Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Friday, December 9, 2011

Here She Comes

She loves to run!
Her body is built for it.
Feet strong, legs powerful and body so sleek.
Tail a waving rudder and her face shows pure joy.

You can't see it when she is after the cows.
The determination shows on her canine face.
She is in her element, she is doing her job.

When she is done, her joy complete, she finds me.
She runs back for a ride, some praise 
and always the love.



Feathers loves to go, but her joy is only complete
once she has come back to me.
There is nothing like the joy of a dog with a job.

Copyright 2011 Shanyn Silinski (words and images)
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Monday, November 7, 2011

Scrabble Poem


Red ink jesters call,
"Lo! where fly the wrens?"
While a joyous few pace.

Scrabble poem Shanyn Silinski 2011 Copyright

Would you like to join us in a Scrabble poem? Use this board or your own, share your link in comments or join us on Facebook at Triggered Muse!

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Ahchoo!

The moon achoo rises silent and sniffle sneeze full.

Clouds ah ah ah drape her like thbluuee silk.

Sniff snuffle She teases us with ah ah ah her soft light.

Through the window achoo achoo she washes me pale.

Drip drip sniffle I wish I was dreaming achooo but instead

BLACHOWWWEEE I'm awake and can't even think ah ah ah.

Copyright 2011 Shanyn Silinski
For a prompt on being blocked on: 

Monday, September 26, 2011

Fences


Wire tight posts in deep
Good fences good neighbors make
Friends, maybe not

Copyright 2011 Shanyn Silinski



Tuesday, September 20, 2011

He Paints


Black
he paints
colors he dabbles
round bodies eyes and smiles
the people are happy or mad never alone
I love seeing our family painted, bold strokes, by six year old hands
Thumbs up, ball caps, lopsided hearts, his family
we live in his world
painted by him
with love
colored

2011 Copyright Shanyn Silinski

This week's challenge: Photography: Macro, Poetry: Fibonacci


Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Poem: Workin' Dog


Feathers, intent on a squirrel, because the cows, cats and swallows were not available. 



Workin' Dog

Sticks she won't fetch, won't even blink.
Gives you that stare that only a 
workin' dog can.

Them balls better have a big ol
bull on the end of 'em or
she won't even twitch an ear.

A cattle dog can be, at times,
worth her weight in gold.
A true workin' dog.

They say a Border Collie can learn
over ten thousand words,
all I know for sure is she is picky.

"Walk em up" those play jus fine.
"Gettim to the gate" does well too.
Fetch, or play - a blank look. No way!

She knows the words alright, from
dirty dog to no poop to get'em
even when they are out of sight.

She's focussed, maybe a little too.
If it ain't cows she's chasing a few
barn swallows or cat's will do.

She's a lovely gal, all red and white,
with flavorful splashes of green manure
to 'scent' up your room at night.

My Feather gal is pretty bright,
but like a laser beam she's tight
to the point with no vary in sight.

There's dogs more loyal, true,
There's even some smarter 
(altho' I'm not saying who)

There's dogs who can do tricks
an some who can do math and such
but no one can run em down like her.

No other tail flying, tongue lolling,
narrowed down at the eyes intent
can match my gal a working.

Sleeping by the door she's rank,
that's horse and calf poop today
like a perfumer she blends the scent

An my poor nose suffers but my
feet are getting soft and my walks short
cause she's like a remote control dog.

You can stand on the deck, jus'
point and shout, she knows what to do
an you can sit back really easy.

She has a look she gives, an it ain't nice,
but it says, so loud and clear, in your face,
"what are you stupid? I don't play...

"I'm a workin' dog an I got no time for this
puppy frolickin and such. Give me a tailed end
and one with horns and we'll getti'm good!'

(Dedicated to my best cattle dog who came from rescue and my worst poop roller Feathers)

Copyright 2011 Shanyn Silinski 

Friday, July 15, 2011

Five Minute Friday: Loss

Crowd pressed around, smells of the city.
Dirty, gritty, gas and oil.
Concrete and asphalt.
Sweat and perfume.
People press and I push it down.

Then a scent ribbons past me.
My head turns, nose up wolfish.
I know that scent, that memory.
Turning, I scan the crowd.
Searching for the impossible.

You are gone, long since gone.
Your voice faded away,
your face soft and distant.
That scent brings it all back!
That smell of you!

Scents, I wish I could see how
They carry memories so light.
Twisting ribbons of scent
tangling my heart, twisting my mind.
Just one instant and it all comes back.

Losing you, missing you, holding you.
Our last words an argument.
Our last night talking in a pick up truck.
Me fighting, you quitting.
Strangled with a second of scent,
that noose of a memory.

Then, in tears, I realize it is gone.
I seek with my nose, my heart, my eyes.
That crowd, improbable and dense.
Finding you there, a delicate thread
of memory strung along to my heart
all the way by the scent of your memory.

Losing Kelly was the hardest grief, it was and still is the loss of a friendship and a love that never truly got a chance to fully bloom.  


Shared on Gooseberry Garden: http://gooseberrygoespoetic.blogspot.com/2011/10/poetry-picnic-week-7-love-and-loss.html