I have an old dog. We don’t travel anymore. But we go to the park. I push her there in her stroller, then we sit on a bench together. We spent most everyday of the summer in the park. I took selfies of me and my dog on the park bench and posted them on Facebook. People got bored with my Facebook page.  Where was the glory? Then at the end of August I created a “My Summer 2018”  photo album. Hardly anyone liked it.

I wrote a poem about being in the park with my dog, then I re-wrote it as a rap song, and finally I made a sonnet of it.  I enjoyed myself and I would like to share my dog owner poems.

1. Lunchtime

Took the dog out
To our usual park bench
We sat in front of
The tired hydrangea altar
Dreaming of discovering
Pink frosted petit fours
Among the fallen leaves.

2. L-nCHtyme

Took the dog out
After a little rain bout
To our usual park bench
You know we both be wench
We sat in front of
The tired hydrangea altar
Not waiting for time to falter
Dreaming of discovering
Pink frosted petit fours
Baker’s dozen baby open all the doors
I said ALL the…..
Among the fallen leaves
Barely moving in the breeze.

 3. Lunchtime 4+4 and top up 2

Gentle August, fine day of fading summer under grey noon
Nourishing promises we made slow way along the garden mat
The sycamore trees tall and green, their shade merry boon,
On our small company, uncompromised, and equal to dancing gnat

The park so tendered, slow we wandered from blossomed to flowered tree
An age of decent history, without poignant pill nor sweet decay
As the dear four-footer near to me, her nose ash black as twitches the bee
At last we reached the wooden host, our great delight in short term stay.

A bench well grounded, and glanced, from our repose together,
Upon the established altar, hydrangea row before the swaying water’s edge
With dried heads so hanging mauve so pale, the brown stalks without great tether
Taken in charge before Persephone’s festive entrance, the wondrous portent bearing hedge

To each our thoughts sunk in great care, towards that sacred table, under where
We might find small distraction, a dislodged pastry – pink cakey frosted fare.