriff arrived
In an ol’ black and white
The dog ridin’ shotgun,
A welcoming sight.

Eight miles from home,
In a barn he was found,
Curled in a corner,
All safe and he’s sound.

So he’s back for the night,
And peacefully sleeps,
When morning comes ‘round
Out the front door he creeps.

Bounding again
Through the woods with the glee
Of a child unleashed
On a new Gymboree.

But a half hour later
In a panic he’s back
And he’s panting and bleeding
From an unknown attack.

His attention is drawn
To a rear quarter thigh
And I probe around looking
For the hows and the whys.

But all I come up with
Is a handful of blood
That continues to flow
Like Noah’s great flood.

An emergency call
To a vet who is closed
And a meeting arranged,
The wound to expose.

Muzzled and throttled
On the floor he was placed,
Two folks held his head
While his rear the vet cased.

A wound from a gun,
Its pellet enclosed
In a hole in the thigh
Of the dog now reposed.

Shot in the butt
By someone whose taste
Runs counter to canines
So with a gun chased.

An ant-biotic
A pain pill or two,
He’s now on the mend,
He’ll be good as new.

A week of adventure,
To his active life toast –
It’s full speed ahead,
Not a moment to coast.

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