Your time has come
we wonder why
and just like that
it's a goodbye.

It was such a pleasure
to have virtually met you
and I am sure
you, too, enjoyed the tour.

Now memories is all we have
of laughter and pleasure you gave.
Be blessed in heaven,
dear Spencer,
you gave us a treasure,
for ever.

The lies your eyes tell
So many naughty tales
You tipped and fell
Got pricked by nails

How smart you turned
Faking each smile
You were a friend
Promised me a mile

I watched you suffer
In worst times of life
Helped you recover
With dedicated rife

Sad news came my way
You said, Goodbye
Days after days went by
My tears dried,
                          
                          Now I just watch the sky
                          For you left so soon
                          I still wonder, why!
(Dedicated to my Dear Bruce)

©sim

Ride the bus every day
till the sun makes its way
out of chaos,
the temperamental blues
like a dog going after
the isolated leaf
searching for the breath
of eternal grief.

send me over
a postcard
of tense yesterday
push me further
than where you departed
during the doomsday
hallelujah is the last hurrah.

Another day, another way
till summer rain, till winter sane
drifting away, drifting away,
way, way further,
way, way further.

There are some hotdog shaped dogs,
They're weird,
Seem made up.
Nasty little creatures,
Vicious,
Rotten.
Ironic in a way,
Probably can't even **** without help,
But they're fast,
They have strong personalities.
I've never met a hotdog
Dog
Who is not creepy,
Their humans are weird too.

As the day
slumps on

and the afternoon
sun

is at last
harpooned

and reeled
toward

the horizon,
I,

sitting in my cubicle,
feel

my neck begin
to

list windward,
like

a sinking
sailboat,

its sheets
torn,

naked mast
shuddering,

its heedless final heading
being

that white fog
bank

that rolls over
the

coastal range
to

my west out
the

third floor
window.

The fog
cranes

its neck
ever

so slightly
upward

to meet my
gaze,

like a timid
dog

just pulled
awake

after a short, fitful
nap.

Poetry and I have broken up,
Words were spoken, she took dog.

We tried speaking to someone together,
They didn't say much, just listened.

Poetry and I are back together,
We had a chat, she gave me cat.

We're going away together soon,
Nice hotel, gonna read horse together.

The trip didn't go well,
Things were said, she took a fence.

It's my faulty though, I spoke poorly,
I have no fence.

We are fleas that live in the ***,
We think we own the dog.
We fight fleas that live in the head,
We bomb fleas that seem different
Only to us,
For the dog we are all a nuisance.
Fleas that create songs
And flags
To celebrate their portion,
Living in the *** seems better,
Some prefer the ears,
I choose to roam.
I dream with other dogs
Maybe cats.
We are fleas
That destroy their dog host.
Perhaps this dog needs a bath.

He's fat and he's hairy,
He poops and he snores,
Makes marks on the carpet,
Scratches wounds in the doors,
Wees in the kitchen,
Coats my whole house with hair,
Stands where it's awkward,
Hogs my favourite chair.
Wants walks when it's raining,
Won't go out when it's nice,
Chucks food in dark corners,
That attract all the mice.
Greets me in the morning,
As if I've been dead,
Jumps on my lap,
And tramples on the bed.
He's a pain in the ***,
And sometimes drives me to madness,
But I love you Dave,
You're the cure for sadness.