Corgi, walking man, stopped where I sat.
Climbed onto me, and sat in my laps.
Man apologised, but corgi unmoved.
Only after enough scratches, and a goodbye,
did it resumed walking the man.

we lay in bed and tell each other
which forests we want to carve
our names into, which branches
we hope to knock down, or grow into,
which places we want to make our own
money, our own homes, and our own.
I tell you I don’t know - you tell me you don’t know - we go on to tell each other all of the things we think might be the things we know.
I trust you. and I have to trust
that you trust me to do the things
we lay out on maps. to follow
and veer, and when the engine stalls,
to let go.
I told him, “We’ll have a corgi and a husky”
and you told me, “Plan A is to become an astronaut”
and I tell them over and over
thank you for letting me stay the night.

I wish you would love me as much as your Corgi,
I promise I too would give you unconditional  love and make your life whole.

Browsing, scrolling
Shopping
Consuming

A Blue Guitar,

A Corgi **** pillow.

driving south
to see trees in bloom
after a night of sleeping in the snow
& letting the hail beat up your face,
i can imagine is like
seeing color for the first time.

i am the new wick of a candle--
turned on by spring sun,
hot,
the light shows the beauty in strangers
like red-haired, shirtless Steven
whose eyes graced me with
the radiance of sunlit olive,
a shade i have never dreamed before:
gold & green globs twist in circles
in his irises, like magic

no wonder warm blood of new loves
is harvested in this season.

at the pink rock on the parkway,
i saw a collared corgi get lost,
enamored with strangers.
cannabis clouds coagulate
the air to power young hikers.
i spy front seat fever
in the car next to mine,
heads disappear
into the laps of their lovers.

for me, it is these woods,
the nurturing ways of the willows,
the numbing wind of unspoiled silence
by the glasshouse over the lake.

the bloom of new cycles
in the ancient--
what was always there,
like lovers that are always within,
part of you.
dogwoods crack open
to let us come together in a forested space
where all trails lead to treehouses.

this is my spring love,
this is bliss.

Shivering fingers, cradling a cold clay bowl
with dull roses surrounding the rim.
A Klondike bar cut like a grid on a paper towel.
My grandma used to let me eat one in the living room
"careful of the carpet"
on her yellow couches covered with sticky plastic.
She would play the Elvis Presley Christmas album,
To Ginny written in black sharpie on the sleeve
with a Love always, Mom underneath,
over and over again
while she hung bulbs of wood on the bottom branches
so her Welsh Corgi wouldn't break them with his paws.

Slate slabs with handprints
in purple paint every year for the holiday.
She'd set death aside in a coffin ashtray
to kiss my cheek.
Presley played in the background.

She'd rock
on the front porch in white wicker
coughing into the lid of a Pepsi can
until she'd catch me pressing my nose against the door glass,
tell me to turn around and sit on the couch.
It was too cold for me.
She'd only be a minute.

When we played, I'd hide between the two baskets
in the closet that held her hair products.
I could count all the bottles three times each
before she'd say she was too tired,
put on her coat, grab a white box, and hit play.
I always hated that album.

Now here’s the crazy thing about mental illnesses and poetry.
A pen can be a knife and well,
Vice versa.
Maybe you’d seen me scribbling nonsense on my notes;
Where I should be taking notes instead, mind you.
Believe me, in my mind
I’d have killed everyone in the room,
Maybe including you,
Three times at least
By stabbing them in the eyes
And of course, myself, in the end
By the time I’d have finished the first line.
My mind is a cat that can change its shape.
Sometimes it’s a lazy Persian That wouldn’t get out of its bed
And sometimes it’s a Corgi
That just wouldn’t stop barking.
You must now be thinking
“But Corgi is a dog breed. Aren’t you supposed to be talking about cats?”
Well, and I’m supposed to be out,
Talking to people like everyone else
Instead of complaining here, am I not?
I wish my body was a high school
So that I could report to the principal that
My brain is relentlessly bullying
My heart by making her pay for
Everything that he lacks.

A NIGHT IN SHINING-ARMOR  
From the 8th diary entry of Stewy Lemmon's childhood adventures.  
  
It was a little while after our trip to the snow at the Shivermetimber Ski Resort, when my Dad said, 'He had some good news'. His brother Albert, who worked as a tour guide, in the very old castle named, Shining Armor, located in the historical town of, Woncy Upon Thames, had invited the whole family to stay a night, in the Shining Armor castle.  
   
The castle would be closed to the public, so they could upgrade the garden's watering system, and do some minor renovations to the old horse stables. He told Dad, 'It might be the only time we could come and stay there'.  
   
Once Dad told us, the good news, the whole family quickly agreed. It would be chance in a lifetime to stay in a castle, and we were all, ever so keen.  
   
Then Mum and Dad told us, 'They would get straight to work, on some super, secret, special, surprises, for the entire Lemmon family to enjoy, while staying at the very old castle.  
   
Only three days to go, and we still didn't know what they were both up to. Dad was busy driving into town and back home again. Then, dad would go straight back into his unusually built and outrageously painted, outback, backyard shed. Our Mum, was coming and going from her very own, colourful, Arts 'n Crafts, hobby room, at the back of the house.  
   
It was now Saturday morning, and my Dad, had got up at the crack of dawn, to pack the car with all of our baggage. But, he soon realised, that he needed more room. So, he decided to hook up our very old trailer, for a bit of extra room. But, he had cleverly, covered up everything that was packed inside, so we couldn't see our super, secret, special, surprises.  
   
We then all got into our family car, and headed off for a night in Shining Armor's very old castle. On the drive there, the whole family pretended we were all travelling to the old castle, in our very own, royal, majestic looking, horse drawn carriage. Dad, pretended to be the head carriage driver, Mum, pretended to be the royal caretaker, while my two, identical, twin sisters declared themselves as, 'The Princess's Emma and Jemma of Shimmerleedimmerlee Estate, to us all', with a pompous smirk on their faces. My little brother had to be, 'Lord Lemmy the Little of Woncy Upon Thames' of course. Smoochy was named, the royals pet Corgi and I of course, was his 'Excellency King Stewy the IIIV'. Oh, what fun was had by all, travelling to the old castle, while pretending to be and talking just like, real royals, would do.  
   
Upon entering the castles estate, we even got to drive across the drawbridge and through the large fortified gates. Our Uncle Albert, was waiting for us at the foot of the stairs. He then opened all of our pretend horse drawn carriage doors. We all stepped out and burst into laughter and our Dad, jokingly said, to our Uncle Albert, 'You can take the royal baggage to our rooms, and then make our dinner on time, and don't forget the fine wine'. Then, with a grin, Uncle Albert said, 'Will that be all sir'?  
   
The whole family then walked up the front stairs, through the grand entrance, and into the foyer that had a massive staircase, right in the middle.  
   
Wow! I thought, 'What it must have been like, to live as a king'.  
   
We all went upstairs to our very own bedrooms, to take a warm bath. While we were bathing, Mum, crept in and laid our super, secret, special, surprise over our beds. Dad went to the trailer and took off the cover. Then, he hid our other super, secret, special, surprise in the castle's large garden shed.  
   
We were all so happy with our Mum's surprise. Our clever Mum, had handmade us all, colourful and flamboyant, royal attire. We would all wear them to dinner, like a real King and Queen would surely desire.  
   
The dining table was like, twenty-feet long, Mum and Dad couldn't even see me, if I happened to do anything wrong. After the main course and after plenty of talk, our Uncle Albert said, 'I'll be back in a sec'. Mum asked, 'If he needed a hand, but he said, 'No thanks, I'm just going to fetch the desserts, so I won't be too long'.  
   
He was gone for quite a while, when all of a sudden, the doors swung open, and in came a knight in shining armour. My Dad fell off his chair, still holding onto a small royal jug, and ended up with apple sauce all over his face.  
   
While, both my two, older, identical, twin sisters, just started to dream real fast, for they both had the same identical thought, that their husband to be, had come to take them away at last. I thought, 'It's so funny, how the brains of identical twins seem to work'. Then, Smoochy had jumped straight back into my top left-hand side pocket, full of fright.  
   
Then, the knight started to laugh, and said out loud, 'Will that be all sir'? For it was our funny Uncle Albert, playing a practical joke on us all, and saying, 'That he was now equal, now that his brother Archie, had got his just desserts'.  
   
In the morning, Dad went to the large garden shed and brought out his super, secret, special, surprises. For he had made, four homemade, rocking horses for us all to enjoy. A little one for Lemmy: a medium sized one for me; and two identical, but, much larger ones, for my two, much older, identical, twin sisters, Emma and Jemma.  
   
We got dressed again, in our colourful and flamboyant, royal attire, which we had worn to the royal dinner, the night before. After a day full of horsing around and even playing chess, on the outside, gigantic, playing board, it was time to say farewell to Uncle Albert.  
   
We thanked him for the invite, and for having made our trip, such a ball. For the wonderful trip we had, staying a night in Shining Armor's very old castle. All the while, pretending to be royals, and even dancing in the great hall. But we all knew, it couldn't really happen in real life, that's for sure.

struck by lightning twice by twenty-four
this astronomical record was hers, Guinness proclaimed,
this lady so famed, top of her class at Stanford, then Yale Med,
and blissfully wed, to a surgeon who always came in second

this did not matter at Cabo, or even in their first condo  
but as her curriculum vitae grew faster than a Walmart receipt
on Black Friday, he scrubbed up for one bloodletting after another, removing appendixes, and appendages, feeling her shadow
grow heavy, even in the bright lights
of his operating theater

his first was, of course, a nurse, though at least her age
his second, a decade newer model, fixed his lattes at Starbucks
number three was the neighbor with whom they shared
nothing but a fence, and a few awkward stares

her hours in the lab with petri dishes grew, and  
she never let on she knew, that her clean shaven number two  
was lying with others to stand himself  

when he asked for a divorce--number four requiring more
than liquid exchanges in sweet hotel suites--she acquiesced and even let him have the Welsh Corgi, the cabin in Aspen,
and half the 401K

to this day, she recalls imagining his liaisons  
while she married menacing molecules to one another
in tubes under faithful light, seeking answers to questions
asked by the dying she would never meet
a lump would only grow in her throat    
if she thought his scalpel never sliced
the heart of number four, for five

tiger, he was,
could not honestly,
tell you the breed...
he was a mispent afternoon's produce....
but by the stock of his body
and the smile on his face
some one's prize corgi,
was now in disgrace...

allways a smile and a little
yip-yap...
he was my childhood,
of running and jumping,
just because, we could.
the picking of blackberries,
the finding of mushrooms,
wandering along creeks
and afternoon naps,
with his soft furriness,
under my palm....

mottled through, ginger
and blue,
with an under-carriage,
supposedly white,
but more often muddy or dustily brown....

a co-conspirator of the highest degree....
would  sit under the table
and eat pumpkin for me.
but not the beans....
they made him smell...

his tongue so long and pink,
his ears ***** and mobile, tail was docked,
but his *** it did wag,
with such a unique style.

he was my childhood,
but then,
he was gone...
off to chase rabbits up
on the farm...

good boy tiger....good boy
you where my protector
with you i came to no harm...

The difference between a
Corgi and a Kilt is that one
does not need to lift a Kilt
to see if a Corgi's got *****.

this morning the pills
have not been there

kitchen
top cabinet

not there

but of course the world wouldn’t explode
if he didn’t take
the pills for one day
Things were going too fine to
slip downhill now

He didn’t need the pills. It
actually was like the doctor said, the
power was inside him
The power to change
to become better
to leave the past behind. The
power was in him
And in dearest Kyu, his therapy dog,
a small corgi who needed to be walked everyday

He smiled as he thought of Kyu
called him
and Kyu came
and he put the leash on
and went outside

The rain didn’t bother either of them
Only problem during
rainy days
was the lack of other people
to socialize with
People hated rain and that was that
but not him and Kyu

They walked through the park
and the rain grew more intense
fatter drops
heavier
colder
louder
splashing

the little rivulets flowing on the
sides of the streets weren’t
so little anymore
This would turn out to be a total flood
better go back home

Kyu seemed to get the meaning
they turned back
and the rivulets at the sides of the street
grew more potent
and the leash grew lighter
and lighter

Gods! The rivulet carried Kyu away!

Oh God, no! Straight into the
curbside storm drain! In the sewer! Kyuuuuuu!

And there was no one on the streets
not even cars passing
He had to do something
by himself
because no one would help him
nobody ever helped him
He had to pull himself out of this ditch by
himself once
more

Cursing between clenched teeth
he dropped to his knees
and crawled into the
storm drain after his beloved Kyu

He landed on hard concrete and broke
his foot
so badly that
the jagged shinbone protruded through the flesh
and skin and came out like a
blade

He screamed and cried
and cursed the day he was born
and the people in his life
and outside of it
Of course everyone would be outside of it
Nobody would be in his life
not mother
not father
not sister
grandparents
friends?
What friends? He never had any of those

People were cold
people wanted to see him cry
because seeing him cry was their food
and they needed food to stay alive,
they needed to eat
and their hunger was insatiable

they should…just die actually

The ***** water showered all around him
and onto his wound
and onto his head and eyes
but he still saw it
He saw them
carrying Kyu away
dragging him by the paws
towards the darkest spot of the sewer
despite his whimpering protests

He screamed, shouted at them
but they wouldn’t listen
“Hey, you *******, let him go!”

No, they would not let Kyu go
Words were not enough to
convince people. He had to do something.
He crawled after them
through the cold filth
with pain and determination propelling him

Oh, it was them, of course
Mother and father and sister
they were dragging Kyu away from him
just as they dragged everything away from him
This was too much
He couldn’t let this happen.
Too much!

He crawled after them
crying
screaming
cursing
and reached for his broken shinbone
and pulled it out of the leg
and stabbed them with it
again
and
again
He kept stabbing at their backs
their
heads, their throats, their chests, their arms
everywhere
stab
stab
stab

“Thought you could take
everything away from me
my friends, my life, my love, my soul, my
freedom, my purpose, my way,
my choices, my health, my possibilities, and
now even him,
my dearest Kyu?
*******! I won’t let you! I
won’t let you!”

and he kept stabbing
and stabbing
stab
stab
stab

until that hand just wouldn’t
work anymore
and he fell with his head on Kyu
like on a pillow
as he always did
and darkness came about him

Good night,
Kyu

From the minute we met,
Her smile, sharp eyes, and freckles,
Her kindness, joy, and ferocity,
Her story and her corgi, radar,
They got to me.
My heart ached for her in the third grade.
From the minute we talked,
Her power, courage, and confidence
Her strength, individuality, and warm persona
They got to me.
My knees went weak every time I talked to her.
From the minute I gained the courage,
She was taken, loving, and busy
She was happy, occupied, and content
That got to me.
My confidence flew south for winter.
From the minute we graduated high school last year,
We haven't talked, hung out, chilled,
We haven't seen, spoken to, or heard from each other.
That got to me.
I never had the courage to gain her love,
Now she's off to a new grade of her own.

Plastic pistols, cowboy hats
action men, palitoy combat

Hotspur, Tiger and Hurricane
leather footballs, broken panes

Matchbox, Corgi, Airfix, Meccano
Stickle Bricks, and (only) red and white Lego

Triang scooters, Raleigh Choppers
Dunlop plimsolls, orange space-hoppers

Down the park’s obstacle course
Witches Hat, iron rocking horse  

Bumps and scrapes, grazes and cuts
rub it all better, just-get-back-up

Home before dark, in time for tea
Billy and Ian, my sisters and me

there's this guy who thinks he knows more than me about the far-left than i do, even though i'm the one with a communist grandfather; which means he's gone as far as mao to replicate an answer that i might agree with alongside adolf. ah no worry... the queen's corgi(s) are here. they always do that, the left, as long as they can provide you with a house and pension, they have the upper hand in argument meaning you have to agree with them... what about colour says the right? ah don't worry... we'll just all wear gray and become radically different from the canvas.*

i love how the left asks to be agreed with
in terms of politics,
given no far-right politics was expressed...
death of communism taught them
they had to express far-left politics in such a way
as might be a form of deviation and counter-intuitive expression
of the middle ground... poor stalin...
god please let me enter the mozart club of death at 35...
i missed the modern club of 27... drinks on me... amy;
i just hate the way the left opresses us now...
it’s that thumb missing in terms of english law...
you know that thumb... ex hominem ad exemplum non hominem...
a lightbulb moment... because man never gave a nullifying
example with each example of his existence given as non;
man is curiously aware of his mortality, therefore he engages
with dating things in order to orientate...
of course... coins... deus ex ****... although no solis ex ****...
that would never work... would it now?
why would man need a sun if all man desires from
the sigma expression of will is to not exist?
can i enter the reference of will with a craft that deciphers water
as two hydrogens and one oxygen?
oh wait... i already have... three years of chemistry
in edinburgh taught me pressurised concentration
of carbon dioxide was termed fizzy.

for nearly two years
he has filled in the place of others
offering hugs and kisses
to those who need them

he lies still in times of chaos and peace
observing the scenes unfold.
he looks up with his dark, round eyes
begging for attention.

sometimes, i lie with him, glowing
at other times, streams fall
down my rosy cheeks and shaky lips
onto his soft, golden fur.

as i drift away into a slumber
my arms hold him tight
before dropping to my sides
and letting him go.

he bounces on the carpet
landing on his side
he waits through the night
until dawn comes again.

I wonder if you wag your tail when you see me.
But , you have no tail.
Just short stubby legs, and ears that are two times to big.
But what else should I expect from a corgi ?

I do wish you had a tail.
Then you'd look like a fox.
But, I love you anyway.
My sweet little Kirbie.

Jungle bells are ringing out
across the nation, Boris is to
play Santa Claws this year,
so, reinforce your stockings.

Corbyn is going to be Scrooge
in The Christmas Carol, hoping
to cook Johnson's goose which
he will share with the hungry.

Arlene Foster will be filling
the empty pies with minced
words which are to be served in
Bowler Hats avec blue berries.

Sturgeon is going to Hog as
Many votes as possible while
the rest are gorging to the Pogues
Fairytale of New York & London.

The Lib-Dems have an anthem
by Jo Swine Song about spit
roasting a Pig in the stocks
outside Downing St. Syndrome.

The Greens are looking for this
years largest Cucumber which
they have decided to stuff. They
have declined to say where.

Cymru Plaid's have decided to
make woollen scarves for the
homeless Corgi's after the Queen
is evicted from Buckingham Palace.

Nigh Gel Farage is going to
lubricate a Tusk and shove it up
Barnier's (( in the presence of
Jean Claude Coke Nose Junkier.

My "girl" is in fact a man, built ram tough inside the wrong body.
My boyfriend is such a talented musician, his ability to pick up on things so quickly never ceases to amaze me.
He  is ******* the outside but soft on the inside, and I'm so glad he let me know the softer side of him.
My man knows how to make me happy when I'm down, smile when I want to frown, and remember why I'm alive when I no longer want to be around.

He loves poetry and Spider-Man. ******* he loves Spider-Man. Corgis are his weakness, if he's ever sad I'll know to come home with a corgi puppy to cheer him up. I want 5. No. Scratch that. I want FIVE HUNDRED CORGIS. I WANT TO DROWN IN CORGI KISSES.

He smells good as ****. It's not perfume, it's just him. He smells like home and I get so ******* homesick sometimes. He likes McDonald's chicken nuggets but they make him burp. I saw ew and act like it's really gross but I don't really give a **** I think it's funny. Such a large burp coming out of such a tiny person. Adorable.

His hand in mine makes me feel like everything is okay. Even when I'm having a mental breakdown in a car before an exam his silence comforts me. His thumb rubbing my fingers keeps me sane with hope that it will be better later. Or maybe even sooner.

His touch makes me crazy. I can go from forehead kisses to kissing **** in like two seconds. He makes me feel young and pure sometimes, but he also makes me feel like such a woman. Like *******, he knows how to turn me on.

His eyes are intense, a deep brown I could look into forever. His lips are soft and kissable, but could also be used to destroy someone with words. He knows how to speak his mind. His teeth are SO adorable. I never thought I'd find someone's teeth cute. He as the most precious smile. Crooked and goofy, foolish and loving. I've never met a person so intriguing.

He listens to my words, absorbs them and loves me even if I say something completely whack. He listens to music for me, and jams to Meghan Trainor in the car just because it reminds him of me.

Saltier than New York pretzels, sweeter than chocolate. His personality is so complex. I can't wait to know everything about it. He's quick to anger but he has so much patience with me. Cools me down when I'm angry, doesn't let me go to bed sad or upset. He thinks emotions like crying and being moody are super ***** and he doesn't generally enjoy admitting when he has an issue or when something hurts him, but I like to think that he's glad he got it out after he says it. After all, I'm always here to listen. He thinks a lot of it is stupid but I don't. Nothing he says is really stupid (with the exception of "I want to try this elmers glue" and "shave your chin hair").

AND HES SUPER CUTE LIKE WHEN HE USES EMOJIS I WANNA DROWN IN HIS PRESENCE. AND AND WHEN HE SQUEEZES ME SUPER TIGHT AND PRESSES HIS CHEEKS TO MINE HIS CHEEKS ARE SO CUTE. GOD. IM 1.1 YEARS IN AND IM SO CUPCAKE STAGE STILL. I LOOOOVVVEEE HIIIIMMMMMMMMMMMM

The Scots neer wore
a diaper, so the Welsh
absorbed their leek-

A Swansea song &
Corgi Prince is all
they have to speak.

The w.a.s.p's have had
their hay day, as they
paddle up the creek.

            <>

While Paddy’s watch
with bated breath, the
union jack to streak!

Trump was told that he
would be going on a tour
of Buckingham Pal ***
with a guide who was a friend
of Sad IQ Khan, also, dumb as
a Donkey and failed MENSA.

Even Melanoma passed that,
give us one of those Corgi's,
we will find our way round
this mound of musty masonry
which should be torn down to
make way for Trexit Museum.

22nd May, May, May leave
which means **** EU 27
also **** the IRL backstop
because the Paddy's are the
cause of all these problems!

Why can't they be like the
Scots, wear skirts, be *******
and vote to be English, twice!

The Welsh are easy, give them
a Prince, be seen with Corgi's
and they are quiet as lambs.

Prince Philip died Jan 10th, been in
storage since. Cause, Covid Vaccine.
More room in Royal Canine freezer.

      (Corgi's barking in distance)

Distinct


While the Queen was walking corgi’s

  and Charles seen wearing kilts

        objects of the subjects

         ensured no loyal wilts.


   A Duke for those in Edinburgh

    and a Princely son for Wales

       but out across the waters

   they failed to entice the Gaels.

Quarantine at The Palace,
Andrew's been grounded.
Meghan and Harry sent to
the colony and no one's seen
hide nor hair of the Corgi's.

Meanwhile, Julian Assange
remains under lock and key
because pinch face refused
to interfere in what she said
was a diplomatic problem.

It is now a humanitarian
issue Ma'am, but just so you
know, ******* is political
when it becomes predatorial,
especially after it goes viral!