A second poem from Karen Ross’ workshop (12/11/2015)

Phoebe

Phoebe looks so very sweet,

wags her tail as if to greet

us when we’re back with shopping,

haul in bags. Our arms are dropping off.

 

We see the postman’s been and gone

and Phoebe’s opened every one:

letters; bills; menus; and cheques

are tatters, shreds which Phoebe wrecks.

 

She’s tried to inwardly digest,

spat out some, swallowed the rest,

but now she sits, her brown eyes pools.

Come on, Phoebe, we’re no fools.

 

In her mouth, a poppy clenched,

though no thought gives to those entrenched.

For her, it’s one more toy for play.

Dogs don’t do Remembrance Day.

Written in Karen Ross’ workshop and based on a sketch of her dog, Phoebe, created from newspaper cuttings. The dog is clutching a red ball on a string (her favourite toy), but it might just be taken for a poppy!

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3 comments

  1. Mike Poyser · November 12, 2015

    Very good!

    Like

  2. Ann-Marie · November 13, 2015

    How delightful. Innocent and forgiving eh?

    Like

  3. patrickprinsloo · November 13, 2015

    Sorry I missed Karen’s session. It seemed to work for you.

    Like

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