when dogs are angry the poem turns its ears up

'Travellers' 2008
oil on linen
Lisa Yuskavage ©

outside 
my window 
the neighborhood 
is in a howl 
it is a warm turned 
mid to late May evening 

on the open side 
of the wind 
and sill
southerlies 
swell wisp 
their tongues 
bellow quick to
a burnt offering 
edge tendering water
held hidden 
by a ferocity 
of dew 
clinging to
the undergrowth 
and grasses  

they're after
the baby shoots 
and ladder leaves 
that first begat 
Spring's crawl 
from Hades' dark feast 

under the snows 
we often fail to realize 
in a notebook 
of indecipherable 
perhaps, the benefits 
of fertile simmer are
all inside bubbles 
as cackle scratch 
and pop relieve 

i set out in this life believing nothing 
always hoping that a star fell at my feet 
i'll let you know when it happens 
so right now i'm trying to ignore my life 
while listening to the music 
angry dogs make 
thinking it might 
make a good poem 

all the cauldrons 
we acknowledge 
or ignore
are filled with 
undiscovered and unsaid 
words and worlds 
gutter bleeding 
broken streetlights  
outsourcing need 
past human sight, 
sound and scent 
stirring the bloom 
while breathing beings 
experience calendrical time 

the house wolves 
will alarm us 
with envy 
displaying loyal canine 
protective anger 
at ghost hands  
out there 
unseen, walking 
the Moon 
tonight 
somewhere 
waiting 
on bones, 
souls 

sometimes i have 
to wonder 
if all of this is 
theatrical backdrop 
to a poem 
of ...  

i am thirsty too 
listening to throaty 
growls and barks 
i imagine 
i am part 

a brigade watch
in the dark 
do they wish  
like i do 
on falling stars 
to have mastery 
over night and
that Persephone 
had eaten all 
twelve of those seeds 
giving brooding birth 
to her own 
last supper

EJR ©