Good Friends

Ekphrasis: the process of describing a work of art.

"Good Friends" - by William Merritt Chase
“Good Friends” – by William Merritt Chase

She and she were best of friends
A century past, in a sunny place;
Brought back to vibrant life today
In art by William Merritt Chase

I saw a gallery of his work
And stopped and gazed, hour on hour’
And felt, somehow, that I had been
Where he had been, by some strange power

Been on the beach, or in a grove,
Been in a park, or off in Spain;
Or been with two friends on a lawn
In some way that I can’t explain

And like this woman and this dog
I felt a kinship to this man
I’d never heard of anywhere
Before I saw his work, firsthand

Working Like A Dog (Or A Cat)

An observation about types of human nature.

Some people work like dogs do,
They run and run and run —
They always work in packs, too;
Alongside everyone

And others work like cats will:
They rest up on some shelf,
Then suddenly they’ll sprint to kill,
Just himself or herself

The dogs think cats are lazy,
A natural enemy;
The cats think dogs are crazy,
And waste their energy

My Golden Friend

All we really feel.

I glance for her down on the floor,
But she is not there anymore,
My old and lovely golden friend;
And I can’t really comprehend

This business we call life and death:
Not what comes after final breath,
Nor how much of this world is real –
Nor why
Love’s all
We really feel

lessons from the cat

the cat is sleeping on the book […]

the cat now sleeps upon the book;
the book upon the table lies –
why read a book
when i know that it lies?

i have a blanket for the cold —
the cat now kneads the blanket, so
who needs it worse?
the one who needs or kneads?

my grandson says that
captain america is
batman.
the cat never makes that mistake.

i talk to the cat about
why it is that
the music of william schuman
speaks to me as it does –
the cat offers
no answers

i miss the dog,
who just died,
for she was real —
i have no cat,
i haven’t for many years

my last cat lived 21 years
our dog lived 15, which
for a golden retriever
was getting up there

i write this because
the house seems a lot emptier
and

i know no other way to face it

Getting Up There

Fifteen years old now.

She’s getting up there now, in years;
She tracks in bits of ice and snow —
I see her on the carpet there,
And wonder where the years did go

When she was trotting by my side,
On morning walks across the fields;
A golden spirit, sweet and pure,
The life of love
And what
It yields