Green Are… Poem and Photography from my Garden

Green Are... Poem and Photography from my Garden - Thoughts on green and why green is good, but only if it comes in a bunch

Green Are, Poem and Photography from my Garden

Green are the leaves that grow between birds
Outside my window, playing hide and seek with the sky.
And green are the last of my vineyard’s hopes too,
Among rusty leaves, the last of a summer of grapes.

Green are my thoughts, the ones you see through my eyes –
Is my soul green? I surely hope it still is.
And green are the thoughts I keep in my heart,
For they are not ripe-green yet.

For green is good, I think,
As long as aplenty green things there are.
The singular green frightens me, envious and cold,
Therefore green is good in a bunch.

For green were the seas of my childhood tales
Of maidens who could and princes who dared, a tad.
And green were my teen years,
When I thought I could do it all, like them.

Green are the spines on my bookshelves now,
And a magic green pencil lays on my desk
For the times inspiration fails me,
I pick it and its energy handwrites me new tales.

Green Are Poem Photography

Green are my hopes that end one more decade,
And I think that’s pretty cool too.
For green speaks of more springs to come,
Of harvests of hopes, and a future in green.

Green Are Poem Photography

If you enjoyed ‘Green Are… Poem and Photography from my Garden’ you might also like to read:

Poets, Poetry and a Pandemic
As Good as Gold – Why, Hedgehog?

You can discover all my books with Amazon and even read them for free with Kindle Unlimited.

The Rose at the End of my Garden, a poem

The Rose at the End of the Garden

The Rose at the End of my Garden, a poem

If you walk through the garden and follow the path,
Past the spot where the dogs love to nap,
Past the corner and up a step,
Past the grass that’s half sun, half shade…

If you step where the grass grows, escaping the cut
And watch your step for the ‘bombs’ planted by dogs,
And through the pool’s gate you go –
If the vineyard guarding the padlock will allow…

If you stop and listen, hear the grass call,
And past the wild garlic you stroll,
You could stop by the old branch or you could go on,
It is up to you. But you’re near the end, so push on…

Past the place where the fairies come out at night,
See, they left an umbrella behind,
Got caught in the Pinkhead Knotweed,
The sweet scented snowballs that blush with ease…

Hold your breath for a second, then take a bow,
Introduce yourself to the Rose, the aim of your stroll
And eight years King at the End of my Garden –
Past the brick path
And the grass half shade and half sun,
Over the dog bombs,
Through the gate,
Past the wild garlic,
Along the old log,
And the fairies’ umbrella,
At the end of each day’s stroll.

Rose End Garden poem
The Rose at the End of my Garden, a poem

© Patricia Furstenberg

Find all my novels and volumes of poetry on Amazon worldwide, in kindle and paperback.

A Boy and his Dog

a boy and his dog poem

The boy broke his run at the entrance to the park and, panting heavily he leaned forward, hands on nobly knees. A trickle of sweat ran down his ripe cheeks; another drop just missed its show, landing in the dirt. The boy watched as his breath stirred the sand at his feet; for an instant, it rolled into tiny balls.

A dog radiating as much heat as the boy, tongue hanging loose, was already there, panting underneath the thick shade on the first tree. The boy’s cheeks were a match for the dog’s exhaustion, hot and red. If one’s shirt was darkened along the middle, at the back, and had dark patches underarms, the other one’s body felt like a well stocked furnace.

“You win again, boy!” the child half croaked, half laughed, stretching to caress his best friend’s head. The fur behind the ears was still soft, like a pups’.

At the water fountain nearby the boy pressed the chrome lever then stepped sideways, allowing his dog to drink first. A red tongue lapped greedily until the dog’s entire head looked like a Christmas tree, a perfect tiny water bauble balancing at the end of each hair. The boy laughed, his lips almost pasted together by the thickness of his saliva. So thirsty! Only when the dog stopped did the boy bent over the cooling spring, yet his eyes remained on the giant fur-ball.

Sparkling and sweet, the water felt like a balm sliding down his burning throat. New life pumped through his body and the boy half closed his eyes, sighing with satisfaction.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his dog using a front paw, then the other, wiping the water droplets off his fur. In his eagerness he seemed to be dancing. The boy burst in laughter and water splashed all over face and his hair. He laughed further as he drank. And the dog sneezed then surrendered to the shade.

a happy dog - poetry by Patricia Furstenberg

A playful breeze was fanning the leaves overhead. Their rustle had accompanied the two since they woke up that morning. Life was a holiday song. The summer seemed to be stretching endlessly, filled with possibilities. They could do anything they wanted, go any place they wished, and at any time – as long as Mother knew and they returned by supper. After all, it was the first day of summer holiday.

In the shade of the big tree there was a boy, a ball, and, of course, a dog.  Quite enough to fill an entire summer with excitement.

The dog’s tail wagged and the boy laughed. Or the boy laughed first, the two were interconnected.

The dog’s eyes followed the boy’s, reading his mind. This was a two way street.

The dog shot up as the boy stepped sideways; the dog’s tail wagged like a helicopter’s blade. The dog’s eyes were focused low, intent on the boy’s foot. The boy’s leg went swinging backwards, then forward, towards the ball. The ball flew off this earth and, at exactly the same time, the dog left the earth too, his body a spring stretching towards the sky. 

Ball and dog chased the sun’s rays further and further away. Only one could win this race and both boy and dog knew which one will that be. The boy squinted as a ray of sun forced its way between the thick foliage above.

The tires screeched like a teacher’s chalk on the blackboard, leaving a question in the air – one you did not study for. The noise was out of place in this holiday with a ball, a boy, and a dog. The boy opened his mouth to call, yet he could not remember what words to use so he chocked on air. His legs were moving like they had a mind on their own, sprinting towards the road. All the boy wished for was to have wings to reach it faster.

There was no movement, just a light shadow against the black tar. And the contrast didn’t made sense, light on dark.

The scorching tar smelled of petroleum with a hinge of burned tires.

The dog, his dog, his best friend, lay under the scorching heat. There is shade under the tree, went through the boy’s mind as he circled the area.

First thing he notices were his friend’s eyes, closed. But the chest was moving! Lifting and dropping in sudden jerks. Yet the tail didn’t move when the boy collapsed nearby, senseless to the rough road scraping his bare knees.

No bleeding because his heart is so strong, thought the boy, his hands hovering over the fur, not daring to touch.

It was the first time ever, in eight months since the two were together, that the dog’s tail didn’t wag at the sound of his master’s footsteps. Only a triangle-shaped nose stretched towards the boy’s hand. It was dry and hot against the boy’s wet fingers. The dog licked them, his tongue raspy.

A trickle of sound reached as far as the boy’s ears.

a dog's paw-print on our hearts

The vet was whispering and his mother was sighing, her eyes red, yet the boy felt no fear of the big words being used: paralytic, quality of life, euthanasia. He knew what he had to do next. He had damaged his dog and somehow he was going to fix him.

All that mattered right now was that his dog was alive. The rest, he’ll figure out, make a plan, like his dad always did. The man with a plan. as his friends called him and always relied on him.

Yes, he’ll make a plan. His dog relied on him.

It’s been an accident, his mother had said. Yet she wouldn’t stop crying, trying to explain to him why his dog, his best friend, had to be put to sleep. Whatever being put to sleep meant.

And why was it that grownups only could decide on behalf of a dog?

Just because his dog couldn’t use his hind legs anymore? Put to sleep? You don’t do that to humans, do you?! You buy them wheels. The mailman had one set with a seat on them and, boy was he fast, delivering newspapers quicker than before his crash. Also a car, an “accident”.

And his grandma had a set of wheels too, with a seat and a frame, for when she went shopping.

People always got things when they got injured.

So he carried his dog home that night, the boy did. He laid him gently on his bed, arranged pillows around so that he won’t roll over and fall, not that his dog could move at all, then he fell asleep in the armchair, next to the bed.

And the next day, while his parents were at work, he carried his dog into the garage, carefully laying him down on a blanket taken from his bed.

He’d broken his dog and now he was going to fix him.

He always thought of his dad’s garage as of Aladdin’s treasure cave. You were sure to find just what you were looking for – if you only dug deep enough.

So he dug and he thought, all the time talking to his dog, like he always used to. Asking him questions, waiting for a bark in reply, acknowledging his dog’s point of view.

At one stage he stopped and listened. He thought he’d heard his dog’s tail thumping, like it always did when… before… So he popped his head from behind a pile of boxes, the shape of a smile on his face.

Nothing. The tail was as still as it’s been since the dire incident.

Yet the dog’s head cocked to one side, question in his eyes. The boy blinked away a tear.

a dog's eyes speak volumes. books by Patricia Furstenberg

“So much dust here, boy, it gets in your eyes, you know.”

He knew his first bicycle was still there, somewhere. Found it underneath a pile of old bags. He carried it slowly to where his dog was laying, for a good sniff all over, especially the training wheels.

“We want these, boy! Good boy!” he exclaimed. The tail didn’t wag, but he knew his dog was excited; he could see it in the bright eyes and the tip of those fury ears pointed at the bicycle.

The training wheels, a couple of old copper pipes, some scraps of cloth to cover them with and a wide piece of leather for a comfy seat lay beside the dog. The boy’s heart thumped, pumped up with hope. He’d planned this all last night.

He’ll build his dog a set of wheels. For his hind body and legs, to support them when they will go for walks and, maybe, even runs again.

The summer was not even half way through, it’s end still far out of sight. The days were long and full of exciting, endless possibilities for a dog on wheels and his boy.

boy dog

~ Somehow, all my books include a dog – or are about dogs! ~
Find them all on Amazon UK, Amazon US, or use this universal Amazon link.

You might also enjoy reading:

Read the opening pages of Silent Heroes

Dogs, Man’s Best Friend, as Illustrated by Art, From Once Upon a Time to the 20th Century

Subscribe to my e-Newsletter for fun and informative content on dogs, books, history, folklore and a castle or two:

Cat Riding through a Field of Rice on a Bicycle, #cat, #poem, #Japan, #kitty #猫 # ねこ#neko #pet #nature via @PatFurstenberg

Cat Riding through a Field of Rice on a Bicycle

Shh, hums the rice, swaying with the wind,

Whoosh, sings the breeze, warm and mild.

Cling-cling-cling, the silver bell sings along

While the bicycle runs along the road.

A basket in the front.

What’s inside?

 

The air is sweet with cherry scent,

The boy is careful at the bend.

He knows the road, his eyes on basket –

Where something small sits in this racket.

First time out,

In the basket.

 

And now and then a nose pops up,

Sniffs just above the basket, plump.

A cherry blossom petal landed in the punnet?

It grew paws, tail, and purrs when you stroke it?

Has whiskers too,

As white as snow.

 

The orange head looks left and right;

It rains, the rice smells fruity

Yet no rain drips on the small crown

The boy holds an umbrella.

And on and on

Their bicycle they ride.

 

The boy hums with a smile, calming the warm bundle

And every now and then he strokes the silky nuzzle.

And quite so often, it is said,

They ride their bicycle to town and back home again.

Where they cook,

The two of them.

 

On autumn days, fragrant and cool,

They ride to pick up mushrooms.

And when the first snow hugs the ground

They ride it still, is rumored –

The boy, a silver bicycle

And… cat.

 

What keeps them cycling, rain or shine?

Or during snow or weather fine?

Is it the never-ending field, the road that stretches infinite?

Or is it that they love how wind through hair and fur articulates?

And how and air smells sweet and fragrant

Just for the two of them, Jun and Haku.

 

This poem was inspired by “How I trained my cats”, a video by Japanese vlogger and YouTube-er JunsKitchen – enjoy!


You might also like:

Belle Cat, whiskers on my mat

Perfectly Captures What It Means To Be A Cat.” (5* Amazon Review)

The poem will capture the imagination of children showing them the joys of owning a cat and how different they can be.” (5* Amazon review)

When a stray cat, lost and hurt, is given a second chance she grabs it with all of her… paws!
Based on a true love story between a cat and her human, told with compassion and humor.

Available as eBook and paperback on Amazon.

Amazon UK, Amazon US, Amazon JAPAN, Amazon Canada

Haiku-San, Cherry Blossoms

Pets — Understanding Your Child’s Affinity Towards Animals

Blog Post Image courtesy Federica Diliberto, available free on Unsplash.

 

Are You a Puppy or Dog? a #humorous #poem #AsGoodAsGold via @PatFurstenberg

Are You a Puppy or Dog?

~A humorous poem  for pet lovers and not only! Read more poetry in my new book As Good As Gold~

A puppy is needy,

He’s cuddly, yet squeaky,

His eyes are beady,

He is small.

He needs his cuddles,

Preferably in bundles

For he loves to snuggle

All night long.

 

A puppy has questions,

Runs away from lessons,

Jumps in all directions,

Yet he always

Looks for mom.

 

A puppy’s intentions

Can always be questioned

Although are the best ones,

Or so he says.

 

A dog has learned his lessons,

And he’s been called a blessing

More than once.

A dog knows that the present

Is the blessing

He’s been looking for

All along.

 

And so I ask you,

Between the two

What came first,

Puppy or dog?

 

For a puppy needs his mommy

And a dog grew up from a puppy

Or when else

Had he learned

That the present is gold?

~~~~~

You might also like to read the poem Bailey the Sea Dog , a haiku for an Airedale Terrier dog or read about Understanding your child’s affinity towards animals.

Enjoy more haiku and feel good, humorous poems about dogs in my new book of poetry and haiku, As Good AS Gold:

As Good As Gold is also available as e-book, paperback and Large Print, a dyslexia friendly edition: Amazon UK, Amazon US 

 

Haiku-San, Father, #Haiku #Sunday #HaikuSan via @PatFurstenberg

Father, a Sunday Haiku: Haiku-San

Careworn, labored hands,

Troubled, creased, smoothed by love,

A dad’s life in short.

~~~~~

I chose the name Haiku-San as it derives from Haiku, meaning unusual verse in Japanese (hai=unusual, ku=verse, strophe) and San, the honorific Japanese title when speaking about people. San is also the phonetic transcription of the first syllable of the English word Sunday, Sun-day hence Haiku-San, a Sunday feature on Alluring Creations involving Haiku I write.

You can find more Haiku in my new book of poetry, As Good AS Gold:

Haikus at the end were tiny diamonds.” (Kathryn Meyer Griffith, long time author)

“This is a truly delightful and uplifting book of poems through the eyes of mans faith friend and companion, his dog. I often use to look into the eyes of my own dogs and just wonder how they saw the world and well I think Pat Furstenberg has probably come up with the nearest possible answers.” (Susan Hampson)

Text and Haiku-San © Patricia Furstenberg.

(Image courtesy Pixabay)

I hope you enjoyed my haiku. Let me know your thoughts in comment below.

Haiku-San, Life Cycle, #Haiku #Sunday #HaikuSan via @PatFurstenberg

Life Cycle, a Sunday Haiku: Haiku-San

While you looked away

A leaf turned from green to rust.

Life elsewhere goes on.

~~~~~

I chose the name Haiku-San as it derives from Haiku, meaning unusual verse in Japanese (hai=unusual, ku=verse, strophe) and San, the honorific Japanese title when speaking about people. San is also the phonetic transcription of the first syllable of the English word Sunday, Sun-day hence Haiku-San, a Sunday feature on Alluring Creations involving Haiku I write.

As Good As Gold by Patricia Furstenberg – A dog’s life in poems. 35 poems and Haiku for all ages

You can find more Haiku in my new book of poetry, As Good AS Gold

Haikus at the end were tiny diamonds.” (Kathryn Meyer Griffith, long time author)

“A lovely book of poems and haiku that will appeal to any animal lover.” (Shortbookandscribes)

Text and Haiku-San © Patricia Furstenberg.

(Thanks to @Jeremytphoto for making this photo available freely on @unsplash)

I hope you enjoyed my haiku. Let me know your thoughts in comment below.