0208 If Poets Had A Tail To Wag

As your beloved, faithful dog
returns to his dear master's hearth
after burying deep some promising fine bone
as hostage to the future,
and with the long-lunged sigh
of those who know they could not have done better,
lays him on the hearth (with nose too near the falling coal)
to pass the sleep of a blissful clear conscience
broken only by the twitchy dream of chasing rabbits
(and like humans, does he never quite catch them before he wakes?
we'll never know...)

so the poet closes the notebook, switches off the PC,
and with the clear conscience of one
who knows that his poetry may not be all that good -
but that he couldn't have done better -
retires to bed, satisfied, content.

If bliss is then the emptied mind
the Muse of Poetry is kind.

by Michael Shepherd

Comments (8)

When I saw the title of this poem, I thought it would be another of your dry humorous poems. Then I read this and found it more serious than humorous, more delightful than silly, and extremely well done. You have so much talent, Michael. Don't turn off the PC too often! Raynette
this haiku inspired by your lines: poet/the growth as he maps himself/in his words
I just told myself to read more of your stuff. Enjoyed.
Thanks for your advice, Sandra. I'll stop trying to write to please Herbert.
Yes she is and this is quite good. I apologize for all the attacks on you from any and all here, especially if I contributed. Nebulous comments are sometimes cold and impersonal, it is the nature of the form. But, I don't understand it and I can't say you deserve it. My advice would be to write for yourself and ignore the rest. Writing is a lonely business so don't let anyone dissuade you. And I have dogs, they do twitch & dream. I always hope they get the rabbit. Nice work.
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