Being A Reading Buddy

Dogs are good reading buddies
because they
don't judge



they just try


try, try, try

Dog Psalm #7

As I receive love I am healed
As I offer love
I see the invisible abundance
surrounding us

Conversations with Trees

Every morning and night
I take a walk and talk with trees.
Over the past few weeks my conversation partners
have become fewer and fewer.
The bulk of many of my multi-ringed friends is now
waiting on the wood pile or pulp pile to do their next transformative service.







The dear "barber tree" by Gladys' children's park
tries to keep everyone's spirits up
by sprouting leaves even as part of her top rests by her side.
She said she knew this was coming.
She said they said she had rot and there was fear of disease.
She hopes because of her efforts they will let her stump, some part of her, stay.



She wants to remain a confidant and pillar of the community;
imagines she could be a toddler table worthy of their demands and efforts
or a handy stool for a child's devoted, beloved guardian;
paper on which someone learns to write
and in turn learns about the right to be.

Some lovely someone
celebrated one of the mighty Tabor Trees
with this beautiful garden.





So many shade giving friends
are no longer smiling down at us.

Yet, their rooty, remembering faces
keep watch of us now from the ground.



Looking up with recognition, wisdom, questions, hope

There are many young trees here too.
A century ago a woman who loved
left an endowment
to ensure the grove would grow.
Old trees would be nursed and taken care,
young trees would be planted and nurtured.
It remains hard to say goodbye to dear old friends
and it takes time to make new ones.



But there are new friends to make.
I am grateful to that woman
and for this place.

Neighborhood Buffet

Garbage day is my favorite day,
the neighborhood is one big buffet.

I hear the drag of cans and tubs
announcing a feast even picky pugs could love.

There's chicken bones and month old pate.
Don't hold me back. Get outta my way!

Like any good hound
I like my chow found
sweating and nasty
served on the ground.

On happy feet I hit the street
ignoring the person at the end of my leash
nostrils flairing in search of treats

Like Julia said,
"Bon Appetite!"

Sunday Dog Psalm #6

GRACE

I smell you in smiles

I hear you in kind words
honest questions, truthful answers

I see you in the eyes of others,

in looks that speak as eloquently as trees.

I feel you beneath my feet,

and in tender caress and rescuing hugs.

Grace
I try and live at your command
delivering unconstrained goodwill
through a higher power.

Sometimes I find you, Grace, as I seek
honour and dignity,
strength and inspiration
in each tiny, mundane moment

In some potent instances
I am you
and can regenerate divinity.

Shake without splatter

"The ground is muddy
I run free, after the rain
bath-time is fun"
annon. dog haiku

The water color tells the tale. It WAS time for a bath.

Now Roxy can cruise around the house,
shaking to her heart's content
without splattering walls or people or furniture
as she gets every little hair back to its proper place.

While looking and feeling great in her
stylish sangria sunset
bathrobe.

Brown Eyed Susan

Sweet sturdy sister
Generous mid summer friend
Determined joy



This haiku is for you.

Sunday Dog Psalm #5

Providence
is a place and a conjured sensibility.

The air smells of life and the sea
of change and fortitude



the clouds express and redeem

as we walk along Hope Street and turn right on to Benefit.
Grateful for reminders to just be here now, fully.

Dear Bailey,

Bud!
There is no doubt about it. These bathrobes fit GREAT!
I gave mine the full work out.

Now toss me over
one of those KaChewKee Wrappers, man.

I deserve it!

Bark OUT!
love
Luke

The Amazing no-slip Bathrobe

It fits while your having one!



Get yours TODAY!

Sunday Dog Psalm #4

I speak the language of statues
I listen to the stories of trees
I see the glory of being

How can I show you?

Sunday Dog Psalm #3

God seeks me in the garden

Small, white, butterfly
Always hovering nearby

Ghost that I glimpse from the side of my eye
Darting through blossoms, resting on leaves
Taking advantage of sunshine and breeze

Pointing out a shapely cloud
Waiting on the mailbox
inquisitive antenna cocked

Reminding me
as mortality rages on
Death is not the final stop