DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 21

BLIND 

The day we adapted Pixie, our blind Maltese,

the first things she did besides wiggle

was roll down the vinca slope 

in front of our house,

and then charge back up.

Never made that mistake again.

Later that day she took off after a goose,

straight into the artificial lake 

at the Kaufmann Foundation near our house.

Never got close to that two foot drop again.

Always ready to go, always learning,

that is our Pixie, bumping into life,

sometimes with a yelp.

It’s hard to see her ill and in pain

and know that it is getting to be that time.

We still need her to teach us blind faith—always will.

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 20

BILL STEVENSON

Has a fan poem ever been written about Bill Stevenson

and the fishing boat nearly overwhelmed with the day’s catch

and all the records he plays on, and all the farts,

and how he survived not one but two major brushes with death?

There should be an annual congress of people who are AWAKE

rxcept they might not show up because they’re busy doing things

being available to life, touching the rest of us

who dip our toes in and dabble and think what if!

What if we grab hold and hold on and keep wrestling,

what if we are wide awake and give it ALL

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 19

HUMBLING

Humbling oneself seems like such a crucial thing

But it’s hard to get a feel for it

Most of us carry some bag of trash and armor around

And just wanna feel better lighter smarter 

More loving and happier in the moment.

When the big storms come, ice and lightning

Lighting up the skull cave, nerves fried

Hands tied and so to-the-max pissed off

What is the best and humble course of action?

I wish I knew! Time passes, we sleep,

Hands forming a little shrine, 

Being human on human time

Aggression divided by half and half again

Til the next breath and next step are clear

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 18

SNAP

That mouse was NOT sleeping under the sink

back behind the little basket with cleaning rags in it,

snapped in a trap.  And I didn’t like that at all.

Mice darting

from the void behind the kitchen cabinet

over to the refrigerator—

rodent highway firing up at night,

I didn’t really mind. 

Little nibbles on the sweet potato rind?

Who cares, why not share?

But it’s not really clean or safe

to have a house infested with mice,

so it’s best to plug the holes,

keep things tidy so they stay outside

where we hear but don’t see hoot owls

where stout red tail hawks float overhead.

Better to stay outside than snapped in a trap, rattling around.

Leave a little fuzz in the weeds, a bone or two,

Maybe go on a final spinning skull ride kissed by air

or slammed, stunned—lights out, FAST

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 17

Toes

I am not awake yet

But I am trying

Doing all the usual things

Coffee, journal, meditation app,

Listen to the birds,

Say a little prayer

That I do a good job today

Go take a shower

Maybe think about a break in routine

Maybe a waterpark

With the biggest waterslide in the world

And how it feels –

To go SPLOOSHHHHHHHH!

into the pool at the end

And do it all again

Pavement hot on the toes

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 16

FOREVER 

Our little white dog

Got a blood draw yesterday

Her liver count was elevated

At her last check up

If her liver count is still elevated

I am going to have to tell her 

I love her at least 1 million times a day

And since as far as she knows

She is going to live forever

And chase mice in the neighbor’s ivy

Forever

I will go with forever

Forever is just fine today

For us and our little white dog

 

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 15

ARTIST COLONY

Hands on the drum 

brush on the canvas 

fingers on the fretboard 

sticks bash toms, slap cymbals

feet pound pavement 

(why not try a new route today)

keyboard hums 

wires are tangled 

spiral starts at the center of a picture

the picture grows 

develops infrastructure 

bus stops schools hospitals garage bands 

talent shows fried chicken places 

good morning 

lightning struck again 

it’s the world we’re in

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 14

TOYS FOR TORTURED ARTISTS 

A Nerf machine gun, a slip and slide.

A top spun from the ashes of fallen dictators.

An enormous kaleidoscope
mounted on the dashboard of the Toyota.

A trampoline with a built in jukebox.

A slot car set where the living room furniture used to be.

Jars and cups full of magic markers,
cups and jars full of colored pencils.

Ukulele adjacent to every toilet.

A super eight camera, a pencil and a notebook.

A mortar and pestle for grinding
when grinding teeth is not enough.

Two gloves, one ball, for playing catch,
because you are not the only person on this planet!

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 13

DOG BREATH POEM

Most of these dog breath poems

I voice-type into an iPad after ten minutes of meditation.

I meditated a lot in my twenties,

in various rental houses and apartments.

My commitment to actually being alive came and went

during certain seasons, especially winter.

Later I learned to run, walk, and bike commute

through those endless gray wet months.

How dumb it is to think that I’ve made the big time now.

The dog barks, the birds sing, a toddler cries,

all of this world-play up and down the street.

This is all free whether you rent or own

whether you are accepting the gift or not,

free with each distractable excitable dog breath

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 12

TODAY

So many things I want to do today!

Go to the record store

Clean up my music studio and wind up cables

Learn how to make a Laotian dish

after reading the third Dr. Siri book

Run 3 1/2 miles on the treadmill

Just pretend we’re in Paris

and we take a long walk and run into something good

Come up with a chord structure for a collaborative song

Finish this poem

Sit in our inflatable hot tub in the rain like a drowsy monkey

Pick a new book to read

Plan a getaway

Let worries drift

Let actions shift

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 11

WELL

Well, what do you say we make this a good day 

it’s the one we have and the birds are already singing, 

the space heater is humming but just for an early hour 

and soon it will warm for the next few months 

and there will be thunderstorms and everything we can have 

and everything we can’t have is in its place, more or less 

and I can smell the smoke from Gates barbeque drifting up the hill, 

merging with lilac bloom, so let’s make this a good day

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 10

WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE

What’s the difference between poetry and lyrics?

Are lyrics intended to be enjoyed in a 78 Ford Pinto?

Are poems intended to end up on Pinterest

as a graphically designed meme?

Some some guy umpteen years ago

straps on his armor and sharpens his sword

what does he want to hear?

AC/DC, or free verse from the university system?

I really don’t know anymore

what excellence is, or needs to be,

or who is in charge, but I have guitars 

and love music for cars, bars, and twinkling stars.

*****

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 9

OLD BOOTS

for Pete and Chester Bester

Birthdays and condolences for the loss of pets

seems to be what social networking is REALLY good for,

otherwise it’s just an awful lot of information,

and some of the smartest, kindest people I know

aren’t “on there", like my buddy Pete.

Chances are right now he's installing old windows in a new house,

caulking them in, always game for a DIY situation,

hands on, Greg Brown on the boombox,

old boots up by the fire afterwards, and a cold one.

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 8

SMART THINGS MOMS SAY

Don’t skip breakfast,

you are likely to slip into a mood,

some past feeling may erupt,

directed at someone or some thing,

in the foreground of today.

Two eggs and a piece of whole wheat toast,

or maybe some ramen with smoked fish flakes—

whatever it is, whatever it takes

eat some breakfast and don’t be a butt.

Some people don’t have any breakfast at all.

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY: DAY 7

IN THE WAITING ROOM FOR GOOD IDEAS

In the waiting room for good ideas,

things can go a number of ways.

Wait too long and an idea can turn into an old magazine

piled on a table with other old magazines.

Jump too soon and hard light can kill it.

It’s best to plan a few hopeful steps in advance

and leave out the side door.

There’s another sad thing that can happen—

losing hope in the idea of any new ideas at all.

In which case, the doctor will see you now.

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 6

 

PRACTICE SPACE

For this poem I will lay on my stomach

and talk into my tablet,

my right ear near the kick drum in my practice space.

What am I listening for? Drummer Matt needs to come over

and bring this kit to life. It’s got dust on it!

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 5

 

UP EARLY ON A SATURDAY

I have quite a few things I’d like to accomplish today, 

like ship records and art that friends have kindly bought

and finish the pergola in the side yard 

so our lovely neighbors won’t have to see us middle-aged people

lolly-gagging in an inflatable hot tub.

My office could use a dusting and sweeping

as well as the upstairs bathroom.

At least half an hour is reserved 

for finishing a Jim Harrison book.

I’ve forgotten you but have not forgotten you—

as they say, I am “doing my thing.”

Some of you I think of daily,

it’s like my heart is a giant Zoom call 

where we all can reach through the screen

showing off knuckle scars and new wrinkles,

new rattles in the voice and cavern silences,

all of us familiar with incendiary ongoing LIFE--

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 3

VOICE TO TEXT

It is now possible to write a poem

using voice dictation technology.

Here in my dumb dinghy,

I can motor at the sky with words

while I row this story to shore, 

picking up digital alerts

about developments in the Royals game.

I’m dragging a light test line behind,

and if I get a word nibble, all the better.

Hit send from this little boat,

and I can share my thoughts 

all over the world. Is this good?

Generally, it seems pretty good. 

At one point I wanted lineal feet of books—

books with my name on the spine.

Now I just want a good life

and passing remarks, and the occasional text,

shared to and from my tribe.

DOG BREATH: 21 DAYS OF POETRY, DAY 2

ARE YOU QUALIFIED

are you qualified   to write or pick up that guitar 

are you qualified   to imitate birds

are you qualified   to try, with uneven results

are you qualified   to turn into molecules someday

are you qualified   to point at the moon like Buddha

are you qualified   to be seen as good

are you qualified   to be interesting

are you qualified   to be interested

are you qualified   to take delight in a moment

are you qualified   to put it out there

are you qualified   to break out big time

are you qualified   to be indifferent for two days

are you qualified   for self-critical cutting

are you qualified   for new underwear and socks

are you qualified   for starting shit

are you qualified   for a yellow scooter

are you qualified   for faking it like everyone else

are you qualified   for standardized testing

are you qualified   for tickling carp

are you qualified   for a leap of illogic

are you qualified   for sleeping in church

are you qualified   for night sweats

are you qualified   for structural stamp of bridges

are you qualified   for home taco production

are you qualified   for ten really deep breaths

are you qualified   for a movie alone on a sunny day

are you qualified   for adventure

are you qualified   for having been born

if the answer is yes, you may also be qualified

to love your life and live this day inside a jewel of love

a fractal of being among being among being

if the answer is no, being unqualified is good practice