"collie" poems
It was after a long-awaited response
(Which turned out to be a slap to the face
Rather than a fresh kiss tinted with sunlight)
That, instead of mournful silence
(It is silence that I often miss),
I giggled at a thought;
I feel like a dog running alone in
A cantaloupe field,
Just a little melon collie.
A small girl taps on my shoulder while
I try to nurture the small smile playing on my lips.
My face scolds it and life returns to its
Regular programming,
Leaving me with the wisp of happiness
And the sense that he was wrong.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
Me love agony, seen?
Me hate baldheads, seen?
Me love collie, seen?
Me hate duppies, seen?
Me love easing up, seen?
Me hate fishes, seen?
Me love ***** seen?
Me hate harbour sharks, seen?
Me love "irie's", seen?
Me hate janga, seen?
Me love kush, seen?
Me hate lagga heads, seen?
Me love mateys, seen?
Me hate nyng'i-nying'i, seen?
Me love o-dokono, seen?
Me hate passa passa, seen?
Me love quashes, seen?
Me hate running belly, seen?
Me love science (witchcraft), seen?
Me hate toto, seen?
Me love uptown goodas, seen?
Me hate vixxin', seen?
Me love wheels, seen?
Me hate da yout, seen?
Me love Zion, seen?
Me fuckin' love Zion
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:38 PM UTC
i’m drowning in new york city.
i want to die, again.
always! why is it like this?
i hate everyone; i want my ****** dramatic burlington life and friends back.
her, him, those two, even them…
i want it back.
i wanna be no one.
i wanna be everyone.
i;m full of emotions that i don’t want because everything is so different except for them.
no matter what i do the doom and gloom is always there.
i wanna change my name
i wanna get a dog—auggie or esme, a red border collie—and flee to the south.
I WANNA DRINK MYSELF TO DEATH.
i see these visions of a stable, happy, healthy version of myself but i also see these visions of me literally not making it past age 21.
i’m eternally stuck on self destructing.
but why?
why!
everything is good but it’s never enough.
i’m never enough, it’s never enough, he’s never enough (whoever he is at any given moment)
sam says he’ll fly me back to santa cruz and my insanity says do it but the small semblance of “morals” i still possess tell me not to…
only because of my parents. because of joe.
i don’t want to hurt them.
i don’t want to hurt anyone. but i’m hurting. always. forever. unless i’m drunk. no, wait…even when i’m drunk. i learned that the hard time this last run.
but life is meaningless (words are meaningless and forgettable) and time is a flat circle
blah blah blah
i’ve been here before
i’ll be here again
everything i do i’ll do over and over til i die.
if i don’t get drunk anytime soon i will eventually.
eternal return; the emo version of destiny.
remember when caroline myss’ book told me my highest potential was “victim”?
i’ll be drowning forever.
i’d rather be drowning in absinthe than drowning in aa meeting coffee.
i ache at the beauty of the world; the beauty which i will never achieve or be a part of.
i cry and i cry and i cry.
i want to be beautiful and pure but it’s all so dark.
all the people i’ve loved and who love me…i weep and i weep and i weep.
i can’t breathe fully; why do i wish i could not breathe at all?
i look back at all my pasts as if they were yesterday, and yet they all feel as if i’d made them up entirely.
disconnected and yet fully involved with each and every era of my evolution…
and yet i swear, i haven’t truly changed a bit.
the details change—the scenery, the faces, the dreams…
but all the emotions…all the thoughts…they stay the same.
“i won’t change, i’ll stay the same—darling, fade away…”
fading & falling & then blooming for a single lovely night
time is a flat circle.
i ache, i weep, i cry.
i naively hold onto the hope that someday…someday i’ll be okay.
please, god.
i have to be okay.
i have to turn off the bon iver.
i’m just trying to breathe.
maybe someday.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 1:27 PM UTC
The animal inside me wears a sweater when it snows.
He lives in Logan's house with his new wife,
and is afraid of the neighbor's electric fence.
The animal inside me eats only cold food from a can
that Logen scrapes into a metal bowl,
and plays with scuffed, rubber toys.
The animal inside me hates the toys and the Alpo,
though he gulps it down and makes a show of play,
ever eager to please.
The animal inside me sings of the Ones who ran wild.
He has a fine collection of bones buried in the back yard,
and revels in rolling in fresh deer ****
Sometimes, when no one is there to see,
the animal inside me chews the new wife's leather shoes,
although this is mainly a thing of the past.
The animal inside me loves to run, which hardly happens anymore.
He is waiting on the doe-eyed collie who lives down the road,
and wishes that Logan would just burn the stupid sweater.
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
Starting way up north from
from fair head in Antrim to
mizen head in Cork there is
not a Border Collie in the 32
counties wishing for a return
to The Troubles before the
Good Friday agreement when
meat was forbidden by the
Catholic Church because fish
is for felines and it was seen
by many canines as a blatant
act of segregation, racism and
even discrimination for which
the animal kingdom of Eire
(In the absence of a Monarch)
has been audibly vocal in all
of the four provinces, many of
the nations kennel clubs and
at last years Crufts Show in
Earls Court London, a Kerry
Blue refused to stand on the
winners podium with a Poodle
who shared first place, because
she was a vegetarian and not
at all sympathetic or supportive
to a universal diet for all breeds
on the island of Ireland.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
Rain drop ruins my melancholy
Rain drop brushes my border collie;
his tail wags across my shin,
breaking my ever-building reverie.
“Smash that”, says the rock to its falling neighbor,
letting it go without attempt at a rumbling tremor.
“Smash your metamorphic protolith,
sedimentary is your bona fide nature”.
The quartzite stone has no room to reject but yield,
but so behold: I catch it with my awakened shield.
Lays in my hand the metamorphic stone,
Ecstatic to be shiny and free.
Broken from my reverie is where I sometimes wish to be,
for there I meet my life’s expenditure,
my loved reality.
There the marks of my imprint awaken; there I become me.
Fall then rain! Do so duly... for I vow to be
the rightful branch of your sprouting tree.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC
We ...
Are The Architects of Our Fate
we build the walls
all these gates
We construct solid walls
they take them down
let them fall
then look around
for Solid Ground
until it's found
I plant my feet
Take a seat
share a story
of honored Glory
My Father was a Carpenter
a Master Builder they would say
And I see his buildings
every day
Arts and craftsman
my kind of build
houses filled
engrossing skill
amazing will
holes were drilled
handhewn milled
beams
intricate details
imparted to me
you can see
by carving
wooden
weathered
leather hands
It's good to admire
though I do not aspire
to live in one now
I miss the farm
in simple charms
A time exsist my memories
Queen Abigail of Chelsea
a border collie
she was our dog
Willamina a hog
or the name of a pig
rooting earth she'd happily dig
a silly gig
She never was a meal
Her funny squeal
Saved her life
had a horse named Cochise
no wool from lamb
that we could fleece
you could not ride
but would stand on hind
legs
and beg
for marshmallows!
I miss the Farm
all the time
it taught me
life is worth living
to keep on giving
what I can.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 8:30 PM 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
Deep in the backwoods of the Knoxville antique,
The black marble sky growls,
A panther,
To outsiders—those inside city limits—
The vanishing streetlights and,
Absence of neighbors,
May put them on extra alert but,
Here,
The panther’s like a friend
Watching over us
All day long me and my cousins,
Waited,
For the whispers of night to cover us,
In the last few hours before Independence Day drifted
Off for another year,
We broke out the rockets:
Nine-packs,
Missiles,
Roman Candles,
Sparklers,
Big and small,
The show was about to begin
Darting away,
From explosives right before launch,
Cracking up till
Our lungs hurt,
Bouncing on,
The backyard trampoline—
(I think I got punched in the eye that night
by accident)—
Playing with the border collie named Shadow,
We were frozen in a dream,
No person could break up this night,
Running without legs from parents’ rules,
And from mysterious police,
Hoping that Shadow wouldn’t go
Nuts,
Hurt someone
We were all—parents and cousins—
Drinking
In the elixir of freedom,
Caught in the secret
Between
The night and the countryside
Sep 17, 2021
Sep 17, 2021 at 12:16 PM UTC
The world turns on a Shepard’s staff.
He, of whom the Shepard is, is a guide through the treachery and trickiness of the thick weeds.
The foothills have been passed and the plains of this earth is now the marked destination to rest. We eat there. Beware
the wolves
The sheep have been calm this journey, and it’s lax for the collie, our animal ally.
He is prepared at a beckoning and that is all that is required for herds safety. He comes and goes throughout the brush to scout and prepare reconnaissance. Again, a ally.
The sun moves slowly and eventually rests past the horizon. Twilight and on a clear night, spreckels of stardust show their face over the herd and friendlies. The wolves do not bother the fire tonight.
We rest with a relative ease.
We wake and begin the day.
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
You carve your trade
Above your door
The chisel bright and keen
Looking for work
Like a collie dog
Mallet wagging
Weightless in your hand
Rounding the letters
The letters speak of rowan
Fetched from a'side
A mountain burn
Fed by snow-melt
Even in summer
Hot sun through thin air
Burnishing each day
The wild, burred grain
Adorned with marquetry anemones
Each petal in fine horn
Further etched with pewter
And you will love that sign
The thought of that sign
Even if you never carve a single letter
Nor ever hang it until
You have something to trade
Apr 16, 2011
Apr 16, 2011 at 11:32 PM UTC
Sometimes
When I look at pictures of you
I get jealous of all the people you like.
The moments I thought were special:
When I knelt on your hair,
The moment your pants came off,
The moment mine came off,
The moment you came,
When the blood started to flow,
When your screams reached high-pitched status
When you came the second time,
Your border collie barking from downstairs,
The loud aggressive creaking,
The third time you came,
The several hours of all the above,
Getting progressively more aggressive
And increasingly louder.
When I look at pictures of you
I think about those moments I thought were special
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
Yesterday I spilt the beans,
100% Colombia Arabica.
Daisy, the Border Collie
from Westport in Mayo,
Was on to the # Browny's
in a flash, just as Kaldi's
Goats were, in Ethiopia
circa 850 A.D.
The 250 grams of beans
were no different to a herd
Of sheep scattered on the
hill of Croagh Patrick.
I was the poor shepherd
while Daisy, true to her
Evolutionary inheritance
went after the fleeing flock,
Though not to help put them back
in the bag, she began to eat them!
A night from hell ensued, wooden
floors, long nails, pacing, pacing.
Daisy had her first high, but
today, she is in a sheep dip.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 3:50 AM UTC
I am going to write you a poem that rhymes
I'm not sure how I'll get it out of me but I will
I just hope it's not as bad as an oilspill
Or that haircut you got last Christmas
The time you almost punched the glass
And I was laughing
I am going to tell you about how I dream
Of a big brown house, kids going "Mommy, Mommy"
And a border collie, and a handsome man
And you'd be living next door all alone
I'd be laughing
Okay I swear I am going to stop joking
The truth is
a) Your smile is like the candy cane
A kid would **** to ease some ache somewhere
Or like the cake the fat person is eating to
Cheer herself up (on a separate note,
The fat person is me)
b) Your voice is like ocean waves
Pulling, crashing, rushing,
Tripping; beautiful and brave
And your voice is like birdsong and ambulances
Yes, that much of a mess
c) Your company is the floater I'd grab
Before jumping off a boat
Your company is the lifesaver.
I'd get tossed by the waves while the thunder
Roars to state that life is unkind,
You're still keeping me from sinking
And d) you're the prettiest boy I've ever met
And I'd be in love with you except
You make me laugh 'til I'm crying and my vision blurs
So instead I just love you
I hope you love me too
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 9:41 AM UTC
woof woof barks the dog as he plays in the yard
swish goes the large green fruit as it sails through the air
the dog stops barking
the melon, sailing
leaving a family in a state
of
MELLON COLLIE
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
me and collie took the town by storm,
black man and white man
drinking buddies? what a rarity.
uncle didn’t join us the old ghanian,
we had drunk sentimentalities, of course,
but when russel the schizoid rudolf came
up and told us the tottenham man city score
i went into the alley and almost ****** myself
prior shouting h and a into an ivory rattle of teeth.
but what a night, collie’s girlfriend i also met,
i remember kissing her dry brown skin
on the bone of finger, before being chauffeured home;
but of course, before all that, staring into
the gape of being centralised by the passerby’s eyes,
a lot of english pyjama beauties walked the talk
getting their score of **** -
if not more.
but as i pointed out to the white colt - the jeans below the knees
with... calvin kleine - ‘mate, you need flashy underwear to
walk with your **** exposed - primani ain’t gonna cut it for the hoes.’
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 8:56 AM UTC
when i started to smoke marijuana aged 20
with this russian cupcake of falling asleep in a seashell entwined
i took to listening to: ***** & the maytals, culture,
israel vibration, damian marley, stephen marley, ziggy,
basil daley, brenton dowe, bunny wailer,
burning spear, cornel & the brentford rockers,
earl zero, freddie mckay, jackie mittoo,
keith hudson, king tubby, lloyd robinson & brentford disco,
lone ranger, peter tosh, soul vendors, sound dimension,
the heptones, the new establishment, wailing souls,
willie & the brentford rockers,
winston & the new establishment...
i sometimes wish i went into the stoner rock direction
to experience that side of the ethnic cultural exploitation
of a certain intoxication... anyway, whatever...
i forget to mention barrington levy, gregory isaac,
alpha blondy and sort of classify collie buddz as reggae’s eminem.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
The collie, fur grayed and patchy, lopes away from his house,
Ostensibly bound for nowhere in particular,
Knowing only that it is that time, his time,
And, as he wanders away for to await that last solitary purpose,
Meanders past a pock-marked and rust-patched single-wide,
Occupied by a young woman (a girl, in truth)
Nursing a newborn, child whose father
Is one in a wide range of unpalatable options.
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
They walk, the residue of some boy meets girl,
Along the quiet main street of an equally quiet town,
Utility poles garnished with benign, contented snowmen,
Low-hung five-pointed auguries strung with tinsel,
Brobodingnagian candy canes swaying rhythmically in the wind.
They have arrived at the unspoken yet mutually understood conclusion
That they have taken their particular accident of birth and geography
As far as such a thing may go, yet they walk hand-in-hand,
Fingers intertwined, though tentatively, in some interim rationale.
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
On a hill above town, there is a rambling, low-slung edifice
Multiple-winged single-story octopus of a house
Well appointed though sparsely and diffidently decorated,
More hotel than home, decidedly transitory in form and function.
In one of the rooms, dimly lit with little ornamentation
Save a Charlie Brown-esque tree squatting forlornly on a bureau,
A woman is reading softly, almost mechanically,
As if it is a story she has read out loud countless times before,
To a man who is heeding, perhaps, though it is clear
That the act is more essential than the words on the page.
They have a daughter who would be there,
Sitting in a chair or on the edge of the bed,
Hands clasped, though in service of or supplication to nothing tangible,
But she is home with her toddler, a whirligig of a child
Who has found some hidden presents
And is tearing away the wrapping from the boxes,
Laughing unrestrainedly as he showers himself
In a red-green-gold ticker-tape maelstrom.
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
They talk uncomfortably
about the way things should be
and small-town gossip
and big-world dreams,
after the insanity is ended
and hot-heads still steam,
Cold dinner on a plate
push it with the fork,
still tastes like hate
It’s hard to swallow
when collie-flower tastes
like sorrow;
Push in your chair
and walk up the stair
Your friend walks past and you
smile although
he knows
that the tears are impending
but he’s pretending not to see
the fragile autocracy
of an independent heart
broken to pieces,
fallen apart.
The facade of a grin
and the Everything’s fine
while you’re screaming within
and losing you Mind-
What a curious condition
that only Man can find;
withholding emotion
to shut out assistance
intriguing resistance
to a fight that is not there!
but up you go
to the top of the stair
and tell your family
that you don’t care,
nothing’s the matter
while inside you steadily
become sadder,
and you feel
sick to the core
just thinking about it,
close the bathroom door
(gently as to not make a fuss)
and you make sure it’s secure
before
you start to cry
the weight of the world
took a rest on your chest
and as you cry
you come to realize
you only cry in the bathroom
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
All the grown-ups say
that someday,
you will be as big
and tall as me.
You will wear these pants,
this shirt, these shoes.
That you will have the
colonial and collie
safe in the suburbs.
That you will
have offspring that have
your nose and eyes,
because that's what
you were born to do.
All the grown-ups
omit
that growing up
is about
choices.
The choice to
look as you feel.
The choice to
severe all your ties
and run free.
The choice to
experiment with drugs
to finally learn
some valuable information.
The choice to bravely
march forward in life
alone.
Or the choice to
reprise the role the
grown-ups have already played.
They mourn
their fleeted youth,
their abled bodies,
and their lost sense of wonder
in the world,
doing whatever they can
to reincarnate themselves
in the young
so they will not be forgotten;
to have us avoid
the mistakes
they have made.
But what they really yearn for
was the time
when all they had
were choices.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
For a fire is the water between them. In the 1000 / Anomalous speeds of light ... Two airlines - [2] Karl Hiroshima. Torque: 4P / 3 seconds - the mobile phone. Then, 1000: he began to develop a bike. An example of the year, is the one who seems to be the men that were with him, Peter Jenner. Master East and East and East P 4/4 Collie, Collie, S3, these conditions. Chen Cicero / P / S 3 O Makena decision. For example, 100,000 years. What is the best way ... Cory, 4P / S 3 - Sound. No 2 - Car Rental George Heart conference. For password protection Elvira 1000 ... or in other words from the East; Of the gap between on the one hand, and Anna went not shall be to thee of thousands of sales. The Cicero by July 3 4/2 km, George Roberts was 73 ... 42 3. The Colorado / p / s - East and West Paul La Paz, for example, cider works, George Herrera before the assembly, 2 grams of light. Two years ago, on Hiroshima Eve - ||
Code 1000 ... ... ... to the east. Border Collie 4P / 3 atoms. From the floor
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Colly Cecondum Cicero, Chen · 4R / 3 and S Maknam. after reading
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Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 2:39 PM UTC
On the road outside
Of the fence
The Border Collie hears
The call of the
Doggies
On the inside
Enclosed behind
The wooden fence
The Alaskan malamute
The Drever, the Poodle
Bustle the edge of the barrier
Bark, bark, bark
A cacophony
Let us out
Let us come with you
Pledging to obey,
The Collie
On hind legs
Of a towering stature
Lifts a paw
Finds the latch
The gate creaks open
Uncorking in celebration
They run in gleeful circles
Hounds to escape artists
Unbound and free from tyranny
Of a heartless master
Marking their new territory
Of tree trunks
Sidewalks and fields
Have you ever seen
Such jubilation
Mirth and gaiety
Wagging their tails
Like helicopter blades
With gail force glee
They take off
Like upside down rain
Up, up, up
Every which way
Friends forever
Boundless canines
In search of the next
immured pooch who waits
For the musketeers
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 9:55 AM UTC
I brought the sandwiches,
you brought the drinks.
M&S; and cress,
cans of Coke
from the local Spar.
Kids on the football pitch,
their shouts rising like bullets.
Mrs. Smith from number 33
walked her collie - waved.
Rain came. ‘Typical’, you said.
So we bundled up our stuff
as if the end of a holiday,
then in your house
we unbundled it again
onto the living room floor
with our hair still wet
and watching E4.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC