I remember the glass paneled door of that house
gridded by cheap, cracking wood bars,
the coffee stained carpet, edges chewed frizzy by rats.
I remember my dog, eight weeks old,
blurry and black as she was thrown against that door
quivering and jumpy, to the floor.
Her only sin being young, untrained, but
that didn’t matter to my father.
The carpet was ruined, he said,
no fixing it now, she knew what she was doing.
So she fell to that blue-patterned carpet,
lost in the shadow of my father loomed above,
still red in the face, still
shaking a fist.
I watched from the edge of the room,
wide eyes, sister beside me, back
against a wall.
Neither able to understand why
he’d do this to one so young.
Get up, shower
My dog is on the sofa
The head raises
His coat is looking rough
He's curled up , but doesn't move
C'mon Ben rise and shine.
He slowly ,jerkily gets up
His back is slightly arched
His tail halfway between his legs
A drunken walk
I'm doing my best dad!
I can read the pain in his eyes
Feeling helpless as he struggles
We've worked together 10 years
I swallow the sob
Give Ben a hug
Tell him it's ok and I love him.
Ring the vet. It's time.
We slowly walk to the tractor
It's the grand tour
I chat about everything
Telling Ben how much he's added
We stop and just watch the sheep
My phone rings
The vet is here
I drive the long route through the wood
Carry Ben into the kitchen
My wife and the vet are waiting
I don't bother to hide the tears
His leg is shaved
A brief injection
And in my arms the light left his eyes
Bugger bugger bugger
A hug from my wife
Into the tractor
Sheep to care for
Buts it's empty and quiet
There's an empty space
bass sic cully, plucking strings iz a ja
Cane Nines Har Able
To Out Best playing cello yo yo Ma
so stated by this fretful pa
Ode per pooch pounding ruff
sounding sub woofer.
Whew - all done taking a leak
behind bushes of favorite vetch
tub bull patch so now,
arf goes me dog gone
bark a roll and ruff sketch
shod ye be least bit interested in this retch
in this faux paused muttering mongrel,
who (despite viscous rumors to the contrary)
nada a leech nor letch
boot actually quite a "good" fetch
and a fine prairie home companion –
even if yar tail got docked
with out anesthesia by a pretty lass see
still...Yukon feel melancholy
nonetheless juiced buffer end me
like ya know throw
a boner en re:coe Fermi can catch.
Me - iz one hippie dawg,
who sports hair reed style like a veil
longish, and minimally groomed,
asper an antagonistic,
sans brothers Grimm tale
with no intent to rant nor rail
searching fur gallivanting
female nursery rhyme minus a quail
boot...with jack and his pail,
which known storybook
quite old as a rusty nine-inch nail
stating dogmatic, humanistic and lyric words
once adored by this older Socratic male
offers himself as a bona fide
potential Petsmart call soul mate hale
and hearty without any major Def Jam organ fail
yore, beardless yet scruffy,
I wear spectacles rather bifocals bare
lee stay put on me snout
to see the world more crystal clear
especially when chaste
to impress a bitch in heat -
like ye mud dear
whom height welcome
letting me nibble on one or t'other ear
of yours, now trotting along on my yipping badinage
whim per with poetic trademark flair,
which doggerel seems unstoppable probably
from a malfunction milk bone shaped cerebral gear
aye attest trademark viz
somewhat long wavy, course brown hair
might also involve well tangled follicular roots
affirming me to hear snapping jeer
ring boxer bullies, which floppy mop top in tandem
to firm undersized gluteus maximus or hmm rear
oft times incites other mongrels to stare
yet, the ability to camouflage
Ike coon sitter a bonus, akin to a camel lion
or if you prefer chameleon,
this trait stems when Aztec,
my faux pas amidst Mayan
Runic ruins, where traipsing
for long stretches of time
ah stopped to chat with Ryan
a local junkyard hound, which
at human years over 100 keeps on tryin
to survive within
dog eat horse meat world,
where canines sprang from wolverine zoo
and as a complete stranger introduced muss elf
as "man's best friend" to you
from a place in mind known as xandu
which could afford room enough for two
if ye would only stand or sit in this queue
similar to waiting in a cloistered pew
But better grab a place
before places number few
from those who utter yabba dabba do.
I blithely admit not to be a stud
just a recent emigre hoisted himself out of the mud
from that antediluvian flood
like some garden variety muggle
with a male member dud
but rather a regular bovine chewing his cud
and just wanna be a companionable bud.
no intent to be neither indecent nor lewd,
which rapid-fire reply
helps my anxiety-riddled mood
unsure what level of interest exists
toward this ordinary dude
for reasons and rhymes,
i scratch my flea gnawed head and brood.
most people find my poetic attempts unclear
and get quite frazzled - with nostrils that flair
like some fire breathing dragon
filled with rage and glare
all on account of human desire for friendship,
and some woman for me to care
which closeness worth
far more than gems, jewels and trinkets
so...if a safe risk taking mood,
i would be interested for ye to share.
literary enjoyment and
entertainment primary reason i write
from a little known wayfarer
that trawls the virtual seas this night
whereby my being pitched to and fro
which forces necessity
to hold on with all me might.
care not for this playful male
ye seem quite desperate a guy to nail,
I could benefit from someone
to play the role of inxs bare naked lady
and super tramp
(ah bet she iz jist a cheap trick),
this jack rustle of no trades
could enjoy a gal to hold his pale.
oh...fair and lovely princess
in this surreal and virtual space
might thee put down the drawbridge
with mush ado of a quick pace
and no need to feign shock
nor surround thyself
with defenses to brace
against some maliciousness on my part -
just a wandering troubadour able, eager, ready
willing to show his smart pedigreed fact sheet,
and maybe even other parts of his anatomy
with dignity and amazing grace.
Sangfroid persona makes joie de vivre
the perfect human to adopt, and more fun than a wii
ill that chased a monkey named zee
row, who aims tubby yar beau.
Estaba llorando bajo la lluvia
sentado abatido por la tristeza.
Mi amigo se acerco corriendo
a toda velocidad
resbalo y se choco contra la puerta
me vio y hasta donde se el sonrío
traía algo, el estaba tan feliz!
por tener un hueso en la boca.
De pronto... se me olvido...
¿que era lo que yo hacia allí?
I used to have a puppy,
I rang a bell once before I fed him, every day,
I knew he loved me even if he bit me every night,
Until I couldn't raise him any longer.
The puppy grew larger and larger and ate more.
I rang the bell two times.
More. More. More.
I never rang the bell again.
I lost everything and couldn't afford any more food.
Then one night I abandoned him.
Years later he came back home.
A bony old stray dog.
He looked at me with puppy eyes and I,
I couldn't resist and fed him once more.
Just one time before sending him out into the cold again.
I held out my hand and he bit off my fingers.
A starving animal will always feed.
And I had nothing.
He ate parts of me.
I didn't let him leave.
I cut the dog apart.
And ate him.
I felt alive.
I can speak all day in tongues about Poppet!
Pop! Pop! Popsicle
you're making this time in my life,
the best discoveries towards you, may your joy be rife. When you purr it's nice.
You run to me when my voice does call you noise,
you arrive for our near,
excited for the happy times, I think that's pretty clear.
I never want to own you
as I know you wouldn't like that,
but please stay around
my stupendous tabby cat.
What should I call you?
Friend or foe?
Should I call you breakfast, lunch, or dinner?
Shall I call you an accentuates?
Shall I call you little Joe?
No I shall call you pal and buddy
Genius siala, a modest master
of music and song, he is robed
in royal blue. Air is ample.
He needs to rest. Maybe
he will sing a song (or two)
in a peaceful, prideful pitch.
Prideheart. His waterblue wings
start to spread again. He is off.
Watching for worms,
his baby, blueberry head
barely moves as he hunts. I cannot confess
what kind of pretty power is at work. He dives
down, and dines.
What is a bluebird's furor? I do not notice!
Such a sweet, suave soul. His soothing
songs impugn the hunter inside. His recherché
mien moves me. His ebon eyes stare at me in
awe and affection. A playful pet. Snacker of seeds.
He hovers high once more, to manoeuvre me home.