Poems From the Porch 19
And the Weather is Fine
Welcome to the porch. Thank you for taking some time away from your busy lives to just sit and relax for a few minutes as I share this weeks requested poems. As usual the topics are diverse and I am sure you will find them interesting. There are actually two poems about travel and two about dogs, but none about travelling dogs.
I said last week that I had run out of requests well you, my readers, answered the call and I received a flood of new prompts. Keep them coming and Poems From the Porch will keep on keeping on.
The weather since the start of the New Year has been the welcome relief we have been hoping for for so long. The extended drought now broken, mostly sunny days but rain almost every afternoon or night. Most of the fires that have been burning around the country are now out and people can start rebuilding their lives. So to me, all this is a good definition of “fine.”
“How about a poem on the benefits of travel?”
I should have expected this topic from you Liz as I know from your wonderful in-depth and informative articles how much travel means to you. I decided to share two poems on your requested subject. I hope you like them.
The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.— St. Augustine
The Benefits of Travel
I’ve travelled all around the world,
New York to Kathmandu,
Rode a gondola in Venice
And a camel in Timbuktu.
I’ve climbed Mt Kilimanjaro
And the Eiffel Tower in France,
Escaped from Sudanese pirates
By the literal seat of my pants.
The Pacific Islands called me,
They coaxed me with their charms.
On beautiful white beaches
I lay beneath the palms.
I’ve enjoyed cups of tea in Mumbai,
And coffee in Instanbul.
I’ve dined in style in Tuscany,
And in Madrid I fought a bull.
Some people love possessions,
Some just like solitude,
But my true love is travelling
By plane, road, rail, or cruise.
The benefits of travel
Are just to vast to list,
But if you never leave your home
You won’t know what you missed.
The Lonely Traveller
I am a lonely traveller
I’ve been around the world.
New destinations every year,
Adventures are unfurled.
I’ve seen the sights of Europe
Like Pisa's Leaning Tower,
And trekked in Asian countries
Like China and Nepal.
The wide brown land Australia,
Africa’s Sahara sands,
America both North and South,
And many other lands.
The things I’ve seen amaze me,
And the people I have met.
I’d love a travelling buddy
But I haven’t found one yet.
Traveling alone gives freedom
But it makes one feel alone,
Especially when you’re in strange lands
So many miles from home.
”A few days ago, I saw a dog on the way. Instantly a thought lingered in me about writing a poem about dog , but it hasn't materialised as yet. Could you please write one extending this series.”
I love animals, Harish, and have dogs of my own so I enjoyed writing this poem "The Stray."
Thorns may hurt you, men desert you, sunlight turn to fog;
but you're never friendless ever, if you have a dog.— Douglas Malloch
A stray dog sleeps beneath the stairs
Of the apartment where I live.
He follows me when I go out
He has lots of faith to give.
He has no collar or real home,
I don’t even know his name
So I just call him “Hobo,”
He’s friendly and he’s tame.
He’s not a pedigree for sure,
Can‘t even tell his breed,
He doesn’t expect much in life,
But will beg for a small feed.
I give him scraps I have to spare,
And water to survive.
He shows me thanks as best he can,
With sad but grateful eyes.
I’m not supposed to have a pet,
But I may just take him in,
Ignoring an abandoned soul,
To me, would be a sin.
"I do not know if you have written a poem about pets. Through the years I have had such loving dogs and cats. However, my first pet was a canary. My girlfriends bought it for my 16th birthday as my parents would not let us get pets when we were growing up. I was overjoyed."
I cant imagine life without pets, Pamela. At time of writing I have two dogs, six cats, and three hens. That number also tends to change from time to time. Yes, I have written a few poems about pets, but this time I decided to write you a poem about one of my dogs, Omo.
Dogs die. But dogs live, too. Right up until they die, they live. They live brave, beautiful lives. They protect their families. And love us. And make our lives a little brighter. And they don't waste time being afraid of tomorrow.— Dan Gemeinhart, The Honest Truth
A Dog Called Omo
I have a dog named Omo,
She is a white Maltese.
She‘s eight years old and has a limp
But at least she has no fleas.
We took her in just recently,
She was needing a new home.
Abandoned pets know where to go
To make it in a poem.
She likes to tease the neighbour’s dogs,
Annoy them ‘til they bark.
As long as they’re behind a fence
She’s fearless like a shark.
Her tongue is always hanging out,
I guess it’s just too long.
It‘s tempting to just cut it off,
But that would just be wrong.
Omo’s a friend to Ginger
Who’s deaf, and blind as well.
The presence gives her comfort
For she has the sense of smell.
Sometimes Omo’s grumpy,
And tends to eat too much.
I need to help her lose some weight
And reduce her food a touch.
Whether you have dogs or cats,
Or any type of pet,
Tret them like your family
And make sure their needs are met.
"I was looking forward to your mud poem for two weeks, and you didn't disappoint. Another, please? 'The muffled silence of snow.' "
Sure, Bill, not a problem. I have never seen or experienced snow first hand, let along heard it. But, here goes. I hope you don't mind me borrowing a little from your latest "Mailbag."
I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.— Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass
The Muffled Silence of Snow
The snow flakes fall so gently
While we're asleep at night,
A ghostly sheet decending
Blankets everything in white.
It muffles the loud city sounds
In a stillness and a calm.
Some say they don't like winter,
But it has a special charm.
For children there are snowmen
And snowball fights to win,
Then inside sitting by the fire
To thaw their frosty skin.
Many creatures hibernate
when snow starts falling light,
Preparing for the winter's cold
When food supplies are nigh.
Life becomes so peaceful
And everything moves slow.
Each winter I just long to hear
the muffled silence of the snow.
© 2020 John Hansen