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Odd Odyssey Poet Dec 2024
Her: All men are nothing but dogs!

Him: Yes, indeed… but have you ever pondered the breed of each man? Some are fiercely loyal, others stand as protectors, a few are brash and aggressive, while some are merely oversized infants. You get the stubborn ones, the overly playful bunch, or grumpy ones. And then, there are those wretched few who tarnish our reputation, who just love to **** all over on your pristine carpet.

All men are indeed dogs, just depends on the one you got.
My dog can't see,
He goes under the table and paws at me.
Asking me to pet him, which I do.
But how does he know,
What hand is petting him if he can't see?
Sometimes I swear he isn't blind.
Victor Timmons Dec 2024
Born at night by the discarded mom
Loving and caring life goes on
My brother and sister fun abound
Until the day that man came around

New life with the man of pain
Running for hours I don't feel sane
Pulling the rope makes me strong
Hit me and beat me I wish to belong

Eyes bright, I’ve seen the light
Eyes red, he beat my head
Eyes filled with hate, is this my fate
Eyes go gray, he has nothing to say
Eyes no sight, he made me fight
Death of a fighting dog

Teach me to **** with out a care
Throw me a cat or dog, hate
Maybe after the fight, love
Into the pit this is finely it

He grabbed at my head I tore off his ear
We fought in the pit as they cheer
As we fight it soon becomes clear
Lost the fight and my end is near

Eyes bright, I’ve seen the light
Eyes red, he beat my head
Eyes filled with hate, is this my fate
Eyes go gray, he has nothing to say
Eyes no sight, he made me fight
Death of a fighting dog
(warning this comes from a dark place)
Zywa Nov 2024
A sleepy village,

the doors and shutters are closed --


Dogs barking loudly.
Poem "vluchtweg" ("escape route", 2022, Emilie Dewitte)

One-act play "Huis clos" ("Closed doors", 1943, Jean-Paul Sartre)

Collection "Within the walls"
Lawrence Hall Nov 2024
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                         I’m Gonna Tell Santa Claus on You!

                                            Nora and Theo

The children scamper across my grassy lawn
And bring me wiggly worms to identify
Big acorns to admire, lemons fallen weeks before
Sticks and leaves, pinecones, flowers, and bits of bark

They lose their shoes and socks beneath the oak
They drink from the water hose and don’t turn it off
They chase the dog and the dog chases them
They shriek out joyfully because they can

I growl that if I mow another bit of brick
I’m gonna tell ol’ Santa Claus on them

They laugh at me, and bring me another worm
Please know that I am on the ViaSat / Verizon / Directv / Netgear axis of frequent lack of service. I never ignore correspondence, but in the mornings my InterGossip works very slowly at best and the evenings even more slowly and increasingly not at all. Responding to you may take some time.
jesse kowalski Nov 2024
Sometimes I feel for my dog's heartbeat
because I know, at nine and a half years,
she hasn't got long left.

Sometimes I think about how I will react
when a death happpens.
Will I cry? Will I scream?
And then I feel guilty for imagining such a thing.

Sometimes I wonder how my friends
would react for me.
Would they shed tears?
Maybe not.
At this point, they'd probably
shrug and say they didn't know.
Hebert Logerie Oct 2024
Ils consomment des chiens chauds, hot dogs
Aussi
Comme vous
Mais ils ne mangent pas de chiens
Jamais, jamais
Ils ne mangent pas de chats
Ils ne mangent pas d'animaux de compagnie
Jamais, jamais.

Les immigrants mangent des sangliers
C'est du ‘Griot piqué’
Ils ne mangent pas de lapins
Mais ils mangent du ‘Tasso épicé’
Et bien sûr, ils mangent des hot dogs, des chiens chauds.

Les Haïtiens mangent et boivent de la Soupe Joumou
Dans laquelle nagent des légumes et bien sûr des carottes
La cuisine haïtienne
Est très, très bonne
Les immigrants consomment de bonnes viandes
Comme vous.

Arrêtez d'être raciste
Arrêtez d'être fasciste
Vos ancêtres mangeaient des chiens
Pas les immigrants, pas les Antillais
Et surtout pas les Haïtiens
Arrêtez cette haine honteuse
Pensez à votre sort
Au dernier rendez-vous
Les immigrants mangent des cochons frits
Comme des milliards d'Américains
Qui aiment les tartes aux pommes
Arrêtez les mensonges, arrêtez tous les mensonges.

P.S. Traduction de ‘They Eat Good Hot Dogs’.

Copyright © Octobre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés.
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de nombreux recueils de poésie.
Haitians do not eat dogs or pets
Hebert Logerie Oct 2024
They consume hot dogs
Too
Like you
But they don’t eat dogs
Never, ever
They do not eat cats
They do not eat pets
Never, never.

Immigrants eat wild boars, wild hogs
That’s hot Griot
They don’t eat rabbits
But they eat spicy Tassot
And of course, they eat hot dogs.

Haitians eat and drink Soup Joumou
Which contains vegetables and of course carrots
Haitian food
Is very, very good
Immigrants consume good meats
Like you.

Stop being racist
Stop being supremacist
Years ago, your ancestors used to eat dogs
Not immigrants, not West Indians
Not Haitians
Quit the hate
Think about your fate
On the final date
Immigrants eat fried wild hogs
Like zillion of Americans
Who love apple pies
Stop the lies, stop all the lies.

Copyright © October 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Morgan Howard Oct 2024
My life is good
Right?

I have a father
Smart
Kind
A provider for our family
I have a mother
Loving
Hardworking
Someone who will always be here for me
I have a sister
Talented
Hilarious
My best friend

I have a roof over my head
Clothes on my body
Food in my stomach

I have electronics for my entertainment
Friends who I can talk to
Two adorable dogs
Who never fail to put a smile on my face

I have everything I need to be happy
So why aren't I?
Lark Oct 2024
weight, gentle against the softness of
my belly; there, mandible, and the
other: ribbons of cornflower fettering
hollow-bird-bones soothing
dessicated pinions; chasing the
empty billow 'neath ribs swelling, stretching, the
emptiness of the throat; gazing down; stroking
gentle against a silken cranium; pressure
points, GV20 TH21 GB20, then
down the pinna,
watched with placid wet eyes. Fingers
weave into your scruff, curling, longing;
consumed.
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