It was Marisol no doubt
Who rooted it out with her snout
That magical stone I found
She rooted it out of the ground
And put it on layaway
Like something for a rainy day
Or something to think about
I found it then astoundingly
Right outside the kitchen door
From where she left it there before
In December when she died
Beside me on the kitchen floor
On the Eve of Christmas Eve
She left me something to believe
Or not but I think I do
I think she was thinking of me
Brother Dog and what would be
When I could understand no more
And wondered what to hope for
A wish from Marisol come true
To show us so we could know
From the message she left in stone
That we were not left alone
But how it got from where she hid
It who knows now but it did
And slid a little bit up to
The kitchen door like it knew
When she remembered from her side
She found it like she hid it
Like a bone I know she did it
For me to show her Brother
Dog on this side from the other
A good omen, that's for sure. Some dogs sure like stones. Marisol certainly knew how to leave a message for her master/fellow dog as a way of bridging the distance between us and the rainbow bridge.
Dear readers, this is my third book of poems, and inside are a special collection of what have turned out to be not only MY personal favorites, but also the favorites of many of YOU. Some of these have never been available in print before...
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
Using Calgary as a backdrop the author satirizes the self-serving nature of the public as it continues to fatten itself, not only physically, but egotistically as well.
Love ya!
Jane
Ron