This post's inspired by a pic that Leon Chaitow recently posted on my fb wall of his daschund, Dumbo, doin cardio in the meadow near their home in Corfu, Greece.
Leon and I have been bantering around about whether dogs or cats are better natural yogis. He is sure the dog is superior, my 2 cats would beg to differ.
This poem is in response to this picture and is intended as an honorific riff off the poem "Dog" by one of my favorite beat poets, Lawrence Ferlinghetti.
Da dog trods a trail through the field
and draws a line
dividing the meadow.
Not as mathematicians
calculate the distance of stars
in space time,
but as a chef
mixes the flavors
in the current concoction.
Dum-dog trumps a path in the mead
and the scents stirred up
waft joy
through nose and fur,
plant a smile
across this face
that will not disappear
when the excursion ends.
Dumbo dog beats the bush
past sentinels of cedars
'tween blooms of olive and orange.
Guru-Dum chomps the path
parting weeds
into salad bouquets,
potpourris,
savory and sweet,
pungent perfumes more wild
than Coco Chanel
could hope to capture
in numbered vials.
To delight
in oregano and fennel,
geranium and wild onion,
a hint of wild celery, mustard,
dandelion, borage and mum.
Mum’s not the word
for what’s flyin past this nose,
reiterating the path
of treaded treats
appearing on this new day.
Alkhemi follows just behind,
shares the rapture
as colored scents stirred up
enlighten the meadowed air
of our enchanted world.
Epiphanies of frittering
Foxy Emperors breed
in the strawberry trees.
Long Tail Blues and White Admirals
flit about in Dionysian delight,
following airborne paths
with no apparent destination.
Guru-dum flaps heady in the shade
under the ancient Holms Oak,
resident of this isle’s
primeval glens
since Poseidon himself
swooned
in midsummer’s erotic rhapsody.
A realist speaking truth
knows it’s all a fantasy.
Many tales to tell.
This tail to tell em with.
Things I smell
smell nothing like myself
till I thump them
sticky into fur.
I bark the birds
into a democratic twitter.
Squawking Magpies and Jays
caw cacophonous clamor,
uproaring this wild place
while their mellower chums,
swallows, swifts, sparrows,
orange yellow orioles,
chirp melodies and harmonize
still tuned
to the magnitude of danger
that also glides
through our enchanted meadow.
Nose horned vipers,
coiled black and grey,
have no rocks to house them here.
Scops Owls, night screechers,
camouflage from daylight
in crotches of our favorite trees
while we’re flappin along this path
to nowhere
that leads us
into the fragrant now
again.
