(10-17-2021, 02:23 AM)Mark A Becker Wrote: In What We Trust
Good ole Buck was a big bear of a dog, I like this line, three different animals all of which are names of dogs I know, even dog is a dog name.
a burly black shepherd with a small white tie
on his chest. I have a stereotypical priest image in my mind here, still a decent description of the dog. The dog is already very personified. One early autumn evening
we sat perched on the top steps of the porch sat and perched seemed like the same thing, then they seemed like different things, I'd choose 'perched'
at my brother’s place, eavesdropping I like the mention of your 'brother' s place
on the urgent chirping of the last crickets.
A cool breeze stirred up an earthy smell
from under golden leaves. Old oaks lifted
moonlit limbs above the woods, but Buck
fixed his gaze on something beyond the trees.
His gentle orange eyes reflected the rising moon;
his rapt silence spoken only in animal language.
Could he be imagining dogwood branches as arms there's oaks and dogwood, this is autumn so theyre losing leaves, are the branches wide apart? Is this several trees togethers branches since they're in the 'woods'? I think dogwood is too much dog
cradling that crescent moon; mighty Jupiter
wooing the lonely Autumn Star? This is now the only question
Bucky rested his head on my shoulder and smiled
reassuringly. Then he raised his graying snout
to savor the crisp, musky air; opened his jaws
to let out a long singsong yawn, and placed a paw
upon my lap, somehow knowing his time was near. All of this block really puts me in the scene, we know his time is near because of the gray, he might be imagining branches cradling a moon, it's as if he knows, cause I don't know
Almost 40 years later, on a clear October night, I must have critiqued this right before the revision was posted because I thought autumn was used a third time but I see October, I kinda liked the three autumns better,
I still look to the sky with questions, but I’m certain so I only saw one question, I know the original had a bunch of questions, and some of those I thought helped contrast the one answer, and you didn't give us the answer really because we don't know your true question, I want to say it's in the title .
of one answer that I got that evening;
I’ve thought of it often since we buried ole Buck
by the brambles in my brother’s back yard.
I think because most people treat God as a him/her, and most dogs as him/her you could change the title 'In Who We Trust' or 'In Dog We Trust' because it looks like you trust your dog friend who looked like a priest and made you think of cosmically huge questions.
In What We Trust (REV)
Good ole Buck was a big bear
of a dog, an all-black shepherd
with a small white tie on his chest.
One early autumn evening we sat
perched on the top steps of the porch
at my brother’s place, eavesdropping
on the urgent chirping of the last crickets.
A cool breeze stirred up the earth
under fresh fallen leaves. Old oaks poked
moonlit limbs toward the clearing at the edge
of shadow filled woods. Buck focused his gaze
on something that I couldn’t quite see.
His gentle orange eyes reflected
the rising moon with an awareness
for which he had no description. Me?
I imagined bare dogwood branches as arms
cradling that crescent moon; mighty Jupiter
wooing the lonely Autumn Star.
As I pondered the infinite, Bucky rested
his furry head upon my shoulder
as if to console me. How did he seem
to understand what I was thinking?
Though I’d been taught that we were given
dominion over animals, I had to reconsider.
I asked out loud, “if I’m really created
in Your image, then what about Buck?
In whose image was he created?"
Good ole Buck, a simple animal, yet
so finely attuned to something
in which I have only half-hearted faith.
You may think I’m foolish; or confused,
yet I’m certain of that autumn evening
on the porch; thought of it often
since we buried Bucky by the brambles
near the clearing in my brother’s back yard
nearly 40 years ago.
In What We Trust
Good ole Buck was a big bear
of a dog, an all-black shepherd
with a small white tie on his chest.
One early autumn evening we sat
perched on the top steps of the porch
at my brother’s place, eavesdropping
on the urgent chirping of the last crickets.
A cool breeze stirred up the earthiness
of freshly fallen leaves. Old oaks stretched
moonlit limbs into a clearing at the edge
of shadow filled woods. Buck focused his gaze
on something that I couldn’t quite see.
His gentle orange eyes reflected
the rising moon with an awareness
for which he had no description. Me?
I imagined bare dogwood branches as arms
cradling that crescent moon; saw mighty Jupiter
wooing the lonely Autumn Star.
As I pondered the infinite, Buck rested
his furry head upon my shoulder
as if to console me. How did he seem
to understand what I was thinking?
Though I’d been taught that we were given
dominion over animals, I had to reconsider.
I asked out loud, “if I’m really created
in Your image, then what about Buck?
In whose image was he created?"
How is it that this simple animal
seems so finely attuned to something
that I have only half-hearted faith in?
You may think I’m foolish; or confused,
yet I’m certain of that autumn evening
on the porch; thought of it often
since we buried ole Buck by the brambles
near the clearing in my brother’s back yard
nearly 40 years ago.
I took this from my post in MILD, and after incorporating feedback from that forum, I'm posting it here for final critical review.
Here is the first draft:
In What We Trust (original)
Good ole Buck was a bear
of a dog, an all black shepherd
with a small white tie on his chest.
On an early autumn evening
we sat on the side porch
of my brother’s house, looking out
on the clearing between the woods.
I think he was listening to the last
of the crickets, smelling the dusky
richness of the first fallen leaves,
as he gazed with pointed ears toward
something I couldn’t quite see.
His gentle orange eyes reflected
the crescent moon, and he smiled
(I’m sure of it) while seeming to ask,
“did you smell that? Hear that?”
I did not- but I could feel it.
In this anthropocentric world
that we pass through, I find it
interesting that we ascribe human qualities
to just about anything- hands in branches,
faces in clouds, Jesus in pancakes.
My God. Are we really created
in Your image, or You, in our imaginations?
But we are not what this is about.
It's about an animal; one particular animal:
whose image was he created in?
Just a simple dog, so obviously attuned
to something I half-heartedly have faith in.
I know you think I’m foolish;
blasphemous even, or maybe just
confused. Yet I’m certain of that night
on the porch, and I remember it often
since we buried him by the brambles
in my brother's yard, nearly 40 years ago.
