"bloodhound" poems
scouting for talent in the streets
(for the next Michael Jackson or Pavarotti
or anyone who can make me money)
I spotted there in the streets of Melbourne
a bloodhound and a puppy, each with a violin
and each playing –
the puppy a natural, the bloodhound indistinct
I spread out on the floor
the talent contract for a team
and the bloodhound signed with a grin;
but just as the puppy lifted its paw
another dog came running, picked up the puppy
and ran off with the speed of lightning
**** What’s that about?”*
I asked the bloodhound
“Oh,” said the bloodhound sheepishly
*“That’s his mum, my wife – she doesn’t want
him to be a musician like me…
she’d rather he grows up to be a doctor!”*
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 6:42 AM UTC
Accept my pity, ye tormented souls unable to raise and dazzle
all I did was earn my keep and walked in sunshine from the soul
but
When men are full of envy they disparage everything,
whether it be good or bad.
Now I know some minds never grow and thrive only in envy
For Envy, like the worm, never runs but to the fairest fruit;
like a cunning bloodhound, it singles out the fattest deer in the flock.
These wretched starved toxic souls, only see a man with plenty
The flower which is single need not envy the thorns that are numerous.
I did not countenance that faces are pale because they lacked
just thought that was the Creator's work on days when brown
and yellow, swarty, ivory and tan paints ran out
I knew a lot hated this insipid opaque pale colouring, but at least
they have beautiful hair and lucky ones have pearly white teeth
but unbeknown to me, real envy resides in them and blinds them and makes it impossible for them to think clearly.
Oh dearie me, our pale brothers and sisters die inside their souls
And age so quickly, radiant in bloom one day, grey and wrinkled
in the morrow like a wilted rose devoid of water and light
Their pain and envy, their self-loathing, their insecurities ravages
Let age, not envy, draw wrinkles on thy cheeks, dear friends.
For you see, God's truth judges created things out of love,
and Satan's truth judges them out of envy and hatred.
Our envy always lasts longer than the happiness of those we envy.
If malice or envy were tangible and had a shape,
it would be the shape of a boomerang.
I fear not and now understand why you envy and hate me
I can appreciate the bile and venom for Fools may our scorn,
not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.
Worth begets in base minds, envy; in great souls, emulation.
When people envy someone else, they want what that person possesses. As time passes, they develop hostile feelings towards that person, and eventually begin to hate that person because of their possessions and the unrequited desire to obtain those possessions.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 8:53 PM UTC
I am realizing that the times you spent with me,
Were more of a worry than they were any reprieve.
I guess hindsight is twenty-twenty,
I wish I had seen it sooner so that I could leave.
Now I’m questioning,
Did it mean anything?
What defines a friend?
What separates them from an acquaintance?
I don’t know anymore;
The ones I thought were my friends are strangers,
That I’ve never met before.
Perhaps, there were good times,
But they’re clouded in the grey.
Now I’m left with ambiguity,
To haunt me for my days.
Those times that you laughed,
At a joke I didn’t understand.
Dividing us further by our clear differences.
This lone wolf was meant to hunt on his own,
Dancing with solitude in the comfort of his home.
But the lonely monarch grows tired of his throne,
He’s frozen with fear, for he doesn’t know where to go.
So, what’s next?
How does the second chapter open?
Would it be simpler to just forget?
Or act bitter and broken?
I walk the trial-heavy road,
Of finding new friends.
I wish I were a bloodhound,
To sniff out genuine people,
Who could invest in me.
Authenticity is a rarity,
Amidst all of the fallacies,
Filled to the brim with irony,
And patronizing apathy.
It’s a painful search,
That leaves me questioning my worth,
But I won’t stop looking,
Statistics assure me,
That there’s at least one friend out there, somewhere.
I just have to find them wherever they are.
A friend is as rare as a perfect pair,
And they can be covered with fool’s gold.
How is anyone to know?
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 11:08 PM UTC
Acrid stenches of contrived action
stain his sloppy, uneven speeches
gallantry is unnerving, obnoxious
to me, even in the grandest favors.
I sniff with all my offended senses.
To a bloodhound nose, it's cloying.
He smells like he's trying too hard,
trying too hard smells sour, biting.
I prefer challenges from a cunning,
a silver-tongued fox. Let me chase.
Subtle while retaining the ability to
remain brazen, aye, there's the rub.
Chomping at the bit, the overeager
and easily pleased are not my kind,
the authentic and untamed always
give me more rise than an easy bait.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
Life viewed through sunglasses
Black as the starless night
A soul hiding, black
Innocent, sheets of white
Mind, numbing pains
Creating pains anew
Façade, change of face
Easily seen through
As a Bloodhound on ice
Seeking love true
Running awkwardly forth
In attempts to woo
From heartache and rejection
To love gone awry
Heedless hopes of affection
Self-deceit and lies
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
You are a ********* do you know it?
You've fallen for the one person who will
intentionally rip at your heart, hoping
just hoping, to see scarlet drops of blood
mar the silver blade I wield against you.
Be warned my darling,
I will leave you no dark corner in which
to hide your most tender thoughts.
Compassion runs from my bloodhound heart,
it fears the harsh light,
which I intend to spotlight it with.
Run, run as fast as you can,
I promise you can't hide.
You've fallen for me,
so roll up your sleeves.
Do you believe it's going to be that easy?
The marble veins below my skin
service to carry lead from my heart and back again.
Your sweet tongue can do nothing
to dispel my stoic judgments.
Is it supposed to make me feel soft?
You tell me that my skin is different
from everybody else's.
Mayhap your hands are calloused
from working on cars and
permanently numb from the kisses of
electricity to your fingertips,
still my flesh isn't different than yours.
It's only colder,
and akin to the color of death.
Don't you know that
a hand is just a hand?
Bravery is just a cage of ribs.
Bone is nothing but porous bridges
of calcium and other things
that protect our hearts.
It's fairly simple to stop the muscle
that lets us confess.
The sky looks ****** today,
it's trying to warn you.
Pay attention dear, the fun has just arrived.
Promise not to promise anymore and I'll stop, I promise.
Perhaps the next time you knock
on my heart I'll take the chain off the door.
My heart is above love, or perhaps just under it.
I haven't decided yet.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 3:32 AM UTC
Summer rain:
the epitome of endless ironies,
like joyful pain,
and a bloodhound befriending a fox.
yet precisely through ironies we realise
how sharply contrasting these emotions are.
like how the eyes see nothing but lies,
and how things are only beautiful from afar.
perhaps, only through these ironic moments can we truly feel
the primal nature of emotions;
that lead us to **** ourselves
on the inside without hesitation.
y'know, just to make someone else happy.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 2:15 AM UTC
They say the Jones' next door have the car to die for
They say it has an electric heater an'all
They say it's low on fuel consumption
That must be true
'cos I heard it go up the hill and stall
...but I ask you...
Who the hell is 'they' anyway!
They say the events of Roswell are true
They say the little green men did come say howdy
They say the evidence is strewn all over
That must be right
'cos just mention it in the South an' everyone gets rowdy!
...but I say again...
Who the hell is 'they' anyway!
They say Kennedy was shot while moseying along the motorcade
They said something about a Lee an' a Harvey an' a rifle
They say there was someone else on a grass of Knoll?
I know that must be true
'cos I was standing next to him eating my trifle!
...but c'mon....
Who the hell is 'they' anyway!
They say the end of the world is nigh
They say it's time to pack some supplies, baked beans 'n rice
They say the next quake will be the One
That must be right
'cos I read somewhere the Lord throws a loaded dice!
'Tis true...but I gotta ask...
Who the hell is 'they' anyway!
They say a man should love a woman like he does his own soul
They say this is the sacred secret to happiness, romance and bliss
They say he should worship her like a queen
That must be the case
'cos the last time I looked, all I had was my Bloodhound to kiss!
This time I have to concede to 'em
As hard and humbling it may be
In this case siding with they an' them an' theirs
Is all one needs for long life, peace and freedom
...but who the hell am I anyway!
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 6:21 AM UTC
I hear you whispering to me
it's alright my child
I know you want this to be over
I am right here
I will always be right here
don't give up you hear me?
As long as you can still grasp a breath
you fight
You breathe...so keep breathing.
Your body...your soul
may be fighting you
It is older and has taken
on many troubles and trauma
but your spirit needs to stay
you have important work still to do here
As they press on your throat
Trying to check the last bit of air
the Red tail Hawks Circle in the sky
we are here
Do not be afraid
You were born with white blood
The ones who have dark blood
are angry that it is
still running through their veins
are afraid of you
Your light is so bright
they fear getting burned
Time may not be on your side
But you will know when the time is right
you are the silvertip grizzly bear
who smells from many miles away
who will rip flesh with your mighty
claws in seeming anger
His smell
seven times stronger than the Bloodhound
your nose is a time traveler
while they see someone's name
carved in
a heart in the tree they will know
this person loves someone else
you know who made the carving
what was on the soles of their feet
what direction they walked in
And to stay away if they are dangerous
little Portia...jumping spider
you can see in four dimensions
Opening Our Eyes to history
as ancient Greek statues were painted
not white
your evolutionary camouflage
is useless against the death machine
the black Emperor Scorpion
which to you glows in a bright blue green
you are also like the monarch butterfly
waking from sleep cocooned
living only a few months
migration that spans Generations
born knowing exactly how to get to their
greatest grandfathers home
who left six months ago
not told by your Mother
You are the beautiful white bleeding heart
that I planted outside your door
you didn't know where it came from
It will provide you ease from your pain
and calm your nerves
you must extract this from the root
It all feels very important
To speak the truth
to get it all down
It feels like it might be too late
but it is not
just remember to keep breathing
As long as you have a breath
as long as you can grasp a breath
you breathe
keep fighting
I am here
I am with you
I will always be here.
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
Citizen, enemy, mama's boy, sucker, utter
garbage, panhandler, swine, refujew, verrucht;
a scalp so often scalded with boiling water
that the puny brain feels completely cooked.
Yes, we have dwelt here: in this concrete, brick, wooden
rubble which you now arrive to sift.
All our wires were crossed, barbed, tangled, or interwoven.
Also: we didn't love our women, but they conceived.
Sharp is the sound of pickax that hurts dead iron;
still, it's gentler than what we've been told or have said ourselves.
Stranger! move carefully through our carrion:
what seems carrion to you is freedom to our cells.
Leave our names alone. Don't reconstruct those vowels,
consonants, and so forth: they won't resemble larks
but a demented bloodhound whose maw devours
its own traces, feces, and barks, and barks.
Joseph Brodsky
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
At night I feel like a widow
I lay next to a shadow with my head pressed between a pillow.
For real though. I can hear the heat rise up from down beneath low.
My eyes won't shut 'til the sun comes up shinin' through my window.
I'm settin' sail, unconcerned with how the wind blows.
Disconcerting notions rhythmically pound upon the ship's bow.
Concentrating on endless oceans of electrical impulse.
My legs shake as my muscles lull, unnerved by how the terrain's thrown.
How do the waves flow?
Hunger explodes out of my chest;
Exposing all of my rib bones.
A rabid pack of salty dogs engaged in acts I wouldn't condone.
A rancid sack of sewer rats nibble at success in foster family group homes.
You'll never be alone once you cop another copy;
Always accompanied by your own clones.
Which way did I go?
**** out all the unfavorable people through the peephole.
If it looks, smells, tastes and feels, then it must be really real.
Uh-OH! We've baked another batch, but keep the lids all sealed.
We don't know what will happen if the scent is caught by the bloodhound's ego.
Sound the alarm and stretch your arms late in the afternoon.
Pass the grind down the line from teeth, to beans, to time, to you.
Hunker down that anchor now, the deadline's almost due.
It seems the sea is the majority, but man, I'm sick of bein' blue.
I've discerned now how the waves roll.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
I long for the smell of fresh turned soil , an experience I've never forgotten ..
The smell of diesel , oil and grease ..The ringing of harrow and bush hog ...
My Liberty overalls and size ten clod hoppers , suede cowboy hat , pocket watch and Bloodhound tobacco ..
Bob White Quail walking the wood line waiting to
get their fill of turned ground morsels , grains and grasshoppers ..
Curious Whitetailed Deer hiding in the shadows , Redtailed Hawks
with a keen eye for field rats escaping the plow ..
A sixty two Massey Harris that ran like a' Top ' through rain
and heat , never missing a beat !
My mind prays for the simple life of man and machine , the brushfires
of March , the restoration of God's green earth ..
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
i trained a bloodhound in my quest
to find the fount of youth
upon its memory impressed
the habits of a sleuth
round every rock and grass and tree
it spied what others could not see
in search of one most abstract hopeful truth
the training ground was in the park
where children roamed and played
the bloodhound, trained to bay and bark
where innocence displayed
it sniffed the scent of every child
with purity not yet defiled
its diligence always duly repaid
by daily treks its efforts grew
enthusiastically
and by the same i surely knew
the end was soon to be
round pools and lakes and finally
a river leading to the sea
the fount of youth would soon belong to me
at last one day upon the dawn
the time was now at hand
it came to me, my head it fawned
its tail most quickly fanned
the hound had licked my head around
it barked and bayed and i had found
the end was quite unlike what i had planned
(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
It's been awhile
since jasmine or
some soft, pastel
scent has graced
my senses
and the thawing
touch that
accompanies
things afore
mentioned
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
I hear talk, of the cruelty, and heartlessness of humans,
but I see things on a regular basis that disprove this.
There is no cruelty in a childs kiss, the gently caressed cheek
that puts a smile on your face.
But, today I saw the clincher,
a RIP sticker,
for
A Squirrel...
It hit me like a punch made out of "What the ****
I didn't know whether to smile and break into tears,
or shake my head in curmudgeony disbelief.
A memorial sticker for a road ****
Would an animal do such a thing.
I think not. They'd eat the thing
or just as some leave it to rot.
A Road **** memorial sticker
is about the craziest compassionate thing I've seen...
Animals don't memorialize us when we die...
Of course, that's not true.
I remember my dad's old mangy bloodhound...
and how, after he died, she moaned everyday, at the time he used to come home from work.
For weeks she did it, just sitting by the door
and moaning.
Until the sun set,
then she would slink and lie at the foot of his chair..
She died two months later.
And if that isn't mourning I don't know what is.
Maybe animals and humans aren't all that different,
we just mourn differently.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
Whenever there's trouble,
we're there on the double.
We're the Bloodhound Gang.
If you've got the crime,
we've got the time.
We're the Bloodhound Gang.
Damaris Carbaugh. 4/25/2016.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 7:57 PM UTC
The scent of you sticks to sheets
Long after you've gone
Long, long, long
My nose ,
A bloodhound
Out to find the pieces of you
Trapped between the stitching
Maybe your love remains there
Weighing down the cotton
with longing
Long, long, long
Maybe your *** remains there
Maybe I can taste it
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
Their noses sniff the shadows, at dusk
The leaves crumble beneath them
Leaving maps of the past
Forgotten until morning.
I can hear them.
They are only a single nightmare away.
The ivory hangs, but their teeth can taste
The faint
Traces
Of you.
I can never run far enough, fast enough
Because no matter how hard I try to forget,
Their noses appear from under the rug.
Feb 7, 2012
Feb 7, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
The woods seem like a familiar place
Familiar like the lines in your face
I was nowhere to be found
Until you saved me from the bloodhound
Our love rose and our love fell
It was just like heaven and hell
Without you though
There'd be no light to follow
Sometimes sorry just isn't enough
So I brought roses just to beg to be heard
The woods seem like a familiar place
Just like the lines in your face
I was nowhere to be found
Until you saved me from the bloodhound
I could no longer hide my love
Could not keep inside for another minute
I remember ever second we spent together
Specifically when you said love me, I said forever.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
Among the noise
Over the music,
Over the talking
It is not heard
Among the sights
Over the colors
Over the wonders
It is not seen
There is just one taste of it
That is the salt in your tears
No trained bloodhound can catch the scent
For there is none
It cannot be felt
For it is only for one to feel
Nobody seems to notice
Nobody seems to care
Nobody seems to sense
The sadness of a broken heart
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
Moonlit skies on this summer's eve,
take me in, though grant me leave;
I will explore you thoroughly.
On trodden paths near-forgot,
a bloodhound's howl, a hunter's shot:
a late-night symphony.
And we
paint the world with all we've got.
Though everything now strongly glows,
where we walk, no one knows.
Nor remains an eternity,
nor rain, nor calm bellows
that withers the spirit inside of me.
So away, now, and do perceive
those moonlit skies on a summer's eve;
whether weather's clear or not,
whether stars shine bright or not,
onward -- onward! -- in twain we'll cleave
the lot;
onward -- onward! -- in twain we'll cleave
the lot
of those who scant believe.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 5:32 PM UTC
The Old Gray Owl is telling on someone tonight !
A pole cat or a stray bloodhound , a wild hog running around !
The Crescent Moon is laughing with delight ,
cause the Old Gray Owl is callin' out tonight !
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
Darkness is the only light
I seek, silence the only sound
I take heed, such is my plight
Scent of death come the bloodhound,
Take me down into the depths of
The cloudy skies drifting above,
I've spun out of your orbit
And I'm off into the nearest sun,
The last bullet I must have bit
Hollowed out the chambers of your gun,
Burning in and burning up
The oxygen in my lungs
I got too close
And singed my nose,
Ladder from the moon
I've broken all the rungs
No way back
Unless I tack on another tack,
Runneth over my cup
Spilled from thy lips and soon,
The stars will fall
Drops of light into my dark, call
Off the ravens and bring
The vultures that sing,
Over my melancholy
No crime or folly,
I've still got a smile
Because an alligator ate a crocodile...
©okpoet
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
We are magnetically bound,
Where I go you will follow.
You retired your bloodhound,
You’ll find me on your own tomorrow.
We are anonymous, reviling in nothingness,
But how many times has nothing been wrong?
Nothing is the last straw,
There is no appeal process when you are nameless,
The fringe keeps you hidden;
Hidden from your monsters,
Hidden from your salvation,
My personal Jesus.
You have thrown me into the deep end,
My hands and feet are bound,
And my voice can’t make a sound,
But my worth will be proven,
I will swim until I reach the sun as it sets on the world,
And I will tell him everything about you and that special girl,
He’s seen it all and will see it all again,
He is the light; he is the storm and the rain.
Hate is a model;
A person with their solar removed:
We all shine like stars, but this one has collapsed,
This one has lapsed into a different state,
In a stranger’s shoes, drinking a stranger’s *****
He will cry for a man he never met,
At the alter he burns his regrets,
In tribute to a God we tend to forget,
To make amends for our debts,
The collection company is calling.
Face first.
The water is cold,
I am cold,
I have been cold.
I have been aging too fast,
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 5:43 PM UTC