Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

More of that Icky Love Stuff

1)  Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect admits to disliking romantic poetry and has issued her Monday Poetry challenge: 
As unromantic as I am, I thought it would be interesting to write a love poem. There is a catch, however. The love poem you write cannot include any terms of endearment or words of adoration. How's that for you? A Love poem without explicit words of love. Also, you don't necessarily need to write about a person, as surely there are those who love things as much as people (or pets).
I'll think on it, Tricia. It all depends on what you define as "terms of endearment." If I call my nine-year old van "Old Goldie," is that too affectionate for you? How about if I channel Pablo Neruda and admit that my favorite running socks are sturdy and wooly? No? Too explicit? In that case, I may need to invent some completely neutral action verbs like "to Depp"  or "Fiennes with" to stand in for passionate interest. (And "Lovett!" Got to able to use that one.)

And on a slightly related note...

2) The kennel staff who watch over our crazy dog when we're away sent her a Valentine's package yesterday. I thought it might have a heart-shaped biscuit in it. Or a coupon for a pampering bath and groom.  But no. . . it was a book of poetry.

(Everyman's Library Pocket Poets)

In paging through it, I'd say that it's very, very tricky to write a poem about a dog that is better than the dog is.  But perhaps I'll read a few to the intended recipient and see what she thinks. 

Friday, November 21, 2008

Poetry Friday: Dog Music


My dog loves to howl when the firetrucks go by. She also howls when I leave the house without her. Or if she hears my voice on the answering machine. This one's for her.


Dog Music
by Paul Zimmer

Amongst dogs are listeners and singers.
My big dog sang with me so purely,
puckering her ruffled lips into an O,
beginning with small, swallowing sounds
like Coltrane musing, then rising to power
and resonance, gulping air to continue—
her passion and sense of flawless form—
singing not with me, but for the art of dogs.

The rest is here.