Mardi Gras 2017

Mardi Gras

with mother-in-law.

Across the bay

for the parade.

Park

at her apartment.

Walk

down the block

with grandkids,

and kids’ friends,

near end of route

after having soup.

King cake dessert

for afterward.

Celebrating family

by participating

in pageantry.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Caught in a Yarnweb

My elbow wants me to stop crocheting.

The dog is doing his best at begging.

I grab the leash because it’s not raining.

A walk might stop the elbow’s complaining,

uncreak the joints by getting them moving.

“Use it or lose it,” my health improving,

a breath of fresh air, wind gently blowing,

vitamin D from the bright sun glowing.

Yes, I need to go walk with the dog.

It will clear my brain from this crochet fog.

 

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Smitten, Not Bitten

I sat the baby on the floor

beside my lazy sleeping dog.

He smacked him hard repeatedly,

pulled his hair, scratchingly.

The dog’s eyes opened wide.

He stayed motionless beside,

tolerating this little child,

smiling, laughing, going wild.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

Constellation Perambulation

I see Orion in the sky.

He’s shooting Taurus in the eye,

standing tall so way up high,

his dog sparkling right behind.

I walk my dog under his feet

in our winter night time heat,

down the block and across the street,

his toenails clicking on concrete.

Unlike Sirius following,

my dog Duke is frolicking

in front of me. He likes to lead.

The command to heel, he does not heed.

He doesn’t look up in the sky.

He doesn’t ever wonder why.

He doesn’t care about the stars up high,

only sights, smells, and sounds nearby.

He wants to please, I do believe,

but a hunting dog he could not be.

Too distractable to retrieve,

content to walk on a leash with me.

by:  Paula D. Nevison

“Awake.”

My daughter said,

“He’s awake.”

Numb

Court postponed,

but not bemoaned.

He’s in the hospital,

overdosed,

and comatose.

Liver failed

instead of jailed.

His mother is grieved,

battered exes relieved.

I am torn.

Should I mourn

for the young man

who tried to kill my daughter?

Should I rejoice

that he cannot kill another?

We all wait

on the imminent.

by:  Paula D. Nevison