"veterinary" poems
Before I breathed
A young man held my mother
coaxed her with unpracticed grace
from Irish Catholic garments between
rough sheets that smelled
like carpentry and dirt.
In photographs from back then
we have the same wrinkled eyebrows,
the same reddish beards,
but different creases
kissing the corners of our eyes.
There are canyons in my knuckles
carved out by cold.
Not New Mexico cracks
in too-hot soil,
but staff-lines of the song
New England skin sings—
I cannot deny I was born here.
My father wears gloves now when he works outside
Says he never used to, but
the pain maybe got too much
Too many winters laying palms flat
against elm, ash, sycamore,
feeling for a pulse
counting on his wrist,
waiting for a murmur, subtle hush
in the rhythm;
telling symptom
of a faulty valve.
I work weekends at a veterinary clinic
and the doctor there does this, too,
though sometimes, being held,
cats purr too loud to listen
and I must reach across the room
and turn the handle on the faucet;
Most cats fear water.
Well Father, I cannot drink from the soil
and I do not always land on my feet
But father, listen to my heartbeat
Put your hand on my chest
and don’t fear as my body
creaks in the wind—
Hear it?
Father
My boughs, my winter-catchers
are thin, but
it is not root-rot, moth, parasite;
I am not felled
like the beard you hacked from your chin
the day you decided to love, to suffer
the rest of your life
with that Irish Catholic girl—
This is merely my first season.
Brush the snow from my shoulders.
Please
comfort me
quietly,
like skin,
cracking:
*“My son
my sapling
you’ll grow.”*
Walker Staples 15 March 2013
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
Deserted on the side of the road
at first I thought it was rags.
Curiosity made me go and see
a whimper and moving paw.
Shocked there lay an injured dog
next to a blood stained log!
The tears ran not good for a man
a pathetic bundle of life.
I could not leave the animal there
thrown away without care.
What human could be that cruel
for them no humane rule!
A chill ran through me as I lifted
with a clumsy nervous gate.
Placing the vexed dog on my coat
as sad eyes gazed at me!
Soon in a veterinary waiting room
as a parent feeling the gloom.
I often go by that spot on my trips
the dog is well and by my side.
So sweet laying asleep on the seat
alert when we pass the spot.
Jennie her name we are a pair
contented with shiny hair.
How many animals are never found
and die alone on waste ground?
The Foureyed Poet.
Aug 18, 2011
Aug 18, 2011 at 8:48 AM UTC
three o four
there's a flock
of big brown moths
flapping at the door
they wish to see,
what the insomiac, me
is writing on my pallet
of white electricity
they thrum and they
fight to get to the
seven by five square
of light
that is my dark of night
insanity, rewrite.
sorry i must go,
the cat, has heard,
the feathery noise
and now sits poised,
ready to strike
and that will be
a darkside calamity...
of possible veterinary proportions.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
Never figuring out what God wants from me
My father getting too angry and beating me
My mother will never say the words 'Your'e beautiful'
My child will be nothing at all like me
If I end up with a husband, he will turn out like my dad
Not getting into veterinary school
Not surviving past 18
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
It was in the communist winter in a village of Transylvania
Besides the demented cold also rabies walked the streets
The news were like some dogs broke into pieces a raging fox
And to prevent a mass epidemic
Authorities chose the Convenient Solution:
Let's **** all the dogs of the village
Until the last one
Injecting them with Caustic Acid
I was only a poor kid I did not know what was happening
I took my puppy Bamby and lead him up the hill
For the so called vaccination
We arrived in lots of wailing cries and barks
Something was burning with much smoke in a large pit
People standing in a endless line
Dogs were terribly frightened
It was a horror landscape at the end of the world
One of the older boys claimed that no
They do not vaccinate but rather
They **** all the dogs
I thought he was messing with me
And we almost get into a fight
When I got close in front
Where dogs were injected the veterinary doctor
Was suddenly bitted by the hand
The snow was red like on The Pig Slaughters
And obviously terrified the assistant was bandaging the doctor
I understood that all the dogs were exterminated
Then throne and burned in that pit
With Bamby all went quickly he was a good dog
Barely barking he cried a bit and that’s all
Much later I found out that the odious regime
Had came to power with the same terrorist practices
Applied on people
Otherwise all went well and cool
Thanks to God we escaped from The Mean
Because me and my Bamby
We gave our childhood for a proper vaccine
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
A Great Dane named Matilda.
That's what I wanted.
You wanted children.
You want to be a veterinary doctor.
I want to be a chemist.
Your birth mother was gorgeous.
I'm sorry about her.
I'm sorry for everything.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 3:51 AM UTC
Well hello poetry, give me your astrology, hold out your hands let's have the maps your treasure's keep.
Sing me the songs now, your idle devotions, the languages of lucifer you
hide in your pots and pans. If you're awake, go back to sleep, it's time to eat you and cry on your pants. In a mistake that the garden you've kept on a clock, analog visuals to change how you talk.
While the song it keeps exploding, you only know how much you've been holding. Don't be too tired to call out if you need. It's late but don't forget how much veterinary school is worth, even the bumps and early morning rattles won't shake you at your core. It's morning now, the heat is on. The rustling of peasants start to grumble for their eats. Pumpkin with coconut oil in Ed's dish is the greatest point in her morning's happiness.
I don't cry. I don't cry. I just talk about it, in voices that only you understand. I don't cry. I don't cry. I just care about you. As much and more than the certainties you care about me too.
It's getting noon soon. And the cold is growing. I'm talking myself into getting more clothes on pretty soon. I don't cry. I don't cry. I'm just pretending to keep me going. I'm so enamored by someone as cool as you do. Let's play pretend, but keep all of this still going. Our neverending portrait drawings of Wednesday afternoon. Do you try? I try. As much as you have taught me. The weather doesn't affect how much I'm talking after you.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
be more thorough
with your dental hygiene
lest the breath
behind the breath
get out
and things become veterinary
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 11:12 PM UTC
We met in high school
(I won't count this as a year
but I fear you didn't
remember me as I did you)
I : (1989)
we met again
when your best friend
engaged to mine
I bought the tequila
you bought the limes
II III IV : (1990 -1993)
we dated
on and off
(even though you asked me
to be your bride
1 week after
our friends
engagement party)
V : (1994)
we moved together
to Mackay, away from
your family, great for you,
for mine, I cried
VI: (1995)
we married
after our Son was born
perhaps you thought
it was time
(I never understood
the delay, I mourned)
VII : (1996)
we struggled
to be partners
and parents
VIII : (1997)
I birthed another Son
we were so happy
Life had
truly begun
IX : (1998)
Two little boys
so opposite
from their
Father and Mother
we still struggled
(but we had each other)
X: (1999)
You decided your place
in this world
I surprised you
with a trip to Ireland
(you didn't want
to leave your girl,
but you couldn't wait
to meet family)
XI : (2000)
It all fell apart...
minding your own business
on your motorcycle
some stupid driver
ripped you apart
XII XIII XIV (2001 - 2003)
It was just me
paying bills
with no money
feeding kids
on love and honey
endless appointments
with doctors and shrinks
(did anybody think
I'd need a shrink?)
I never blinked, not once
XV : (2004)
You asked for more
another child you said
as affirmation you are not dead
so I bore you a daughter
at 35 ...
(the same year I took you
to the veterinary clinic
to be fixed, well...
it WAS just like
dropping the dog off)
XVI to Present (2005 to Today)
We still struggle
with day to day trouble
but for every year
we survived
I'll give you another,
and a high five
Oh.....
and a
I Love You
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
It is not impossible
to find joy in pain
when things are
getting sensible
for all of us
to feed a ploy
that will always
play and return
to the initial point
over and over
again.
Tell me
who does not
ever feel
joy in pain?
a veterinary
a mail carrier
a sous chef
a sommelier
a taco vendor
a groundsman
a pilates trainer
a football quarterback
a fast food chain worker
a ship captain in Somalia
they all have tasted
the wine of delight
while they have been
wounded severely
every single day
when they woke up
in the morning
from Monday to Sunday.
As for me
I’d rather
blow away my mind
by blowing
few rolls full of life
before I take
the paper
and detach
the pen cap
from its body
to start writing again.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
There’s no arguing that idealism has its place,
For if it does not flower, bloom, and spread its seeds
As the dying dandelion casts downy remnants hither and yon,
Then we have wept our tears and trodden in funereal processions
In pursuit of nothing more tangible than the wind itself.
That said, my boys, we shan’t live out our days
In some misty fairyland where the streams run with single-malt
And the trees are heavy with lamb and rashers;
This world can be a bitter, unpleasant place
(The unconditional love of mankind
Being the sole province of Our Saviour)
Where a man will give his wife a quick peck goodbye,
Then give a swift kick to a limping puppy sitting on the stoop,
Or the kindly veterinary will raise a lovely mouse
Just below his missus’ right eye
Upon returning from his local on a Friday night.
That ‘s the game as it’s played on this pitch,
And injury time has a whole new meaning here, lads,
For many’s the striker who is carried off
With pennies over his eyes.
Again, we have no quibble with Locke, Voltaire,
And the rights of man,
But know this: your leaflets will tear and blow away,
And speeches which roll through Parliament and trade union halls
Like great thunderstorms which blow in from the North Sea
Shall fade into the silence of minutes bound and shelved away
In some corner of the vast library of the forgotten.
You may shun the handwork of Messrs. Lee and Enfield,
Simpering that the rifle is the gavel of the coward,
That the garrote plays the music of the ******
Tell us, then, where the bravery lies in scribbling crimson prose
While ensconced in the warmth and safety of your rooms,
What dignity is gained by meekly dropping your gaze
When confronted by the stare of the Black and Tans?
There is no valor in sighting down windmills.
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
If it is a BullDog;
Will the female be:
A HeiferBitch?
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 8:36 PM UTC