Author: Jeff Shapiro

It is all waiting for you…
Perfectly still, and alive…
You can’t touch it with your hand…
You can’t touch it with your mind…
You can only touch it with your heart.

It is waiting with brimming cups and endless variety…
With musicians always playing…
When you sense it, hold your gaze and don’t look away…
And melt into its unfathomable blue.

Hold its blessings delicately along the edges…

It is much older than you are…
It is in every breathing being…
Lying peaceful in the grass…
Running freely in the fields.

It is so different than the bustle of this world…
Where the multitude ever rules…
This place of rationalization and darkness…
Where, if enough people do it, it ceases to be a crime.

Most creatures are naïve about such things…
It is unfortunate, but true…
But each day we have the opportunity to become like bubbles on soap…
And wash ourselves clean.

I love you,

Annie

Some general musing…

I prayed today for 2 biscuits…
And my butler gave me 2…
You see, God does answer prayer…
Hallelujah!

More spiritual stuff…

Okay, if we both have the same deck of cards…
Can we read each other’s future?
Oh, it’s not that kind of deck…
That’s okay, I have a difficult time reading charms and symbols (or anything at all…)

Okay, now to the real juicy part…

I know for sure that only the simplest lives can see the universe as it is…
The pretentious are like stragglers adrift…
The less I know the more I can see streaks of clarity…
And most importantly…
Children are the wisest of all creatures…
They ask questions that have never even occurred to me.

Here I am philosophizing…
While I’m the smallest thing around…
Philosophy is like tickling a catfish (Be careful where you tickle…)
Or brushing up against the hairy legs of a giant.

Did you know that each atom in this universe dances alone?
Ha! I’m guessing that you didn’t think a pup like me would know that!
Yet they come together to form you and me…
How they do it, I’ll never know.

I’ll pray about it (along with asking for 2 more biscuits!)

I love you,

Annie

What is the tale that you are now telling?
Does it include any hidden charms?
Have you added your own special miracle?
Is it alive with butterflies?

This is my current tale…
Did you know, every human house is like a giant’s castle…
That I once told my butler that I was so hungry I could eat a horse…
Now, I see every horse like a snack.

All my tales originate from a bubbling spring…
Each like an oasis…
Each adding to my own individual miracle…
And of course, each of my poems, contains a magic charm.

In my tales…

I never need to name the peaks and the meadows…
I have never been able to come with a name for the power in this universe…
When I tell my tale I feel closer to you…
Yup, and I also feel closer to God.

My tale continues…

I did, one time, try to eat a horse…
My teeth stuck to it’s hind leg like Elmer’s glue…
My long hair bristling…
I stay away from horses now.

I love you,

Annie

If I squint and look closely, I can see the wind…
It has many shapes and forms…
Sometimes it is like lightly compacted sand…
Sometimes like a dove…
Sometimes with teeth like a hammer.

It touches us all…
Old and young side by side…
Makes us sometimes warm, sometimes wet, sometimes cold…
Brings us flavor from some distant barbecue.

This is one more reason to keep your eyes wide open…
You may miss the wind unveil the green ray of the sun…
Or carelessly walk into a badger (I’ve done it once; very bad day!)
Or fail to see the songbirds hiding in the trees…

When at ease, everything seems more real…
It the only way to lift ourselves off the ground…
Worry is the opposite…
It is like carrying an extra load of laundry…
When the laundry is already washed, folded and put away.

Why do I want you to see the wind?

You, to me, are like a vase with a yellow rose…
Like my favorite bone…
You keep me from banging my head against a hollow tree…
And you help me to see, things too large for me to see.

I love you,

Annie

Let’s review some of the basics from a puppy’s point of view…

Life will always be a mixture of excitement and confusion…
It will always seem like the author is stumbling…
We will always need to pause to test the breeze.

Life is a long way to walk…
It can be bumpy when you ride too…
But you will go nowhere at zero miles per hour…
Or if you always wait for the crowd to thin.

But there is always beauty…
It’s simply a matter of keeping your eyes open.

I know that at any moment, I am able to give color to the hills and meadows…
Sketch butterflies playing in the rain…
Create a background filled with Osage orange (a plant that is really green.)
Watercolor the most beautiful and the most terrible (I try to stick to the most beautiful.)

Very important…

There will always be a little fellow on your shoulder whispering nonsense…
Creating doubt one line at a time…
Stick to simple things for a happier day…
There is nothing better than a simple cup of tea.

Less important…

When you have a bloated belly, it is best to lay with your legs up in the air…
Let the thought of that last chicken bone linger…
Spit out quickly anything that has a strange taste on your tongue…
Never try to catch a beaver.

I love you,

Annie

I like to study reflections…
The dipping Willow…
The autumn leaves burning with reds and browns…
And so much more…
All from a mirror of glory.

It as if this whole earth is painted…
Chanting a brave song…
Like a perfect gum ball…
A butterfly puppy.

A reflection ties together lines…
Shades them with a piece of coal…
Spills all the watercolors…
And then does it over and over again.

Sure, some are mixed and mashed together…
Concealing the images with enchantment…
Now you see it, now you don’t…
A bird, a whisk of color, and then a bird again.

Reflections are only a temporary matter…
Like our special moments that disappear too soon…
That is why we have been given a heart and a mind to remember…
Ah yes, one more thing…

Reflections don’t have worry lines.

I love you,

Annie

I don’t understand the term “Being rubbed the wrong way?”
How can there be a wrong way to be rubbed?
You can rub my head, my belly, my butt…
And I will never tell you it is the wrong way.

Your rubs are like gentle, tingly currents…
An acceptance of who I am in the natural world…
Trapping me in some kind of slow motion…
All from your magical hands.

For me, touch is everything…
It is a series of happy recognitions…
A world planted in hugs and kisses…
A mirror for the sky.

I guess, “Being rubbed the wrong way,” means that you don’t like certain people…
People that eat at you (another tough expression for me?)
But the funny thing is, that if you look very closely into their lives…
You will find the same white star on their forehead as yours.

Yep, all of our hearts are engraved with words that are difficult to understand…
The “Love your neighbor” words seem to stand out pretty clear…
It may be the strongest message of all…
Certainly, something to ponder about.

I love you,

Annie

Can’t you see?

It is more than a tree…
It is more than a dream…
To me it is clear…
However, most people only see what they are told to see.

I open my eyes to rainbow light…
Life enters through the tip of my tail…
I jump, knowing someone will always catch me…
Today, I have decided, the butterflies belong to me.

I don’t need to write a letter to Dear Abbey…
Instinct is my counselor…
I can feel the answers in the air…
Floating like monstrous dancing clouds.

I have known you for a very long time…
We met in a place long, long ago…
Our spirits connected and then we were one…
Who knows the place and time, spirits never grow old.

You are more than a person…
Your life more than an instant replay…
That self-doubt you feel is just a loose floorboard…
Time to nail it down.

I love you,

Annie

I’m content with a simple life…
I understand my limitations (except when I want to take down a Doberman!)
I don’t have to travel the world…
I can travel from image to image captured in my memory.

I don’t need to always look for something snappier to wear…
My life is just a pile of odds and ends…
The perfect framework for my poems…
It’s all that I need to build my own world.

I have come to realize that my breath is not my own…
It is some kind of music from another world…
My in-breath is the melody…
My exhale is the chorus.

Yet, there is much in this world that terrifies me…
I’m petrified of fur stoles…
You know dead animals people wrap around their necks…
I happen to be the perfect size.

Every now and then I feel like I have been brushed by a wing…
It is the most beautiful feeling in the world…
Like, all at once, I am cuddled, fed and groomed…
I know that you have felt it too.

I love you,

Annie