This was inspired by Chelsea Owens but only I am to blame. I wonder, does it have merit? Or should it have stayed locked up? Poetry is a difficult subject, like parental sex and dissing the host’s attempts to create the perfect meringue.If you get the the end and still have the will to type, let me know if any of it appealed, caught your imagination. Thank you. There will be a picture of Dog at the end as a sort of incentive…
(Written after a walk in the local park with Dog)
I love the fresh blue morning.
Inspiring.
I stare until my eyes narrow.
How can I describe that blue?
The sky is so pure,
No smeary cloud-stains.
Why is it blue?
Something to do
With sunlight and spectrums?
I read that somewhere.
But not why it isn’t red or green.
I can only define Blue by comparison:
With eyes and seas,
And flowers.
Or emotion:
Pure joy.
Endless hope.
My mood is anything but blue.
No doubt, not sad, not that blue.
It’s a shame
That an innocent colour
Can be burdened thus,
Dumped with meaning.
Inspiration can seep away,
Like a colour left in the bright sun.
I move on
Trying to hold my mood.
*
Dog meets dog, sharing arses.
The other dog is taut with expectation:
Bright
Sharp-eyed
Its wag, trigger ready.
Above something swoops
Distracting me.
Indistinct birds,
Floaters tainting the sky’s surface:
Macula avianism.
Squashed flies on the sky screen,
Stippling the blue.
Visual pathogens,
Spots of mold
On the perfection.
The other dog
Shits.
Its owner scowls
Mouth gurns.
She chunters her distaste.
The low point of her day:
A good walk soiled.
My nod is ignored
My smile no consolation.
Only my own shit-sacking will do.
We leave, no common ground here.
For me, shit-sacking is oddly satisfying.
When it’s done
It means I’m free
To ignore Dog and enjoy my walk.
Both Dog and I are relieved
Unburdened.
Playtime after maths;
Another task completed.
*
I stop, while Dog snorts a line
Of fox.
The Tree ahead
Is still Winter-dead
Its crown a brittle-crackled afro
Fracturing the sky, flaked, distorting the pure
Blue.
*
Close up
The trees show their buzz cut of buds,
Fuzzy green hope.
I smile
Inspiration still pertains.
Dog’s getting high
And I wonder at those not dead twigs.
The Tree,
Dissected of leaves
And all that remains
Are veins and arteries.
Pumping sap,
Tree-blood
Rising for spring
Churning with hope and lust.
Does the tree hope, lust
Maybe over decades?
A slow courting?
Does it know joy, despair?
Is the tree ever blue?
Or always brown and green?
Is the Tree inspired by spring?
*
Dog moves on, suddenly animated.
The lake is ahead,
Reflecting the tree
But not the sky.
It is murky confused
Sick sheen and turgid
Calm, ominous
Deep.
Dog’s target
Two Herons
Leave,
Contour the surface
Rippling with lazy meringues in peaty hues.
Disappointed
By his animosity.
Away into the sky,
Like slow waving
Royalty escaping their disappointed subjects.
Dog turns back.
His work done
The republic attained.
The deposed herons
Seek sanctuary elsewhere,
Their silhouettes fractured by the tree.
They are soon small Black dots
Dissolving into the Blue.
Dog shits
And I don’t have a bag.
I’m no longer free
Or relieved.
For me, no sanctuary
Incapable of doing my civic duty.
I’m black and blue.
Bruised
Despair and depression.
Where did my inspiration go?
The sky is still blue.
TanGental 
Great Post.
Thanks for sharing this post.
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So glad you enjoyed it Fabrizio
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Thanks
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I loved it. I think you have a real penchant for poetry, especially this near prose story telling type poetry. And why wouldn’t you? Your storytelling prowess is unmatched…
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Oh stopit!! No, actually keep going…
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Where oh where does your mind Go His Geoffleship 😳😜
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Wanders lonely as a clot, mostly…
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😂
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Geoff, I don’t know anything about poetry, but I enjoyed this enormously. LOL.. and dog snorted a line of fox.
Hugs on the wing!
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That does seem to be a popular line
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Keep going. This was a hoot.
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Will do Sergeant Major!!
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Right then.
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It was fun – and it doesn’t rhyme
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It doesn’t? Oh no!
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Some great lines here Geoff…………….. memo to self, always have poo bags!
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Oh I do so try but there are days…
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😀
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I doubt if the current Poet Laureate is overly concerned for his/her — don’t keep abreast of these matters — position, Geoff. There are, however, a few nuggets in there:
* ,,,while Dog snorts a line / Of fox
My Bess — see avatar — would be far more interested in rolling in it…
* A good walk soiled
Reminded me of a SPAMku I wrote more than 20 years ago:
SPAM definition:
“A good pork spoiled”–SPAM Clemens
(AKA Mark Twain)
[ But I would have thought that ‘Divested of leaves’ was what you had in mind, rather than ‘Dissected of leaves’. ]
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Thanks Geoff. Good to have your pithy input…
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Strangely he does not look Impressed. I seriously doubt a seasoned dog walker like yourself could be caught short …bagless, dog poo unattended.
I love the poem you have it nailed especially this style of prosetry.💜
Ruby 💖 Dog.
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Thanks Ruby. I’ve become adept at rummaging in wastebins for crisp packets at these times…
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Yes my mum has been known to resort to this sort of behaviour..very embarrassing! 🙄
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Now why did you not have a bag, Geoff? If you don’t get the prize for sheer cheek and wit, you will get it for length.
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Indeed you will remember a classic in the couture TV genre Never Mind The Quality Feel The Width, Who channelled that very premise
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I actually understand how your mood can go from up to down over the lack of a poo bag – it’s a dreadful feeling when you realise your dog, who has already deposited and used the final bag on the roll is about to drop another one……. Clearing the ground of my dog’s deposits is a matter of personal pride. I think this is a rather good poem – some brilliant descriptors going on and it pulled me along in much the same way a walk does, as attention flicks from one thing to another. I don’t know how many times I’ve been knocked out of my reveries about trees, birds, plants, shades of green by another walker with another dog, the bouncy greeting of a friend, a dog squatting………. it all made perfect sense to me. Good stuff!
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Thanks Pauline. Chelsea’s next exercise for me is to refine it to the stanzas I really think work well. So on with the big boy ruthless pants…
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Wow – super impressed. Go you!!
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Beautifully done … I got a deep sense of your inner world as you walked … and of course the bit about Dog snorting a line of fox was sheer brilliance! 😀
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Ta, muchly. It was an instructed poem, that required me to focus on my unfocused thinking.quite a challenge
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I think ‘twould also be helpful to have someone else read it aloud to you, on a first read, for your next editing step.
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that’s a possibility..
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You may not use the dog.
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Ohhhh….
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Pingback: Happy Second Blogiversary! | Chelsea Ann Owens
Wonderful photo and poem!
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So glad you enjoyed this
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