Even a Dog-Earred Dreamer Deserves a Sonnet
Gemma the spaniel snoozed in her chair
of the Famous Explorers Club in Mayfair.
In the warm afterglow of a double pink gin
on the deep buttoned leather she rested her chin.
She dreamed of people so wild and exotic
and of Princes and Pashas, dark and despotic.
how they welcomed her in to each palace on high
and bade her farewell with a long and sad sigh.
She dreamed of the mountains they crossed in the night,
surprised robbers and bandits and made them take flight.
How the people all loved her and begged her to stay
but she packed up her tents and went on her way.
And perhaps in those hills there's a small sacred place
where a strange local goddess has a soft furry face?
THE CHANGELING BRIDE
You go to other lovers in the night.
In early spring I see you sniff the air
and feel the warming soil beneath your hand.
You start to hear the dog fox bark at night;
I see the restlessnesss behind your eyes.
Late in the night I wake to find you gone
then furtively returning with the sun,
your hands and feet are wet and smeared with dirt.
Last night I heard a wounded creature scream
and felt the snare that bit into its flesh;
I found you gone and ran outside to see
you slipping back under the garden fence.
You go to other lovers in the night. I know.