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

Long-haired Chihuahua (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He has a head like a little flower,

A ruff like a lion around his neck;

All day long he dreams of having power—

If he has to bite 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

Ode to a Dog

Happy the person with a dog,

companion of the first degree.

Awake or sleeping like a log,

                they’re fun to see.

Waking you at an early hour,

they always start your day off right,

and do not mind your greater power;

                they will not fight.

To a woman they are a child;

to a man, like an errant son.

Whether they’re quiet or quite wild,

                they’ll take a gun.

They’ll shuffle off this mortal coil

and leave you sad; you’ll miss your elf,

whether you put them in your soil,

                or on your shelf.

Because I do remember mine,

staring, rapt, at a bedroom wall,

where he does now in fact recline.

                He heard my call.

© Julianne Carlile

Beauty

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men

couldn’t put beauty on the map.

Beauty is truth and truth is beauty.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

All men seek beauty—

it is said the two words most said by men
before making love is:

“You’re beautiful,”

and yet no one knows what it is.

The destroyer of strong men and their horses,

the fields of flowers go on

but the men and their horses are gone,

until the next trip.

© Julianne Carlile

This poem took second place in the Wilda Morris Poetry Challenge for May, 2014.

A Valediction

In A Valediction Forbidding Mourning,

John Donne uses a compass

to represent his love for his wife.

She might have wished for a different metaphor,

like maybe a thick, locked door,

or even a different life.

Twelve children in sixteen years did her in

just as surely as a gun or club or knife.

So that’s what happened to the wife.

© Julianne Carlile

Say It With Love

I love a man

with dark brown hair.

I do know why,

and even care.

His many moods

are a bright mirror

where I see life,

so much clearer.

© Julianne Carlile

Christmas Snow

The way the snow
fell on the hill,
blowing high and low
trying hard to fill

every tiny crack
in the countryside,
left us with no lack--
now let Christmas ride!

© Julianne Carlile

My Devil Dog

My dog wears his devil costume.
Next year, I'll have to buy another one.
It is a job, as are brushing his teeth,
bathing him, taking him to the vet--all things
that are outside of myself,
all things that keep him here.

© Julianne Carlile


2013

Dog Bed

My Very Own Comfy Dog Bed (Photo credit: Howard O. Young)

my dog's bed
doesn't match any other furniture
gathers hair
takes up space
is in the way
is not used very often at all
is my favorite piece of furniture

Julianne Carlile

To Argue with a Dandelion

to argue with a dandelion
is of course pointless
it doesn't love you
it doesn't love you not
it is just there soaking up the sun
and enjoying itself

it will ignore all your efforts
to destroy it
as it lies there wilting

it will not hold a grudge
tomorrow you will see its twin
and you will feel a twinge
as you start to uproot it with your weed puller
gee why do I have to do this
is it really hurting
anything at all

© Julianne Carlile

This poem won the Wilda Morris Poetry Challenge for May, 2012.

To Argue With My Dog

to argue with my dog about anything
is of course pointless
he knows how hard things are
how we both are just jokes
in the great cosmos
how things we plan hardly ever turn out

he is glad he has me
to take care of him
and love him

he knows when he won't do as I say
eventually I'll get it
much as I might want to believe
I am superior not like him
it will never ever
be so

© Julianne Carlile