Saturday, February 25, 2017

Mardi Gras 2017

Mardi Gras
with mother-in-law.
Across the bay
for the parade.
at her apartment.
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

Thursday, February 23, 2017

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

Saturday, February 18, 2017

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

Saturday, February 11, 2017

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 heal, 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

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Friday, February 3, 2017


Court postponed,
but not bemoaned.
He’s in the hospital,
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