One more dog poem…

Shelter Dog

I buried a part of me
when I buried my Ridgeback,
planted a tree in his memory,
and closed the kennel gate
once and for all.
Or so I thought.
Then here comes Bucky–
rambunctious, unschooled Bucky,
giddy with freedom,
in need of a home.
I unpack the leash,
the whistle,
the rulebook;
teach him the basics:
sit, stay, and come.
And how he comes–that dog,
streaking across the meadow,
barreling toward me–
happy, effusive Bucky
on a direct collision course
with my legs
and my heart.

–Carol Ann Lantz


“The Fish”, by Mary Oliver (American Primitive)

The Fish

The first fish
I ever caught
would not lie down
quiet in the pail
but flailed and sucked
at the burning
amazement of the air
and died
in the slow pouring off
of rainbows. Later
I opened his body and separated
the flesh from the bones
and ate him. Now the sea
is in me: I am the fish, the fish
glitters in me; we are
risen, tangled together, certain to fall
back to the sea. Out of pain,
and pain, and more pain
we feed this feverish plot, we are nourished
by the mystery.

~ Mary Oliver ~
(American Primative)
Winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and the National Book Award

“Wolf Dancer”, by Gordon Henry, Jr.

Old man,
I will guide your silver canoe
to the center of the water,
where the Loon father
carries children on his back.
If I’m quiet
I will arrive as a call
from another shore,
close enough to see
the fantastic eyes
seeing me
drifting alone.

Wolf Dancer, Gordon Henry, Jr.
From The Sound of Rattles and Clappers, The University of Arizona Press