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Snowy

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Sad as sleepy morning comes.

Soft ground to rest your chin upon,

soft like you are, in need of no one’s

flag or ego-affirmation.

 

When you walk

children wave from car windows, elated

to see such unmasked joy – mouth in an open smile,

and eyes, happier still – dark as toiled earth, alert

to the house cat’s twitching ear.

 

Satisfied in the full morning sun, you move

from sidewalk curb to road, sniffing at poles

and thin strands of grass

as your long clumped fur like a sheep’s pleated coat

ripples in time with the end-of-summer’s wafting rhythm.

Treats, stuffed toys and laying contentedly

on your back, these things are enough.

 

Many have tried to imitate, parading

their off-white pups through neighbouring streets:

They saw you once and wanted the same.

But you were claimed by a private angel.

Fastened to good karma,

you glow, you germinate, and you proceed.

 

As you sleep by the door

in and out of your doggy dreams,

you defeat the need for tomorrow’s schemes.

With an unassuming soothing moan

you stretch then continue in rest,

abating the weight of my human despair.

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Copyright  © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “See Spot Run Literary Magazine” March 2015

file:///C:/Users/Allison/Downloads/SSRMarch2015%20(2).pdf

See Spot Run March 2015

 

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You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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“Allison’s poetic prose is insightful, enwrapping, illuminating and brutally truthful. It probes the nature of the human spirit, relationships, spirituality and God. It is sung as the clearest song is sung within a cathedral by choir. It is whispered as faintly as a heartbroken goodbye. It is alive with the life of a thousand birds in flight within the first glint of morning sun. It is as solemn as the sad-sung ballad of a noble death. Read at your peril. You will never look at this world in quite the same way again. Your eye will instinctively search the sky for eagles and scan the dark earth for the slightest movement of smallest ant, your heart will reach for tall mountains, bathe in the most intimate of passions and in the grain and grit of our earth. Such is Allison Grayhurst. Such is her poetry,”  Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.