The Friday poems: dogs and cats

Dharma by Billy Collins

The way the dog trots out the front door
every morning
without a hat or an umbrella,
without any money
or the keys to her dog house
never fails to fill the saucer of my heart
with milky admiration.

Who provides a finer example
of a life without encumbrance—
Thoreau in his curtainless hut
with a single plate, a single spoon?
Ghandi with his staff and his holy diapers?

Off she goes into the material world
with nothing but her brown coat
and her modest blue collar,
following only her wet nose,
the twin portals of her steady breathing,
followed only by the plume of her tail.

If only she did not shove the cat aside
every morning
and eat all his food
what a model of self-containment she would be,
what a paragon of earthly detachment.
If only she were not so eager
for a rub behind the ears,
so acrobatic in her welcomes,
if only I were not her god.

Having slept, the cat gets up by Kobayashi Issa

Having slept, the cat gets up,
yawns, goes out
to make love.

One response to “The Friday poems: dogs and cats”

  1. The haiku does not move me so much but the doggy poem is great, especially the last stanza. This morning when Sylvia and Pixie and I went out the door to walk to Sylvia’s school bus stop, Jack (our neighbor Connie’s beagle) was ambling around our front yard — I walked him back home though it seemed like he would be just as happy to hang out a while longer.