Rainbow Bridge
Loping through the grass
That loving gaze trips my heart
Bright pink tongue lolling
Of Wolves
We’ve squashed you
to suit our whims,
replaced wild ugly with
domestic ugly, the kind
that makes you shiver
and gives you gout.
And yet you still yap,
still howl as if cued.
Even if your noses
have been shrunk,
even if you’re chained
to laps and purses,
if you cannot give birth
without being cut open,
your ancestors were not
completely bred out.
Mango (hour 11, 7:01pm)
Her smile haunts my dreams.
When told to stay, she came;
when told to stop,
she would turn toward you,
and let you know, that yes;
she will save you.
She never cried,
knew when to stand her ground,
and knew when to move
to another place,
nearer to me.
There was never a one
whose bravery was shown
in a more concise and miraculous way.
She was proud,
yet humble.
Quiet, but could startle me
with the depth of her voice.
She never cried,
even when the cancer
was everywhere.
I thought she had
a sprained ankle,
but the vet, fresh out of school,
came in with tears,
holding the thin film
in her hand.
Her lungs were filled
with a vileness brought on
by years with smokers,
hacks, and bums.
I don’t believe in “rainbow bridges”
and the term irritates me.
Mango was love.
She was pure, sweet,
love.
What a gift.
What a priceless,
tender, gift.
Six…
Longingly, Lovingly, Angrily he cast his intense eyes upon her…
…his fluffy white feline frenemy.
Laughing and pointing at him in his human coat, she purrrrred and danced naked as the light changed and cold crept in amongst them.
Who is laughing now? He chuffed as she shivered all wrapped inside her tail, glaring back at him.
Ice~blue eyes narrowing as he sauntered away toasty warm but alone, headed for home. She slowly began to follow him…
Knowing those big ears of his could hear her, they both grinned.
It was going to be a good night.
# 11 poetry marathon: Dog Diary
Daybreak walk
sniffing and seeking spot for feculenceLunch
inside inattentive and waiting
Alas!
Time for catch
running, playing
could be outside all day!
Alack!
He/She must stop and so must I.
I curl up on top of a pillow and fall asleep.
Sweet four legged dreams!
Dixie
Her soft brown eyes melted at the sign of her boy
Her nub tail would shake the couch if you held her toy,
but one day, the door was left open and she ran
I doubt the driver saw her, just a slick flash of tan
he found her in the road where she laid to die,
halfway home, facing the house, and he cried.
Hour 10 — Autobiography of a Face
I am a face
Being a face is not your everyday business
There are a lot of responsive responsibilities involved
We serve as a primary identification
for our bearers (or carriers)
For example, my bearer-person is known to be happy
When I stretch my underlying musculature
to display the ‘smile’ expession
with situation-appropriate intensity, of course
We primarily communicate using
our lexicon of available expressions
Universally understood, yet inherently unique
What sets us apart (and brings us together) is the fact that
We can only know ourselves by reading
the expressions on one another
Facial aberrations make us unique
and serve as identification triggers
(Which is why we faces have a deep respect
for the old and wise Morgan Freeman
God bless his freckles!)
My bearer-person has an askew nose
And clumpy eyebrows
His friend has a faint wart on his jaw
When I smile at ‘Warty’, his face smiles back at me
My greatest fear is the mirror room
Like in that Bruce Lee movie
Or in those godawful changing rooms at the mall
with mirrors on every wall
I can’t bear the notion of one bearer-person having
Infinite clone faces with their features reversed
Being a face is not easy these days
There’s too much reputation at stake
You have to face things, or fear losing face
I yearn to reach the age of facial freedom
Which is when your bearer-person becomes old
And we become so wrinkled, we essentially become
Invisible and faceless
NO WORDS TODAY
HOUR ELEVEN
POEM # 11
24 HOUR
POEM
MARATHON
NO WORDS TODAY
Where are my words today?
Strange I have nothing to say.
My mind a blur and a blank,
No reason to stop at the bank.
I’m silent and unable to speak,
Sit in my chair hear it squeak.
Is this the end of my rhyme?
Words finally run out of thyme!
Have my words decided to rest?
Were they 100% my very best?
Words flowed when I rambled,
Now jumbled and scrambled.
Do I pay for even one thought?
For words bargained or bought?
Anyone got one gigantic hint?
Has my words run out of print?
Could this be the absolute end?
No words left to give or send
Please show me what to do.
Write words for me and you.
Written by Carl Mann
The kurlman
6-13-2015
The Screen Door
The screen door was standing in its place
Right there between the inside and out
Transparent for the most part
Standing in the kitchen
I could only see a portion of the porch
But also the wide expanse of the yard
There was an occasional breeze blowing through the screen
Making its way to the windows
Banking the far wall
The stillness when it was absent
Was warm and humid
Clinging to all of us in the old farm house
I knew that the screen was guarding us
From flies and biting pest
Who were waiting for prey in the dusk of evening
But I longed to breathe fresh air
So I swung it on its hinges
Letting it bang
The 8th hour
We need Jesus for reasons we don’t always understand.
We need His character to teach us to lend a helping hand.
If we were born selfless and full of unconditional love,
We wouldn’t need His Holy Spirit, Divine intervention from above.
If we had all the answers then we wouldn’t need to trust.
If we had a clean heart, it wouldn’t be filled with greed, hate and lust.
If we could save ourselves there’s no need for sacrifice on the Cross.
If we did not have Free Will, we would not be so lost.
You see there’s choice, course and consequence
For which there’s only One acceptable recompense.
We are shaped in inequity and born into sin.
We need The Lord Jesus, we need to be Born Again!