Wolf-Dog

Mostly wolf

he was unlike other dogs,

the fully doggy. He was

wind-woven movement

hunter-quiet through trees, 

cat-contained self-sufficiency,

deep-loving, soul-faithful

but not puppy-exuberant,

not wriggly-jerky hysterical. Never.

His distance-speak

sustained me many months.

We had good mind-talk between us:

we two heart-kin, spirit-friends

who summoned each other

with immediate vision-share

instant thought-meld, the knowing

of the vast, timeless forever-abyss

from which we'd sparked into life-light.

He wasn't my dog; there was

one dearer, skin-close, the friend 

we shared and in our own ways guarded.

It's a long time ago now, 

far-dwindling yet never full-gone. 

Not wholly done, dead-over.

Though he is dead of course,

and our man-friend older,

well happy. He is horse-master now.

Me, I love cats. And we both have known 

some other dogs. We never speak 

of that one, heart-deep, unique.

The night-road, the moon-path

along which he reached me

with loving mind-touch

has taken him elsewhere,

gone in the other direction.

He did return just once

to tell me the way of it,

his death-fall. Though I had already

felt it, from too far away.

Photo Copyright © David Mikulenka 2007. Not to be reproduced in any way without written permission from the copyright owner.

Note: 'Mostly wolf' – he was 75% small timber wolf, 25% domestic dog.

This poem was written for the kenning prompt at 'imaginary garden with real toads'. Kenning is the creation of compound nouns. I have created a few compound adjectives here, too (which seems to be easier) and used some compound nouns which already existed.

Serendipity

April Challenge 24: Use a photo to create a poem.

He comforts me, this little dog
in the picture, big ears cocked
(the sort of ears you need
if you're mostly wolf)
and his eyes fixed on me
quizzical, knowing.

He sits by a set of drums
on the floor of a desert –
white sand and stones,
pale, tangly scrub –
and waits for a word
from his human comrade.

I've had a wild five months!
Old friends ill or troubled,
my marriage uncertain,
my cousin dead. And all that
trouble with my son. I'm glad when
this dog pops up on my desktop.

© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008

27/4/08

Familiars

Small and high and white,
the moon tonight
is full and very bright.

I stand outside in my garden
late and alone,
drawing Her down.

Where my frangipani blooms,
reality melts. It seems
there is desert; a cave forms.

Shadows in the far corner
take shape, grow darker.
A wolf's nose. A man's tall figure.

Across the world
between the worlds
our gazes meet and hold.


21/4/08

The Screen's a Window, Or …

April Challenge 11: The prompt for today is to describe something--only one thing--that is either very interesting to you or something you think is often overlooked and taken for granted.

The screen's a window, or is it an easel?
I see through to you there
on the other side of the country
the opposite edge of the world
and you see me – or do you? –
seeing my words.

The background, which can be
foreground any time I choose,
has many revolving images;
I am the one who chose them
and set them to revolve.

Trees and flowers and fantasies,
a blade of grass, a drop of water,
a certain dog with ears cocked,
a set of drums, a certain man.

Wake in the morning,
open the bed,
turn down the curtains,
switch on the cats,
feed the computer….

© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008

13/4/08

The Man with the Wolf

The man with the wolf
has gone into the desert,
into the silence.

The wolf at his side
is not the one that I knew,
and doesn't know me.

The small timber wolf,
his companion when we met,
has left forever.

That link is broken
and now I can't see the dance
beside the campfire.

I wonder if he
sees my dance by the river
under the dark moon?