"beagle" poems
There once was a little beagle who was stuck in a deep puddle of mud.
The puppy struggled and struggled, only to become more exasperated.
Crying and pouting, the beagle finally gave up and let himself slide neck-deep into the mud.
He laid like this all night, until the next morning, only his brown-speckled head was atop of the mud pile.
A small child walked by the puddle and to him, he saw a giant mass of mud with a head.
The young boy screamed in horror, but ran closer to get a better glimpse. To his surprise, the beagle woke up and yelped to be free from the mud. The little boy felt an immediate affection for the puppy and jumped into the mud puddle and pulled the dog out.
The lesson?
I'm still trying to figure this one out, too.
I'll let you know when I figure out the lesson behind this one.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
On the first day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: a bowl full of doggy food.
On the second day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: two sloppy kisses and a bowl full of doggy food.
On the third day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.
On the fourth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.
On the eighth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.
On the ninth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: nine ****** markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.
On the tenth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: ten tails a-waggin', nine ****** markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: eleven rawhides hidden, ten tails a-waggin', nine ****** markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: twelve stuffed buddies, eleven rawhides hidden, ten tails a-waggin', nine ****** markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 3:03 AM UTC
Everything is on Earth tonight.
Our grandioso perspective sheltered.
I take my beagle on a mock hunt.
The sky is closed for business.
Wet dog nose on the back of my knee.
There is no moon to bay at.
If I could wish one thing for you:
It would be that you lose yourself
in a sea of your self.
Children enclose themselves in crevices.
Shrink wrap the world into a small packet.
My dog is pretending to hunt.
I am pretending to encourage him.
There is no sky, just the smell of Earth.
Beagle ears scrape ground,
moist drops embed in fur.
Light is just floating particles,
water, and dust.
If you catch a rabbit
this night will end.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah.
like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid
/ praise the lord /
monster energy should sponsor me.
a kickflip over the king’s *** hole
& a halfcab for the looky-loos.
i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings
& see clear from the water tower to the bluffs.
gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs,
bottlerockets & girly birds.
her body brings a swarm of worms.
decomp,
said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers.
not quite the homecoming queen, still
wrapped in plastic.
look up.
see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones?
it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr
all night and day.
new neck tat &
cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow.
we target practice on a bull skull.
wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff
in the dry of the roofline as it dumps.
there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing
in puddles below the streetlamp,
& oversized shoes.
his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window.
[whispers] she’s teaching him magic.
lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled
herself up, you see
men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly,
maybe more.
& i remember her punch red lips &
big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias.
the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch.
stole her clothes in the middle of the night,
& sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists
of bra and blouse.
i bought ******* from that guy once or twice.
harold? howard?
guess who showed his face today?
josiah, from unit 08.
since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen.
took a bee line straight for the mailbox.
a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes
to be seen and deciphered.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
I want to be a Disney Kid.
I want to swim the seven seas and fall magically in love,
Never grow up and fight the evil pirates.
I want to grant my wishes and soar on a magic flying carpet,
Marry a beast who lives wealthy and loves me for me.
I want to go into war for the sake of my ill father,
Dance at a ball and lose my glass slipper.
I want to wake up surrounded by miniatures dwarfs,
Be pricked by a spindle and kissed to be awakened.
I want to be a Native American, who falls in love with a man who sees me different,
Grow my hair till it touches the ground.
I want to kiss a frog and fall into a magical world,
Swing on vines while beating my chest, yelling the mighty call.
I want to grow my nose till I can’t tell a lie anymore,
Soar through the sky with my floppy big ears.
I want to fall into a hole to find another crazy dimension,
Be a black spotted dog with 101 puppies.
I want to land with my umbrella to interact with kids,
Eat spaghetti behind the garbage dumpsters with classical music.
I want to be best friends with a beagle,
Be a deer who meets all sorts of animals.
I want to be a pirate fighting on the Caribbean,
Eat honey all day till my tummy gets full.
I want to be the king and rule the jungle kingdom,
Be lost at sea and touch the ****
I want to be a live toy and go on mischievous adventures,
Be a race car and drive the highways.
I want to be in New York and hang with the big dogs,
Fly in a house full of balloons.
I want to turn into a bear and see life differently,
Have a humpback and be treated so unfair.
I want to be Hercules and become powerful,
Become friends with a bear and boogie all down.
I want to scream to the world the sky is falling,
Become a cow on the range.
I want to be a pampered aristocat.
There are so many things I want to do and see in the eye of the magical fantasy.
I want to be a Disney kid.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
I want to go on a jaunt,
hunt up her backbone
with my beagle nose.
I'd like to stop
along the way
to lick her chops,
before I drop
on top,
howling
at the moon,
between her stars,
panting.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
My name is Boomer and I'm a Beagle
Sometimes I'm clumsy, sometimes I'm regal...
I like to run, sniff, eat, and play.
I have lots of energy to do this all day..
We have great sniffers because we are hounds.
We also can make a few different sounds...
Pointed to the sky is our tail.
Hoisted straight up just like a sail..
The white on the end, is called a flag.
When not standing up, its going to wag...
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
.
One of these days
she will love me--
One of these days
she'll call...
One of these days
she won't pull away.
She's gonna let me kick that darned ball.
Because I'm gonna run
out of Xanax,
and her sign
will say that she's in.
One of these days
I'm going to kick that darned ball.
One of these days--
I will win.
There's times I love that red headed girl,
and my Beagle thinks he can fly.
One of these days I'm gonna kick that darned ball--
Does she really want see to 'ol Chuck cry?
One of my friends is covered in dirt,
in town I am known as a clown.
One of these days you will know me by name--
My friend Linus, he calls me Charlie Brown.
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 3:02 AM UTC
Today I am glad that you
will never look at me that
one way- like I am made
out of gold or something
they scraped off of the
surface of the moon, like
I am every answer to
every question you could
have possibly had- again.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
I am like the bicycle you let sit in the rain,
turned sideways, wheels still spinning in reverse--
an abrupt split second call once my small SUV showed
its dull red color and token dents, signs of an irresponsible me
(and a still judgmental you).
Once upon a time you prized me,
snatched me from the wall of Grandest Biggest Rewards
for those who throw their money and efforts into
impossible pursuits.
My hair gleamed. My skin glistened. My eyes glinted.
but my legs would not spread.
they could not for fear of Eyes of a Watchful God.
when the day came, the day that no one believed you would come,
not even me,
you closed your eyes; I squeezed mine shut,
as did my doors, never to let you in.
Not even when you begged, bargained, bribed.
When you flung insults like the beagle's feces,
fresh, frenzied, frantic,
I dodged each smear physically, but let the memories
haunt my fading floral youth.
Now, that the doors have opened
to admit those who may be trusted,
and have closed deep within a secret,
discarded like a rush of blood--
just as meaningless, just as insignificant,
Now, you've found another bike to prop against the cool
sheltered garage wall, newly painted--
both the garage and the bike,
and her arms emerge months from now
with baby and baby and baby.
Brimming with baby.
And I sold that bicycle months ago,
the one I fought so hard to retain.
I was never the material, nor the istic.
Just used goods gone sour.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
Stopper allsh Chub forsh shrame Good Chinwag, yah?
Arsh sieve Combatibles posh Boys bare playe
Shaye, yay Share! Bar score thore Pieces me - bah!
Mayse Lion bare thine; Yare Deer-Berry splaye
Wot cot Beagle-Risen thorse Polliwog
Spout Arms dash Legs arsh instant forsh shore Sport
Water-Rouse, rebound! Spare Skin-Sherry shogg
Staple coach-wires faye John Tom's Report
Behave, tharne! Parallipparel Shape conduct
Pour-Pore noodlesee Six-Squares shrub contesse
Mare beere yorsh Chest torso-avenue locke
Reprodpress marsh baye Bub-Peppers finesse.
Staye-upon-staye bore thoose talkitook borough
Boy-ish-Boy-font-fare-Potiphar-although.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 7:59 AM UTC
Revelatory refractions held in the disco ***** reflection, glancing off the wall.
Dim-lit dreams tilt forward, spilt into a paper cup, bounced backward and sprinkled up.
******* synonyms from the cold, dead pages of the riddle’s mask.
Breaching spatial avenues left for those who understood the task.
Taking hits from a dry-lit flask, leaving windows closed to bask
Clapped the snap back bass kit as it turned Wallace snitch.
The Wire drawn and laid on lawns boundless in the ditch.
Deaf to congruencies of affection, brought about by an adolescent ********
Blind spot in the centre of view. Rhythmic dancing, oblivious to the pew
Unplugged mixing, interlocked twisting
Pulsing in tune with distorted computation
Dehydrated seizures next to the watering station
Molly Mary caught in the flashing lights, blinded by the car’s brights.
A necklace found, nothing else around.
Body grasped for fun, stuffed, mounted, late night pokes meticulously counted.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
At eight weeks old, she was our newly rescued mixed beagle pup.
Noah named her Daisy. Not a name I would have chosen, but certainly as sweet as
memories of Grandma's homemade molasses
bubbling in the old iron kettle brought out from the smokehouse for only one day each year on a crisp fall morning.
By sixteen weeks it was evident that all involved in the rescue didn't know squat about Beagles. After a frantic thirty seconds on Google, our mistake was quite clear in the form of about five hundred red and black and tan photographs. We were the proud but red-faced and slightly shocked owners of a **** Dog". Yep. And Daisy was her name-o.
Two years and seventy pounds down the road, I sat in my morning solitude spot this day with a good mug and a good book watching the nut hatches, house finch, and Black-capped/Carolina Chickadees tearing that special blend seed up as Daisy patrolled the yard for squirrels with one eye and her nose to the sky watching for the lone and clever Rock Pigeon scout that always precedes the flurry of flying rodents raiding my feeder. I can't help but to smile as Daisy glances at me through the deck door glass to see if I am admiring her skill and diligence. I am.
This being a Sunday before the dreaded M word day, I tend to lounge lazily around the house in my worn Clapton pj bottoms and hol(e)y Langley T-shirt. My shadow follows me from comfort to comfort spot knowing that I leave a trail of odd snacks from my kitchen perch to living room couch to study to lazy bed, and back again. She is showing a bit of winter fat.
To be continued....
r ~ 9Feb14
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
My toes
Are frozen
From the harsh
November chill
Cheeks flushed and
I had to hold back
Panting
Breaths
And
SCREAMS
In the darkness of the woods
Yellow beam of the
Flashlight
My lantern and
Faint clicking of
Dog's tags and
Leaf crunching
My guide.
Crunch
Crunch
Crunch
Go the fallen leaves
And what if
I die out here
Or get
Lost
Huddling in the darkness
As the
Beam
Fades
Oh God
The sounds
And what if
What
What
Was
That
A bobbing shadow on a tree trunk
No more, no less
It's the flashlight
Distorted images
I don't
KNOW
But I know I need to get home
With
Or
Without
The stupid
BEAGLE
With the injured
Shoulder
So hurt
He yelps
If you look at it
I don't know
That I
Can trust
Him out there
In that dark night
But I can't
Trust myself
Not to
Panic
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC
Those eyes so sad
Watch your tail wag
Our Collie Labrador.
My loyal friend,
Love can never end:
We Love you more and more.
You have a mate,
A constant date,
She rolls all over the floor.
A lab and beagle partnership,
Bonnie and Clyde I quip:
Max and Promise at the door.
I take them for long walks,
And Max, he almost talks,
They know the score.
They’re on their way,
They’re here to stay,
They’ll never bore.
Promise prances,
And Max dances
All over that floor.
They lick my face,
Tongue-curled embrace:
That’s just what dogs are for.
Paul Butters
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 7:51 AM UTC
That voyage,
on the Beagle,
I discovered a beginning
Such revolutionary splendor –
The origin of species!
But I begin to wonder,
where is the creator?
I have always found him
in the yawning mouth of the
awakening morning glory.
I find him in the visage
of my Emma, her features
blooming in the sunlight.
But I begin to wonder,
what of the ichneumon wasp,
the unholy, unwilling alliance
with the unfortunate caterpillar?
The horrors of nature?
Where now is this creator?
Surely, he exists.
Can I have a doubt of this?
His species, though,
is far more complex
than that of the
singing mocking bird;
his features less defined
than that of the lumbering tortoise.
Perhaps the detail
of his nature originated
in the mind of mankind.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 3:23 PM UTC
My dearest Rocky,
You were too old.
Too old to chase after that mischief of mice.
But you were not to be halted.
And in return,
Hind legs destroyed.
Cut up and sewn together
In crisscross fashion.
Once a lazy *******
Then a lethargic moribund mutt.
(But still a *******
On your last leg, (or two) in a literal sense.
You dumb dog.
You balding, simple-minded scoundrel.
Christmas came and Christmas went.
A feast of elegance at your disposal.
Any indulgence you desired.
We bequeathed, as a last goodbye.
Brisket, frozen cream, pastries and more.
Up until the day, our eyes became sore.
One last car ride- One last roar.
One last breeze through your jowls.
Your clacking stomps and palsy-walsy howls,
Echo even now when I walk through the door.
Now silent and still, turned to ash and dust
I hope you’re herding that memory of elephants,
And leading that pride of lions,
In your infinite dream.
And remembering those who you brought joy.
But especially,
The one who carried you
Upstairs to bed
Every night.
I love you still, and always will.
Good boy, ******* good boy.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
Beneath roaming white coulds of the morning time,
A boy can find his joy without costing him a dime.
He looks innocently at the coulds
Around which the golden lines are drawn
By the smiley shiny sun in the sky
Who kills darkness of the night
With his inspiring golden light.
The sumless clouds he sees in a glance
Make his naive heart happily dance
For what he sees are not just the clouds.
On that majestic sky,
A Beagle chases after the other one
Until catching the tail is done.
They combine into a plane flying to nowhere.
But the boy manages to think of the destination,
And he says his wishes to the plane.
Before the plane is gone into an enormous cloud,
He joyfully shouts out loud
"Yes! That must be the destination!"
-Kryde N.B. Richmond
4/10/2013
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
Baby boomer that is me..
I was born in the shade, of a tree..
On a little farm as cute as can be..
This was my first home for my litter mates and me.
4 brothers and sisters plus me equals 9.
I'm lucky to have this, family of mine.
Mom and dad are beagle dogs too..
Being on the farm, was like living at a zoo..
Shouts the rooster.. **** a doodle dooo.
Waking the farm before the early morning dew
As the morning sun begins to rise..
Clouds of many shapes fill the skies...
One little two little three little goats
On the little pond the duck family floats..
4 little 5 little 6 little pigs..
They watch their momma as she digs..
My sisters and brothers we get to roll and play...
Mom will teach us, the safest way...
We nibble each other's neck, and nose.
Sometimes we bite our tails, and toes..
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC
I ate a gnat
then spat
sat
down
digesting that
what
had happened
when
a fly flew
up
my
***
and tickled
so
I farted
blew him
to
three
or four parts.
Then,
thinking
all was
done,
a Beagle
came and bit my
ankle.
I snatched him
earless.
Then to my dismay an
Eagle came and said,
"god ****** we are just hungry"
He snatched my thumb and flew away
into the frigid night
with my digit.
I now sit here,
twaddlin'
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
On my first Christmas,
I learned that the city of
towering cardboard boxes
and the crunchy ocean
of kaleidoscopic paper were
destined for the trash bag,
but the complicated toys
I could not yet understand
were mine to keep.
Just before my second birthday,
my parents came home
with a pink, wrinkled
bundle of flesh, and said,
This is your new sister.
Though, at first, I found her
beautiful, with those pill-
sized fingernails and the
soft coos she kept pushing
out, I was horrified to
learn that my grandparents
were not taking this baby
with them, that she was
not here for my entertainment.
But the envy soon faded,
and I kept a lifelong friend.
At eight,
I decided not to keep
the magenta cast after
the stoic doctor sawed it
loose. It was caked with
doodles and kind notes, but
it stunk of sour milk, and
the boy with the copper
hair had not signed it.
I could not forget his
taunting laugh as I fell
that day, nor the fiery flush
that shaded my cheeks as he
snatched his hat from my
hand, already numb and
quickly swelling with
humiliation.
By eleven,
I had spent so much of a
childhood tripping over
sentences and paragraphs
and essays that when
my book report bloated
slowly from two pages to
five to eight to ten to thirteen,
I unknowingly conquered my
fear, stumbling over a
voice begging to be kept.
When I reached fourteen,
I had seen two corpses
in one year—one painted
as though in the height of
Expressionism and resting
in a casket so cheap it could
have been cardboard, one fat
and covered in smooth
fur, collapsed onto the cool,
indifferent metal of the
vet’s table—and I learned
that breath is in short supply.
But I also learned that
the destination matters less
than the odyssey, so I
tucked my grandmother
and my beagle into my
front pocket like two crisp
hundred dollar bills, kept them
with me wherever I traveled.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
I ate a gnat
then spat
sat
down
digesting that
what
had happened
when
a fly flew
up
my
***
and tickled
so
I farted
blew him
to
three
or four parts.
Then,
thinking
all was
done,
a Beagle
came and bit my
ankle.
I snatched him
earless.
Then, to my dismay, an
Eagle came and said,
"god ****** we are just hungry"
He snatched my thumb and flew away
into the frigid night
with my digit.
I now sit here,
twaddlin'
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
Destiny is the dismembered head in that box in your hands
It could be ******
Smelling like a broken home and a shiny briefcase
It could be rotting
Like the stomach of the starving child climbing into the van
Or it could as old and dry
As the grass after winter under feet that have only known glass and shouting
Features still intact
A beagle playing with a stick
As his twin in recent memories gnaws on a stick of a starving leg
Close your eyes
Hold your breath
And once your heart is leaping out of your parched throat
Open the lid
Destiny is the dismembered head in that box in your hands
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC
It all started when my last relationship went down the drain.
Ever since, somehow you started to really shine in my eyes.
You're the cutest in your gang.
Though sadly, I can never talk to you, because of our social stats.
I'm an outcast and your with the preps.
Either way, even if we didn't talk,
we still did through our eyes.
I'm not stupid, I know you look at me too, even if I don't look at you, I have witnesses.
Sometimes I try to make a 'move' by coming up to you and ask a question about whatever is close to relevant.
But for those moments, when I have a good look into your eyes,
there the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.
It's like an endless field of green grass being shined by the sun.
It teared me up abit.
I adore you name. It's so nice and rolls off the tongue,
though your last name makes you sound like a terrorist, sadly.
I secretly gave you a nick name of 'Puppy Face' because you have an adorable face like a dog.
Also to cover-up that I was talking about you.....>.>
Don't ask. Just look at yourself in the mirror and put a pic of a Beagle beside you. Though, with curly hair...
But for everytime I had classes with you, it gets me motivated to go to school.
Because of the glances we exchange, I ended up forgetting about my previous relationship as if it never happened, because your glances gave me more affection than he ever did, somehow.
So when it was Valentines Day, I did that anonymous poem to you.
As a 'Thank you' for putting me out of my misery.
In then end, I hope one day we can really hangout and have an actual conversation.
I won't bite, I swear.
Though I might treat you like a dog, because you're cute like one.
But that shouldn't be until way later.
I'll see you soon some day, Puppy Face~ :3
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC