Stephanie Lucero
—Poetry by Patricia Furstenberg, South Africa
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Patricia Furstenberg
WHY, MOON?
There’s a town where, on a street, in a house, all sleep,
there's a room in this house, all but one dream deep.
Each night the same, each night he lays awake
tosses and turns, he gets no break.
What happened to the world?
There's so much light at night that a puppy just can't sleep.
Aroo! Why, moon?
There's a house on a street with the moon perched right above,
there's a room in this house where a puppy had enough.
The moon spills bright, it shines on his bed,
he closes his eyes, no dreams, the sun instead.
Why is moon so big,
just yesterday she was but an arrow in the sky.
Aroo, roo roooo! Why, moon?
Moon looks down at pup and smiles bright and wide,
She found a house where all but one sleep tight.
She's not the only one awake, lonely in the night
The moon found a friend who’s also up at night.
She's been looking high and low, searched all over the world
for someone like her, to befriend and talk.
There's a house on a street where all are fast asleep
but a dog and a dad and they both sit counting sheep.
They sit by the window, look up at moon,
“She’s so big”, whines the pup; “she’s just full”, answers Dad.
"Full of milk?" hopes pup, "So this was it!
Dad will milk the moon then we can all go to sleep."
There’s a town where, on a street, in a house, all sleep,
there's a room in this house, all but one dream deep.
Each night the same, each night he lays awake
tosses and turns, he gets no break.
What happened to the world?
There's so much light at night that a puppy just can't sleep.
Aroo! Why, moon?
There's a house on a street with the moon perched right above,
there's a room in this house where a puppy had enough.
The moon spills bright, it shines on his bed,
he closes his eyes, no dreams, the sun instead.
Why is moon so big,
just yesterday she was but an arrow in the sky.
Aroo, roo roooo! Why, moon?
Moon looks down at pup and smiles bright and wide,
She found a house where all but one sleep tight.
She's not the only one awake, lonely in the night
The moon found a friend who’s also up at night.
She's been looking high and low, searched all over the world
for someone like her, to befriend and talk.
There's a house on a street where all are fast asleep
but a dog and a dad and they both sit counting sheep.
They sit by the window, look up at moon,
“She’s so big”, whines the pup; “she’s just full”, answers Dad.
"Full of milk?" hopes pup, "So this was it!
Dad will milk the moon then we can all go to sleep."
Yuki Dog
SILVER STARS
Under the silver light of the happy moon
snowflakes glisten, a snowman smiles for soon,
from the house where all but three sleep
and the humming of dreams blends with thoughts of peace,
round busy bodies, all covered in fur,
will make their way out, to play.
A blanket of stars is spread all across the sky
and more, even, blink from the ground nearby
when the doggy door flaps and out pops one, two and a third,
soft paws barely touching the fresh snow in a run
hot breaths poking, swirling up
towards the calm, smiling heavens above.
Three furry snowballs make it straight for the snowman
waiting for them, smiling with glee
and as the pups lap the fluffy snow and hide their snouts deep
their tails send hundreds of stars flying right through the air
until one pup catches a glimpse inside
where Christmas tree reigns, winking back.
A bright array of stars adorns it,
they spark so faint inside, they surely miss it,
the great outdoors, the night sky hung with sparks—
their sisters and brothers—and so he embarks
on a mission fit for a mighty pup
on a snowy, winter’s night made of dreams and stars.
With one cheery bark, then a second and a third,
one puppy bounces back in, then two more return.
while moon smiles, motherly, from the skies above
and Snowman’s eyebrows lift as he peeks inside
where three pups grab and then pull
silver garlands off a surprised Christmas tree
and bring them out:
stars belong with stars,
as pups belong with friends,
without a doubt.
Tanika
WHY, OWL?
In the middle of the night, between tall, dark trees,
a lonesome puppy creeps about, he whimpers and he shakes.
Small between strange shadows, under a silence so thick
not a sound goes through, not even the moon’s blink,
a sudden shape drops by.
From the stillness of the leaves.
Round and weightless,
Silent and black.
In the middle of the night, on a path between trees,
a puppy froze still, only his nose sniffs.
An alien shadow above his head just zoomed
wide, silent wings and eyes as big as moons.
The puppy yelps once,
the creature’s head spins ‘round and ‘round.
‘Round and ‘round goes the head,
sniff, sniff, goes the pup.
In the middle of the night, hidden deep under a shrub
a puppy cries, his fur stands up, he won’t even budge.
ahead two eyes as big as saucers
guard him, bright and yellow,
two eggs in a sauce pan.
“Hoo-w are you? What a warm night. Hoot! Hoot!”
It can speak! And it’s soft!
Spins its head, toots hello?
Warm and friendly,
small, like a pup.
In the middle of the night, sheltered by the leafy plants,
a frisky pup wags his tail to the new friend he’d found
listens closely to his stories of the night,
what looks different can also be liked.
Quiet wings to fly nocturnal—busy paws to jump when sunny,
big, wide eyes to see the nightlife—frisky tail, ruddy and lucky.
Night and day,
Friends, at last.
In the middle of the night, in my own back yard,
a chatty puppy wags his tail no longer scared and lost.
He no longer feels small, he found someone in the night,
tiny and downy who knows all under moonlight!
“One more story,” barks the pup. “Hoot, hoot, hoot!”
When mom opens the door, “Bedtime, Pup!”
“Tomorrow night, same place, same time?” comes a bark.
“Hoot! Hoot!”
In the middle of the night, between tall, dark trees,
a lonesome puppy creeps about, he whimpers and he shakes.
Small between strange shadows, under a silence so thick
not a sound goes through, not even the moon’s blink,
a sudden shape drops by.
From the stillness of the leaves.
Round and weightless,
Silent and black.
In the middle of the night, on a path between trees,
a puppy froze still, only his nose sniffs.
An alien shadow above his head just zoomed
wide, silent wings and eyes as big as moons.
The puppy yelps once,
the creature’s head spins ‘round and ‘round.
‘Round and ‘round goes the head,
sniff, sniff, goes the pup.
In the middle of the night, hidden deep under a shrub
a puppy cries, his fur stands up, he won’t even budge.
ahead two eyes as big as saucers
guard him, bright and yellow,
two eggs in a sauce pan.
“Hoo-w are you? What a warm night. Hoot! Hoot!”
It can speak! And it’s soft!
Spins its head, toots hello?
Warm and friendly,
small, like a pup.
In the middle of the night, sheltered by the leafy plants,
a frisky pup wags his tail to the new friend he’d found
listens closely to his stories of the night,
what looks different can also be liked.
Quiet wings to fly nocturnal—busy paws to jump when sunny,
big, wide eyes to see the nightlife—frisky tail, ruddy and lucky.
Night and day,
Friends, at last.
In the middle of the night, in my own back yard,
a chatty puppy wags his tail no longer scared and lost.
He no longer feels small, he found someone in the night,
tiny and downy who knows all under moonlight!
“One more story,” barks the pup. “Hoot, hoot, hoot!”
When mom opens the door, “Bedtime, Pup!”
“Tomorrow night, same place, same time?” comes a bark.
“Hoot! Hoot!”
Tadeusz Lakota
WHITE
One is pup, with his brothers—three,
where one goes two more follow, carefree.
One is the sun, with moon and star makes three
up on the sky they follow each other with glee.
Snowman is one. All alone,
thinks pup.
The day when sun played hide-and-seek
and white-grey clouds made all look bleak,
the day that smelled all fresh and icy
and Mom was baking sweet and spicy,
that day they all went overboard
when, “Snow,” laughed dad and kids sprang out the doors.
That day’s the day he came, the snowman.
He wasn’t there at first when all,
the kids, the dads, the pups, grand too, wrapped in a shawl,
the neighbours all, the mailman and friend mole
(who popped his head from his warm hole),
young, old, busy or not, all went out the doors.
To see the snow.
He wasn’t there, the snowman. Pup knows.
He came much later, towards the night,
when Sun was gone, but star shone bright.
He came all quiet, on soft footprints,
with his wide smile and pointy nose, and hat, topped sideways.
Then, stopped and stood, and froze, outside their window,
by the doorstep.
It’s night, the moon is out and all are sleeping, but pup
who tries to smell the snowman (through the window glass).
“I hope he won’t be leaving till the morning,
it’s eggs and bacon breakfast, I better warn him,”
and Pup hops off,
he’s out with snowman.
And two more balls of fur roll out the doors with glee
for Pup is one, but with his brothers, three.
Soon three white balls of fur surround the snowman,
who smiles his brightest smile, “S o, then,”
he whispers softly, it’s but the wind for you and I,
while three white, furry balls still bounce about, “snow fight?”
and on the sky the moon shines bright with glee.
Christmas in coming
for all, pups, humans, and snowmen too.
young, old, busy or not, all went out the doors.
To see the snow.
He wasn’t there, the snowman. Pup knows.
He came much later, towards the night,
when Sun was gone, but star shone bright.
He came all quiet, on soft footprints,
with his wide smile and pointy nose, and hat, topped sideways.
Then, stopped and stood, and froze, outside their window,
by the doorstep.
It’s night, the moon is out and all are sleeping, but pup
who tries to smell the snowman (through the window glass).
“I hope he won’t be leaving till the morning,
it’s eggs and bacon breakfast, I better warn him,”
and Pup hops off,
he’s out with snowman.
And two more balls of fur roll out the doors with glee
for Pup is one, but with his brothers, three.
Soon three white balls of fur surround the snowman,
who smiles his brightest smile, “S o, then,”
he whispers softly, it’s but the wind for you and I,
while three white, furry balls still bounce about, “snow fight?”
and on the sky the moon shines bright with glee.
Christmas in coming
for all, pups, humans, and snowmen too.
Today’s LittleNip:
Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.
—Roger Caras
Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.
—Roger Caras
________________________
Welcome to newcomer Patricia Furstenberg, who is writing to us all the way from South Africa, where she resides with her family. With a medical degree behind her, writer and poet Patricia Furstenberg has authored 18 books to date. Her writing has appeared online in Romania Insider, Books by Women, Huffington Post UK, Biz Community SA, Secret Attic, Poetry Potion, Gobblers & Masticadores, Masticadores Rumania, Spillwords Press, The Poet Magazine, and Lothlórien Poetry Journal, to name a few. The recurrent motives in her writing are unconditional love and war; Patricia’s keen interest in history, folklore and dogs brought her writing, through a perfect loop, to her native Romania. Patricia is the creator of #Im4Ro, sharing positive stories, and you can also find her on Twitter, her blog (alluringcreations.co.za/wp), Facebook or Instagram. All of today’s poems are from her poetry book, As Good as Gold. Welcome to the Kitchen, Patricia, and don’t be a stranger!
_____________________
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