A Tail of Two Sisters

Oh, Cali the dog is a long one

with hindquarters narrow and far,

her nose sniffs around in the pantry

while her tail is out dusting the car.

Her muzzle is noble and wolf-like

she wears four white socks with a smile,

she’ll bark at intruders politely

but “watch dogging” isn’t her style.

Short Boxy, the wonder pup fuzzball,

ferociously growls as she scoots,

the fantasy squirrels all around her

take cover and shake in their boots.

She climbs to her perch on the sofa

and curls in a ball for a nap,

one eye is half open and watchful

for a treat or a welcoming lap.

The girls, of course, aren't truly sisters

although they would challenge that call,

young Cali the big family sweetheart
and “A.K.A. Lucy”, the small.

Circle Circle

Oh why, dear muse, has this pen been forsaken?
Does verse not slake your ego when you thirst?
Perhaps your taste in wine I have mistaken,
a sour grape for muse? I have rehearsed
the motions of the quill I made before
but little seems to flow. The verses should
be pooling on the paper, not the floor
like blood or wine. If only poets could
turn on and off the muse through force of will,
extract the feelings deep within the heart,
I’d wick the fear and love from pot to quill
and scratch them on a page. If I could start

perhaps then, muse, you would restore my knack
and let the magic circle, circle back