I Dream Of Him
Still damp from his evening walk in the rain
The dog sleeps on the floor at my feet.
A slowly steaming heap of inertia, he lies there
Making neither sound nor movement.
He smells of the hillside and warm summer rain
And something more sinister.
Did he chase sheep I wonder, while my back
Spurred on by a ewe’s feeble cries, did he pursue,
Hunt, back her into a corner of the field,
Did he sit there waiting, watching, willing her
To break cover?
His soppy grin turning to a snarl too slowly
To make it to his lips.
I stroke his soft ears, nudge him gently with my toe
But still he does not stir.
I bend down and scoop him up and he dangles
Limp and lifeless in my arms.
A crumpled towel still damp from my earlier shower,
Smelling of Radox and anti dandruff shampoo.
I drop it into the basket, replace the lid and turn out
The light. I undress, I go to bed, I sleep,
I dream of him.
Late October rising early
A frosty awakening
Dawn a sudden quickening
Of the pulse.
A skein of geese in the sky
Flying in v formation
A private jet coming in to land.
Honking and barking
Like stray dogs scavenging
For scraps of cloud,
A menacing pandemic of noise.
And with a loud swoosh
Crystal glass fragmenting,
Wings discarding flight,
Silence the aftermath of arrival.
Dennis Moriarty is fifty-six years old and originates from London. He has lived in South Wales for over thirty years. Married with five grown-up children and grandchildren, Dennis enjoys reading, writing and walking the Welsh countryside. He has been published in The Rye Whiskey Review, Setu Bilingual, Spillwords, The Blue Nib, Our Poetry Archive, and numerous anthologies In 2017 he won the Blackwater poetry competition and has read his work at festivals and gatherings around the UK and Ireland.