Another small dog poem

We breathe the same fresh air,

my dog and I, or breathe it stale;

we sigh the same, the difference

only being in the size of sighs;

we walk the same hard road, the

road is ours, not his or mine;

and when I take a nap, and on the

couch lie long, he lies beside, and

fits himself behind my knees,

warming me, or maybe I warm him. 

Our small dog, who died in 2025, aged 15. 

I've written a few dog poems, one simply called Dog, and another, A Small Dog Considers Being Rubbed...and a number of years ago I wrote six songs to other people's poems about dogs. I don't have permission from the authors to use the words for these songs, as yet, so they've not been published. However I'll link to the poems online for anyone who's interested. 

Dogs – words by Aaron Kramer
Mother doesn’t want a dog – words by Judith Viorst
Three Dog Night  – words by Faith Shearin, 
In the Moment – words by Maxine Kumin
Choosing a Dog – words by William Stafford 

Retriever - Faith Shearin 

Still playing with the Villanelle

More playing with the Villanelle form - I'm looking at the Sestina and maybe the Ballade next...(blame Stephen Fry)

While all the world around me hoons

And guzzles caffeinated drinks,

I take a nap most afternoons. 

The radio croons its ‘Junes and moons;’

My mind it gently sinks and sinks,

While all the world around me hoons.

Siestas are, for Spaniards, boons,

(Accompanied by long, sticky drinks) -

They take a nap most afternoons. 

But as a Kiwi, Culture’s tunes

Deflect away from forty winks

While all the world around me hoons.

Far healthier than taking prunes

Or dealing with love handle kinks

Is my quiet nap most afternoons. 

Busyness eventually wounds

And proves to be a faithless minx;

While all the world around me hoons

I take a nap most afternoons.