For DOGS and their care-givers –

Hardwood Tap Dancer

At the oak door
Their young golden retriever—
Who chewed through the metal
Water pipe and flooded their rental
Townhouse
Totally—
That infamous hound, now most
Head wagging the air to tailed excess,
Greets me like his long-lost buddy
In a bounding tap dance of ‘paws’
Clack, clack, Clacking

Across their shiny hardwood floor
To a sliding dognail-scratched stop,
Frenzied movement and pointed-pup
Cold wet nosing;
With joy, he’s the wonder
Jumper
Thumper
Prancer
Dancer
Of
Dog
Here
Ness.

1st pub. in The Greensilk Journal

--


Indy Pacer Racing Down the Freeway

Taking it easy, zooming down 101,
California-coasting on a 3-dog night—

Suddenly screeching brakes--red metal tails;
Me, muttering doggish words,

I jam my stop pedal, scanning
Sluggish crawls of tired cars ahead,

Doing under 10 in the fast lane;
Where's the eye-goggled wreck?

Lo and below! way up ahead,
It’s a small mongrel, running,

Only a little blurred brush of fur
Paws fast down dim-lit pavement

In front of a Honda Civic lady;
Howling down, outrunning the moonlight

The rest of us, 'paused' gas-guzzlers hanker
Down until a Ford trucker swerves

Off the un-freeway, jumps out,
Makes a mad grab for the sprinting pooch,

But the small canine switches lanes,
Into the doggy good night, an Indy Pacer,

Ahead of our growls on this paved terrain
--One lone barking whelp, night's terrier,

Howling down, outrunning the moon
And all of us 'paused' smoking cars.


1st pub. in The Write Room poetry magazine,
and in previous pub. poetry book,
selah river
(based on actual happening)


--


The Canine Trail Memorial

Puppy pulling on his collared leash,
In the verdant high rolling hills of San Ramon,

We wind along a lariat of blacktop,
Two 2-legs and their best friend, at a dogtrot,

This weaving trail sequestered
In the intertwining valleys,

Resorts and multi-million homes,
Below green cattle-grazing heights.

Yes, we fast-pace this pedigreed path
Through lush grass near sunset,

Sol's corona glow lowing in the west.
At a cross-path, we stop, hug and brush

Our Black Lab pup,
"Atta boy, ;Scout.”

Next to us rises up a short telephone-pole
Banded with 33 canine collars in rainbow

Colors and dangling metal ornaments.
A modern totem, it's a pooch memorial

To beloved deceased barkers who led
And sniffed this trail, their caring givers

Out for sunset dog-pulled hurried strolls.
But as we ascend from that canine shrine

Headed back In the hilly shaded dusk,
I, in a muttering "tailing" mood,

Lean over to my wife and whisper low,
While giving Scout a hug, "Doggone it."


1st pub. in vox poetica
and the pub. poetry book,
selah river

In the Light,
Daniel Wilcox

The Tails of the New Cat and the Old Mouse

Another homeless cat has adopted us the last few weeks:-) We're calling him Cinder. He's all black on top and sides, with white paws and underbelly. In honor of this new owner of us...here's a poem I wrote for another black cat that owned us a few years back, Zorro:-)

The Tails of the Cat and the Mouse

Beneath my hand the smooth mouse moves, gray and black, Its long, fibered tail swishing this and that way While I, its master, move it around. Sometimes Its corded tail catches on the keyboard tray; Perhaps I ought to buy a tailless fastback.

So goes the tail of the cat and the mouse.

My feline master, Zorro, is at the door; The living tux, white-fronted and black-masked Slinks in to claim my lap, his throne. Having just Fed himself, the cat yowls and demands a task From me. I had been working—but no more.

So swishes the tail of the cat and the mouse.

One hand's fingers peck at the disarranged Glyphs of black and white upon the keyboard; The other strokes his black crown and white jaw, And the mouse again to add more to the hoard Of text that slowly scrolls down the white page.

So curls the tail of the cat and the mouse.

Zorro, in command, sees all; the furry sphinx Adjusts his paws as I move his seat (my knees), And tracks the pad-bound motion of my mouse. Sometimes he lays a white paw on the keys; Then jumbled text appears -- a real screen jinx.

So twists the tail of the cat and the mouse.

The mouse and I, we know who holds the power; My feline Lord meows imperiously Demanding my attention, all at once. What else have I to do but serve? So he Leaps down with tailed pride from his catnap hour.

So waves the tail of the cat and the mouse.

Impatient and commanding, Zorro stands Begrudging time I spend to clear the screen. I open the door; the king of cats takes leave While my obedient mouse sits, quite serene. The jungle tale, not tech, surely rules my hands.

So ends the tail of the cat and the mouse.

--Daniel Wilcox

First published at Anthrozine

To Other Sentient Species

The Canine Trail Memorial

Our yellow pup pulling on her collared leash,
In the verdant high rolling hills near Fairfield,
We wind along a ribbon of gravel,

Two humans and their best friend, at a dogtrot,
Our weaving trail sequestered
In the intertwining valleys of centered Cal,

Between rustic farms and suburban homes,
Below the cattle-grazing heights.
Yes, we fast-pace this pedigreed path

As it lolls through lush withered grass near sunset,
The corona of Sol's glow on the coastal range cresting, lowing
With scattered cattle on the heightened bluffs to the west.

We take a 'paws' at a cross path to hug and brush
Our Golden Lab pup who pulls and rushes off
To chase a stick, "Atah boy, Yellow."

At this juncture, stands a large pole stump
Banded with 33 canine collars in various rainbow
Shades and dangled metal ornaments like some modern totem;

It's a pooch memorial for the deceased barkers
Of the past who have sniffed this trail month after month.
And now we new dog-carers, hurry past,

Out for another sunset dog-pulled stroll,
A couple yanked along forward by their hound;
But as we leave from this canine shrine

Headed into the descending spread
Of the suburban shaded dusk,
Yellow noses along the trail.

I, in a muttering, 'tailing' mood,
Reminisce about those collars,
Lean over to my wife and whisper low,
"Doggone it."


Daniel Wilcox


First pub. in vox poetica
in different form

--



Clammy Chops

I scooped in one huge mouthful of savory chowder
Swimming with succulent salmon reconnoitering

Wild from Alaska—my taste buds buzzed into singing,
But the stupid phone in the kitchen rang yanking me.

I dropped my creamy spoon and rushed through the open door--
Wrong number! Frustrated, I slammed down the white thing,

Tended to nagging errands clanging for attention;
But then came a loud slurp...slurping 'round the den corner.

Oh, no! I rushed back to the aromatic room
And there crouched Fizzy, our calico, her cream-rootbeer

Mugged head half-buried in the scent-wafted white bowl,
Just fin-ished--her pink tongue wiping those smiling chops.

Daniel Wilcox

First pub. in vox poetica

--





The Indy Pacer

Taking it easy, zooming down 101,
California-coasting on a 3 dog night—

Howling down, outrunning the moon

Suddenly screeching brakes and red tails;
I jam my stop pedal, scanning,

Muttering dog words,
The sluggish crawl of tires n’ metal ahead,

Doing under 10 in the fast lane;
Where's the eye-goggled wreck?

Howling down, not running the moon

Lo and hold; up ahead, a small mongrel,
Only a small blurred bush of fur

Paws down the lighted pavement
In front of a Honda Civic lady;

Howling down, outrunning the moon

The rest of us, ‘paused’ gas-guzzlers hank
Down until a Ford trucker swerves

Off the un-freeway, jumps out
And grabs for the pacing pooch,

Howling down, outrunning the moon

But the small canine switches lanes,
Into the dogged night, an Indy pacer,

Ahead of our growl on the paved terrain
--One lone whelp, our night’s highway terrier.

Howling down the highway, outrunning the moon



:-)


Daniel Wilcox

First pub. in The Write Room
in different form






In the Light,

Daniel Wilcox