like dogs
first beam of light
tickles the eye lids
tail wags, body stretches
‘my people are still here!’
very, very soon
can’t you feel it coming
there will be
my daily bread and a chance to run and pee…outside
awesome
another day begins

This may not qualify as a poem, but as I watched Annie wake up this morning, same as every morning, all ready to go and optimistic it occured to me that I was watching perfection.  She has mastered her dogginess.

Recently, a group of friends sat and discussed poetyr with a poet.  It was eye opening.  I saw that all the 'poems' I have written, likely including this one today, hardly qualify.  For good reason.  It felt like she was talking to me, but of course she was just explaining her area of expertise, saying 'show me, don't tell me.  Paint me a picture, do not tell me what I am supposed to see in that picture.' 

This is a rough paraphrase, but it pretty much said the kind of things I put to into words and call a poem are nearly always of the 'tell me' variety.  More like prayers really.  Usually me telling myself to be more like my dog, for instance.  This is a skill it would be cool to have. 

To be able to paint a picture with words, and only a few words at that, with enough courage and confidence, humility and groundedness to refrain from the simple (and boring and patronizing and selfish and non-interactive) telling of my story as if it were a silo and to instead tell my story in a way designed to connect with the stories of others.