WINTER TYME

When it's winter in the city,

And the roads are dark and gritty,

Then the city isn't pretty,

as it was.

~ Bear ~

THE NIGHT

I like the night
even in the city
where the hum never quite goes away.
The noise is somehow different —
muted, perhaps —
from the daytime'shive of bees.

The lights brighten the places
where they shine,
but their blues and oranges
are not the natural colours
of the moon and sun —
and they add to the lightpollution.

Yet those alsoilluminate the way
helping us findthe places to step.
And, overall, they cast
a gentler mantle
on the
earth.

THOUGHTS ON THE BIG, BLACK DOG

image by Zelko Nedic

The Mag #128

How long has it been
Black Dog,
since you insinuated your way
into my life,
like the thinnest, darkest shadow,
then landed on my chest
with a huge THUD?
Five decades next year
you say?
I knew it was a long time.
I didn't think dogs lived that long,
but you surely have.

I thought I was rid of you a few times,
but like the cat who came back
you've continued to dog my steps.

Like Professor Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes
we seem to be bound together
at opposite ends
of this invisible lead,
which likely cannot be severed.

Well, my familiar,
let's go for another walk.
Perhaps I can lose you
in the undergrowth.
Though I 
seriously doubt
it.


~ Bear ~

BEGINNING

Morning fog
floating over the city
like a fine gray blanket,
dulling the buildings,
obstructing the sun
with a cool sweatiness.
A stodgy, sticky start
to another 
day, another
week.

~ Bear ~

THE FIRES

I have seen the pictures.

Scorched land
burnt trees
dead animals —
including a Bear
who thought
he could avoid catastrophe
by climbing the tree,
which was then 
thoroughly charred.

The fires,
illuminating 
the incinerated hills
and smoke-filled sky,
pressed on, 
oblivious
to what they consumed.

Some fires are
entirely too
anti-social!


~ Bear ~

SEAFARING STORY

The old mate

I see him; I see him so clearly.

Battered cap
for his balding head,
frazzled beard 
at the bottom
of a well-worn face.
Eyes sets in,
piercing the horizon
of the sea,
or your soul.

The long-time sailor
now serves the boat
poked into his arm,
and greater vessels
in his mind.

Those were the days
of derring-do —
the "one hand for yourself;
one hand for the ship"
kind of days,
when the sails billowed,
and the sheets tangled,
and you could lose an arm
if you weren't careful.

Ships travel by diesel
or bunker fuel now.
But the wind,
which lost its usefulness,
is still a power
to be
regarded.

Prompted by Rachel.

~ Bear ~

GOING A BIT SQUIRRELLY

Ode to a squirrel 

Why do your tailbones shiver,
your teeth rumble
a bitter staccato
with a rap, rap, tap
on rough bark
with nails sharp, movement
a spiral inversion
swaying with vertigo
to tease this curmudgeon
of an old dog?

Sing a song of squirrel
and with a jolt
the canine brain jerks loose,
unmoored and shaken
free out the left ear
to roll away and land worthlessly
in a stack of cast-off seed cones
already stripped of their
proteinaceous worth.

Rachel Westfall
July 3, 2012
AT 7/03/2012
LABELS: ANIMALS, POEM, SILLINESS


To which Bear replied:

About that squirrel 

"Enough, already, squirrel,"
says the ancient chien.

“Your incessant noise

reverberates 

in the caverns of my mind,

disturbing old dreams,

and new thoughts.

Your scratchy dancing 

on tree and branch

forces my eyes

to squint, and cross, 

and spin in their sockets.

I register my complaint,

but you ignore me.

Twas ever thus.”

Tuesday, 3 July, 2012

Thanks to Rachel for letting me use her poem!

~ Bear ~

RANDOM IMAGES

Slashes, orbs, fringes
of orange-red
among the gray-white-blue clouds.
Sunset over the city,
after the storm.

~ Bear ~

IN WHICH BEAR THINKS OF A POME

As it says at the top, this was never intended to be a poetry blog. But, well, I got writing poetry on other people's blogs, and the next thing I knew, . . . something different was happening. So I decide to let it happen, here.

I have absolutely no idea what will become of this. Maybe I will get too intentional about it, or too pompous, and thus ruin everything. (Trust me; I've done that before.)

If you are here, it is either because your stumbled upon this site, or you were invited. In either case, thank you for being here.

Your comments on the thoughts, or the poetic style, are welcome. If I don't like them, I can always go away, sulk, cry, or cut you off.  Or I can blame Lydia, Rachel, and/or Helen.


~ Bear ~

Coyote lies at the edgeof the urban forest,looking in from hiswell-hidden viewpoint. 
The odours are delicious,but a glance says, "Be wary."The bushes across the field move,suggesting hidden woes.Humans.Dogs.Wolves.
No, not wolves.Not this close in.
The rest he can handle, or quickly avoid.
The mixed aromas beckon.Slinking close to the groundcoyote transitionsfrom country brushto city woodland,trying his luckat findingthe familymeal.