Monthly Archives: April 2015

Little Dogs

Words bite too
Little dogs
That tear at the fat flesh
Of your mind
Your soul
Where winds blow
Where fires grow
And biting you
They lick your life
With love and fire and pain and then
You heal
Learn to feel
For these words
Are the Hounds of Heaven
Many fanged messengers
Howling on fiery winds
First singeing then fully testing
Your mettle
Mining you for marrow
Removing your gross dross
The drippings of your life
They test you before
Consuming you whole
Swallowing bones and blood
Into the belly of the Near Eastern God
Who bled into all the world
And you wonder again
What have dogs to do with God?
Not much!
Unless they teach you something
Of love
And of God
In whom you now live
And move
And breathe your fire
Having been digested
You are a burning coal
Dislodged from the belly of that same God
And you are
A messenger
A spirit of fire
And a Hound of Heaven in your own right
Chewing and spewing words of love
With eloquent tongues of fire
And the words are not your own
But the words do not
Fall to the floor
They strike their mark and bite
Until you are still again
Curling in on yourself
To sleep in the belly of your fire God
For you are a “good boy” (or girl)
Your Master being well pleased
With your sharp, little teeth

Jeff Jenkins

This “prophetic poem” was conceived in a fever dream, upon the occasion of reading, “Santa Ana” by Russel Swensen, @scribblymouse, whom I consider a “poet” in the best sense of that word. Russel spoke of coyotes (which watch and prey upon us) and Santa Ana Winds (which may cool or feed our flames) and the fire that burns through our cities and dwellings (reducing us to our elementary ashes).

Russel’s words pleased and ignited my mind, I really enjoyed that read, and I could only reply in kind. I am not sorry for this poem, though I am sorry for everything else I have ever doneat least everything I have ever done that was not born of love. JJ


A Mirrror, A Window, A Door

A mirror holds
Your gaze
With alien hands
As you try
To reach through
And touch who
You thought you
Might be

A window puffs
Some life
A suburban bellows
As you strain
To breathe air
And see where
You may fare
Be free

A door creaks
An invitation
In dulcimer tones
As you step
On the road
Lay down a load
And just go
To see