The Little Dog

The little dog stands alert

looking for something to bark at.

Most of the time there’s nothing

and he is disappointed.

Looking for something to bark at

takes concentration and grit,

and he is disappointed

if he goes in without uttering a sound.

Taking concentration and grit,

he plans for the next time he goes out.

If he goes in without uttering a sound,

there is nothing to be rewarded for.

He plans for the next time he goes out.

Most of the time there’s nothing.

There is nothing to be rewarded for.

The little dog stands alert.

© Julianne Carlile

That Bell

The way the bell
rang on that day
was like a tell
in poker play.

It rang to say
war had begun,
that on that day...
an end to fun.

It rang so loud
and rang so hard
some there were proud
and others scarred.

Who knows for whom
it tolled that bell,
for life’s a tomb,
and hell’s a bell.

©️ Julianne Carlile

2016

the garage guard dog
next to him leaning in close
his young replacement

Irresistible

Violet pearlescent eye shadow;
watermelon tinted chap stick;
cover stick to cover the blemishes and
give you that glow;
rose gold eye cream, only to be worn
at night at some posh function.
You can never wear too much blue eye shadow
someone once said in a movie and, by George, it's true!
A fresh tube of lipstick, a new shade...
oh, wait, it's the same as the one in my drawer.
Time in front of a mirror with a palette
to choose from, my face the blank canvas...
I have a cousin who's never worn make-up.
Of course, she's very beautiful, but how can she resist
the irresistible? 

© Julianne Carlile

Dog Haiku

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I bark all night long
my owner is not at home
but I do my job

© Julianne Carlile

The Dream Fish

My grandmother used to take us fishing.

Feet dangling from the pier,

she’d bait our hooks and

take the fish off.

Most too small to keep,

she’d throw them back.

Sometimes, we’d get one we could take home.

Once in a while we’d catch a crab.

They were tenacious and hard to shake off,

despite our best work,

and Grandma was often tasked there too.

Years later I had a dream of that shore:

I’d waded in, hands in the water,

trying to catch a great big fish.

The fish was beautiful,

all the colors of the rainbow and more:

it seemed to shine with gold and silver;
it had a preternatural light.

No matter how hard I tried,

I could not grab that fish.

Long after I awoke, the dream stayed with me.

I couldn’t catch it,

and I couldn’t let it go.

© Julianne Carlile

The Voyage

Sometimes I wonder about others

when I am on a voyage,

thinking to myself in the silence.

Where do I have to go, how far away,

to lose this incredible burden:

my talent for doing so much harm.

It is not only that I do harm,

but through my neglect the others

shoulder my terrible burden

and go off on their own voyage.

They go their own way, they go my way,

and I am left alone in the silence.

What happens to them in the silence?

They pass ahead into time; is it harm?

Why do I think any way they go is my way?

They are complete minds—they are others.

Yet, we all make the same voyage,

and to be separate is a great burden.

Not to see you as me is a burden,

a painful wall of immense silence

that causes us to go alone on our voyage.

On the other hand, harm

can also be seen in seeing others

exactly as myself. I want my way.

This is why I run or walk away

with my sack, my mysterious burden

which I hide from all the others.

Do you think they know in the silence

that I almost wish to do them harm,

that I am jealous of their voyage?

Do we protect others on their voyage

by making them believe they own their way?

Or could it be that we’re doing harm,

causing them to carry their burden

through an eternity of silence--

a silence that leads each of us to be an other.

On my voyage I’ll remember a burden

that took me away in the silence,

where my harm is equal to others’.

© Julianne Carlile 

1994

You Go On

You go on, not remembering,

or else don’t care, which is the same,

and I think on the lovely ring

you took back, worn by what’s her name.

Nature consoles me; it has heart,

a heart I did not find in you.

Nature will not leave me apart.

Nature, in fact, is just and true.

The shorn grass falls out in my wake,

the swallows follow on my way,

I resolve to make a mistake.

Before I see the boy, I say,

"I love you," and your voice or God’s,

on the summer wind answers, nods.

© Julianne Carlile

Star-Crossed

I would often ask you for the stories

of how I ended up here

and you would tell me:

I met your grandfather when

he came to work for my parents.

He was a really sharp dresser.

Then you would laugh.

I wondered if you knew what you were really

telling me:

That grandpa had been given used clothes

by your lover, a man you were enamored with

and at first, at the play,

you thought grandpa was him.

(His scent permeated the room;

you could feel him—his essence,

like a star beam covered in gold dust.

But then when you looked,

you saw it was grandpa.)

It must have been really funny,

but what’s really funny is that’s why

I’m here.

© Julianne Carlile

Sonnet for Nicky

He has a head like a little flower,

a ruff like a lion's around his neck.

All day long he dreams of having power—

if he has to charge someone, what the heck?

I really think he likes to dream of life,

what it would be like to be on his own,

to be in charge and to have his own wife—

especially when I get on the phone.

But it is easier to live with me,

to not worry where his next meal comes from.

I feel for him then, the poor little bee:

the turmoil he feels when I tell him come.

So I live with him and he lives with me,

and in our faults by lies we flattered be.

© Julianne Carlile