"doghouse" poems
May I join you in the doghouse, Rover?
I wish to retire till the party's over.
Since three o'clock I've done my best
To entertain each tiny guest. My conscience now I've left behind me,
And if they want me, let them find me.
I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats,
I kept them from each other's throats. I told them tales of magic lands,
I took them out to wash their hands.
I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces,
I wiped their noses and dried their faces. Of similarities there's lots
Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots.
I've earned repose to heal the ravages
Of these angelic-looking savages. Oh, progeny playing by itself
Is a lonely little elf,
But progeny in roistering batches
Would drive St. francis from here to Natchez. Shunned are the games a parent proposes,
They prefer to squirt each other with hoses,
Their playmates are their natural foemen
And they like to poke each other's abdomen. Their joy needs another woe's to cushion it,
Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it.
They observe with glee the ballistic results
Of ice cream with spoons for catapults, And inform the assembly with tears and glares
That everyone's presents are better than theirs.
Oh, little women and little men,
Someday I hope to love you again, But not till after the party's over,
So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover
7.8k
Who the hell am I kidding?!
Why you
Just look at yourself
I can't even take it
I held the leash for too long
And honey,
Your in the doghouse
While I'm in the kitchen
Pondering faded memories
Nothing more than dust
Only seen in a ray of sunlight
I totally just forgot I had a dog
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 1:39 AM UTC
I miss mine homie,
Who in the world's name is homie? One mayeth ask.....
Well homie
Is mine old German Shepherd.....
Dad named him that
Funny yes I know.... Long story ....
And though I haveth many Angel's here on earth......
Homie,
Was mine true pet angel....
He always watched out for me when I was around nine years old.
And when one day,
At mine birthday party...
Mine friends tried to be OK with homie,
As me and homie were soulmates friend and being wise...
So mine friend's tried to feed homie through his fence hotdogs,
Like I did with no problem...
And mine old buddy Danny found out.
Homie didn't eat hot dog's
Unless I Gaveth them to him ....
Me, his best friend and soulmate!
Fed them to him....
As I saw homie ready to rip Danny's hand off...
I just chuckled and told homie...
Down boy down...
Homie always listened...
He was mine soulmate....
My do I miss mine homie...
As I remembered one day coming home from school...
Mum picking me up from that young learning center,
She said son I got something to tell thee,
On the way home...
(Yes mum)
I said...
Well,
Homie died
I found him whilst thou was at school son...
( said mum)
I couldn't say nothing
I think I just said really?
As mum told me
He was found in his doghouse
Curled up
Dead.....
I questioned her?
Where is he mother?
Wherein did thou layeth his body mum?
I asked....
She told me she had taken him to some place about fifteen minutes away,
And buried him in some wood's....
I wasn't angry with her.
Nor even father,
I was hurt because I didint get to see his body...
I was hurt because I told mother and father all the time...
Bring him INSIDE!!!!!!
When it got cold...
As I remember it was cold
And snowing when he died........
Yes I understood homie was a big dog
And couldst be a little wild at times....
Though we had a basement
With rooms in that basement
And couldst haveth put a cage down there....
So I felt horrible I didint just bring him in
Even though they thought it was fine to stay outside
During winter......
Mum thought he was poisoned
By someone putting something in his food....
My opinion is he died alone,
When I was gone,
And froze to death....
Don't like thinking of it...
I just miss him to mine soul!!!!!!!!!
I forgive mum and dad not angry,
Just canst waiteth to see mine angel again...
R.I.P homie baby boy...
See you in heaven (:
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
Doghouse Poem
*Not knowing how to say things
I sometimes make mistakes
Regret the words that I use
And hope it's not to late
I ask you for forgiveness
For actions that were made
Knowing that I understand
The hurt inside I gave
I sometimes hide my feelings
But hope that you will see
What it is I feel inside
How much you truly mean
Please know you are so special
Your love I hold so true
I give my thanks to God above
Each day that I have you*
Carl Joseph Roberts
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
I walk across
to Hannah's flat
in Arrol House
and knock at the door
Mrs Scott opens
the door and stands there
she's a short thin woman
with a face of granite
with a slit
where her mouth is
whit is it?
she says
her Scottish accent
rough as stone
is Hannah home?
I ask
I dunnae kinn
she replies
HANNAH
she bellows
over her shoulder
Benedcit is haur fur ye
she adds
scowling at me
jist coming
Hannah replies
from back in the flat
yoo'll hae tae bide
Mrs Scott says
and walks back inside
leaving me
on the red tiled step
I look into the interior
of the flat
and smell breakfast
having been cooked
I look back
into the Square
kids are playing
near by
on the pram sheds
and over by the wall
girls are doing handstands
their feet
against the wall
dresses falling
over their heads
showing underwear
sorry about Mum
she has a mouth on her
Hannah says
where we going?
she asks
thought we'd go
to the South Bank
see the Thames and boats
and have ice cream
I say
do I need money?
she asks
just about 2/-
I say
for bus fares
and ice cream
I'll ask Mum
for a handout
but wait for the answer
Mum have you 2/-
I can have?
Hannah asks
fa dae ye hink
Ah am Rockerfeller?
nae Ah huvnae
her mother replies
no problem
I say to Hannah
I'll have enough
for us both
are you sure?
yes don't aggravate
your mother more
than you have to
so Hannah gets her coat
and we walk off
through the Square
she's like that sometimes
Hannah says
she's as tight
as a wing nut
we walk down the slope
and up Meadow Row
I ask her how her father is
she says
he's Ok but in
the doghouse more often
as not with Mum
but he's a softy
to Mum's hardness
but Mum says
he's soft in the heed
but he's lovely really
Hannah says
-I know her old man
he's English and a bit
simple after helping
to empty out Belsen camp
in 1945 where some
he told me were
more dead as alive-
we wait at the bus stop
she with her dark hair
pony tailed
with a tartan skirt
and white blouse
and me in blue jeans
and white shirt
and quiff of brown hair
and hazel eyes
she with a budding beauty
with her mother's
touch of tongue
who if roused
could give words
full lung.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
Bridezilla is on the rampage
slightest mishap starts to rage
place settings, table plans
hair pulling, feet dance
screams and tantrums
plate dodging chums
stressing over money
I’m so not funny
hubby-2-be was being tongue-in-cheek
unaware of the havoc I can wreak
he’s in the doghouse for a week
my company is not for the meek
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
Last night when I came home, I noticed a very delicious
fragrance enveloping me. The jasmine was not in bloom,
so I knew it couldn't be that stealing through window drafts,
and the incense sticks were long extinguished.
Was it Lakshmi? Her divine fragrance perfumes the three
worlds and I sensed an unusual lightness in the atmosphere.
This morning I still detected a unique aroma, though not as pronounced.
I went outside, in the backyard, to let the dog out and observed two orange speckled butterflies dancing near her doghouse. I shooed them away protectively. As I did this, they moved over to another location, but one hovered near my hands.
It fluttered around my hands for a good minute. I was able to hear,
witness and breathe in the amazing oscillation of it's fragile wings.
Gorgeous mosaic patterns glittered between the rays of sunlight bathing
our golden communion. I could clearly see its ebony face peering curiously up at me.
Soon a third butterfly joined the party, and a trinity of sweetness pulsated close. After a while they all took off in different directions.
Later, I reflected while swinging in the garden jhoola how wonderfully connected we all are.
This Unity transcends the mental, emotional and physical barriers, preconceptions and dimensions of our ordinary awareness.
Love has a lot to do with it, respect, peace, truth and right conduct too.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
Somewhere in all our minds,
At the end of a mile long staircase,
full of trips and hazards,
is a thirsty dog.
And I know he bit your wrists, boy,
but he only did it to lead you away
from the monsters on the landing,
From the growing growling,
Snapping and snarling,
So consider your stigmata,
dogmatic,
because holy or otherwise,
its easy to wonder why
old ghosts dont die,
when you wont let them rest.
So let him *****
your furniture,
he's wet from pulling you a shore.
For some,
treading water is the same as drowning.
And when you're taking on water,
All you can do is keep on paddling.
Its been sink or sin for a while now.
So keep an eye out for the light house,
because it's hard to see the friendly faces
In a sea of smiling sharks.
They circle in a pit of
unrequited doves,
bad choices,
terrible clichés,
and tenuous extended metaphors.
It doesn't matter though.
The defenders of Diogenes,
and his lonely bathtub,
were won over long ago,
when we were 'more' than
the some of our hearts,
all spring and itch,
getting started on the road.
So cast away the stop sign,
drink deep and celebrate,
the Doghouse is a good place to be,
but there's monsters on the landing.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
The table waited
For the father and mother
For the merry children
For a splendid dinner
Beside the fire
Where memories flickered
Of roast turkey
And hot cocoa
And a puppy emerging
In a bright parcel
Of red and green
The festive colors
The walls remember
Candle lit evenings
Where stories were told
Under warm blankets
The children would snicker
And laugh in glee
And excitement
As the mother kissed them
And the father said good night
The porch reminiscing
Bright summer days
Where the family
Played joyous games
And sang with the guitar
The yard misses
Seeing the children
In clean uniform
Marching off to school
And coming home
With tired smiles
And the rusty old car
Creaks his hinges
As he weeps
Remembering the father
Who polished and cleaned
During dusty days
And the curtains were weary
For they wanted to move
To let sunlight in
To recapture moments
When the family
Would chase each other
Around the house
Playing hide and seek
Shrieking and exclaiming
In happy voices
The old tree so ancient
Bent over the house
Missing when the son
Would climb his branches
And when in night
He watches them in silence
Camping under his leaves
Huddling each other
In warm plump arms
And when the tree
Peeks in the window
He would see the daughters
Gladly dressing up
For birthday parties
And the doghouse
The wooden old doghouse
Falling apart
Looks at the past
At a little puppy
Licking at his bone
And then coming out
With dozens of other puppies
And the dusty floorboards
Weak and brittle
Will creak at night
Remembering footsteps
Entering and leaving
The grandiose proud door
With a bronze doorknob
And a chandelier would clink
When the wind passes
Filling the house
With flashbacks
Of a new baby
Of graduations
And weddings
And then of noise
Noises of fun
And laughter
And giggles
They cannot remember
The blind day
When everyone vanished
Not a letter of goodbye
Not a wave of the hand
No words no memories
Nothing
Sadness and peace once again
They all sighed
As the sun vanished
In the edge of the neighborhood
They all wept
For the old wood
In the middle of everyone
Waiting for the family
The sad dining table
In ashes and burnt chairs
The table waited
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
Rock star jacket -
You know the one.
Cowhide in thirteen shades of black.
The fur on an orange collar -
Memories in multi-colored stains.
Back in the "Stardust" days
It was all over your face,
Fame.
In thirteen letters and hues.
F was for father.
A runaway train from society's desires,
Given only your cowhide
And your Stardust make-up.
F was the battle
Cause and effect,
I suppose.
Life in the doghouse
Never fared well for the adolescent,
Though it always had the best in mind.
M was for myopic.
"Liberation!"
You screamed.
Echoing in the empty cells
Of like minded believers.
M was the enemy.
Vowels are but a collection
Of open-mouthed vibrations,
Stirring the vocal chords
With minimal importance.
Show me a meaning
That began with you.
Consonants give
That sound
Of importance
To everything.
Ziggy.
Rock Star.
Fame.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 6:13 AM UTC
Back in the Doghouse
I forgot to say I love you
when you needed my strength
it's not like it's the first time
I've been uncaring and unaware
you say maybe you've had enough
it's 2 am and where have I been
saying you're sorry won't cut it this time
I'm back in the doghouse again
so hard to teach an old dog
even though you know he cares
a night on the porch with no cover
then he'll be crying for his lover
so she forgives me again
and I promise I will get a clue
there's just no room for you
when I'm back in the doghouse again
Gomer LePoet...
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
I took Fifth Street home last night—
two blocks back from the corner
store selling dry-mouth Camels
cheaper than the shop downtown.
Away from the newspaper boxes
selling the *Gazette, Times,
Tribune, Post, Weekly, Daily,
Whatever* for one dollar
and fifty cents a pop.
The crumbling sidewalks
took the glare of porch lights
and slid with 'em the length
of this rusted chain-link
fence spanning four yards,
three front doors, two
pipe railings, and a doghouse.
The ice salt sprinkled
from the stoops earlier that day
made the glasswalk melt
and bubble up, popping
like Christmas bulbs
beneath my shoes.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
No ifs
no buts
he called you all *****
and that puts him in the doghouse.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
I’ve had a terrible day today
The horse had broken a shoe,
I had to get to the marketplace
And didn’t know what to do,
So I borrowed the neighbour’s horse and cart
Was stopped by the local cop,
He said that the stuff on the neighbour’s cart
Had been stolen, from a shop!
He wouldn’t believe it wasn’t mine
And locked me up in a cell,
I’m being done for the stolen goods
And the stolen cart as well.
It took them hours to bail me out
Then I had to walk back home,
Fifteen miles to the mountain top
And the tongue of a rabid crone.
‘Why do you always do these things,
Why is it always you?
The guy next door, he never gets caught
But he’s so much smarter - True!’
I didn’t think she’d ever give up,
My dinner was down the drain,
They say that marriage is so much bliss,
Then why is there so much pain?
The kids were screaming about the place
When they should have been in bed,
She said she couldn’t control them, but
At least the kids were fed.
I bit a crust that was far too old
And it almost broke my teeth,
Then saw the thing was covered in mould,
All that I want is Sleep!
‘All that I want is sleep,’ I said
As I staggered off to my room,
It seemed a conspiracy overhead
Was acting out in the gloom,
A crash, a clash on the tiles above
I thought it was drunken Joe,
He’s always fooling about at night,
Him and his ** ** **
The wife snuck into the bedroom then
And she said, ‘Don’t make a peep!
Or Father Christmas will hear you, Ben,
You ought to be sound asleep!’
My eyes bugged out and I leapt on up
Flung open the window wide,
‘And how do you think I’m supposed to sleep
With you ******* about outside!’
I heard the chomping of many teeth
And a very distinctive ‘Neigh!’
Stuck my head out so far that I
Could see this silver sleigh.
I yelled, ‘Hey get off my effing roof,
You’re damaging all my tiles!’
And then this guy in a bright red suit
Looked down, his face all smiles.
All he could say was ** ** **
He’d come from some funny farm,
I yelled, ‘Do you want a bunch of fives?’
He started to look alarmed.
I heard the rattle of antler horns
As he started to ride away,
I couldn’t believe my eyes to see
It was Santa’s Silver Sleigh!
They’ve stuck me out in the doghouse here,
I had to kick out the dog,
But found, at least, that his rug was fleece
I could sleep at last, like a log.
There’d better not be another day
Like this, as I said to Steve,
‘You’d think that someone would warn me when
It’s coming up Christmas Eve!’
David Lewis Paget
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
7 a.m.
The familiar sound of singing robots
Wakes me from my mummified state
Postpone instead of dismiss yet again
Did I pick the couch or recliner today?
Stumble into the pitch black bedroom
And fumble around for my uniform
My eyes only adjust when I am finished
So I can perform the morning norm
I love yous and kisses are exchanged
Between multiple people in the house
Before everyone leaves to their jobs
Or tries to remember their sheep count
7 a.m.
The sounds of deep sleep and coughing
Accompanied by the touch of your body
Only become clear after a different alarm
And multiple beings having to go *****
You walk back in and start your routine
While I watch with infinite fascination
And as you finish I start mine as well
You starting your annual salutations
So multiple people perform the kisses
And I love yous like any ordinary day
It might be the poet in me but I swear
I would never want it any other way
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
The mongrel lays stow in drowse
In her wooden colorless doghouse,
With five half-blooded pups;
Tussling softly and loose-limbed,
Ringroundabout at her breast -
The rain has surged at last,
This world is now grey yet beautiful,
This drizzle of cloudburst
Gushes and rushes like a nosebleed -
The unapproachable splendor
of the empyrean coming undone
(Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronn-
konnbronntonnerronntuonnthunnt-
rovarrhounawnskawntoohoo-
hoordenenthurnuk)
Oh what a chocolate-box day
For five-tuplet pups , black as coal,
White as a swan and brown as oak
to be tussling softly in.
- Jamie F. Nugent
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 11:31 AM UTC
I’m left bare by a grizzly burden of a bear upon my thoughts – heavy,
and hibernating; as the love of my life dashes across the winding road
of my mind – my eyes are headlights illuminating to my dear. My
love for her still endures, even when she poses her ***** questions,
“Would you still love me if I were a worm crawling through the
dirt?” Of course, my heart answers yes, for I often ponder how she so
effortlessly wiggled her way into my life.
“Does this outfit make me look fat?” she asks, and I reply with a
cheerful “no,” yet the the elephant in the room, is always remembering that fateful night when I jokingly answered yes, and I became
irrelevant over her bedside.
Yet, I am the dog, when I **** her off – but it’s okay, for I know I’ll
simply mark my territory in that doghouse. Still, like a devoted pup,
my tail wags with joy at the sound of her voice. And if my attempts to
win her back after a quarrel make her sweet on me again – then I
suppose I’m a bee, and you, my darling, I call Honey.
The reality is, we’ve always recognized the humour in my antics –
and our love is animal, untamed and primal, yet beautifully
restrained by the fervour of our unwavering devotion to one another.
Jan 6, 2025
Jan 6, 2025 at 1:56 PM UTC
The table waited
For the father and mother
For the merry children
For a splendid dinner
Beside the fire
Where memories flickered
Of roast turkey
And hot cocoa
And a puppy emerging
In a bright parcel
Of red and green
The festive colors
The walls remember
Candle lit evenings
Where stories were told
Under warm blankets
The children would snicker
And laugh in glee
And excitement
As the mother kissed them
And the father said good night
The porch reminiscing
Bright summer days
Where the family
Played joyous games
And sang with the guitar
The yard misses
Seeing the children
In clean uniform
Marching off to school
And coming home
With tired smiles
And the rusty old car
Creaks his hinges
As he weeps
Remembering the father
Who polished and cleaned
During dusty days
And the curtains were weary
For they wanted to move
To let sunlight in
To recapture moments
When the family
Would chase each other
Around the house
Playing hide and seek
Shrieking and exclaiming
In happy voices
The old tree so ancient
Bent over the house
Missing when the son
Would climb his branches
And when in night
He watches them in silence
Camping under his leaves
Huddling each other
In warm plump arms
And when the tree
Peeks in the window
He would see the daughters
Gladly dressing up
For birthday parties
And the doghouse
The wooden old doghouse
Falling apart
Looks at the past
At a little puppy
Licking at his bone
And then coming out
With dozens of other puppies
And the dusty floorboards
Weak and brittle
Will creak at night
Remembering footsteps
Entering and leaving
The grandiose proud door
With a bronze doorknob
And a chandelier would clink
When the wind passes
Filling the house
With flashbacks
Of a new baby
Of graduations
And weddings
And then of noise
Noises of fun
And laughter
And giggles
They cannot remember
The blind day
When everyone vanished
Not a letter of goodbye
Not a wave of the hand
No words no memories
Nothing
Sadness and peace once again
They all sighed
As the sun vanished
In the edge of the neighborhood
They all wept
For the old wood
In the middle of everyone
Waiting for the family
The sad dining table
With ashes and burnt chairs
The table waited...
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
I pull up to the house and don't recognize any of the vehicles. My mom is driving her new car she got after the accident she didn't tell me about because we don't speak as much as we used to.
It's the middle of the day and yet it's as if a darkness has worked its way between the walls of the home. There is one light. A motion light. Crunching steps activate it above the door. I am illuminated. The doghouse next to me is my reflection. Dark. Empty. Folding in on itself like a sheet. I enter and the house exhales a shallow, broken breath. Like a house of cards falling down. Like something is missing.
Obviously that something would be my dead grandparents.
My mother's voice greets me and I'm startled. The tone sounds awful cheery for someone who, as of 15 hours ago, doesn't have parents anymore. Exhale.
The house is the same as I remember. I was here last week for ***** sake. Here to watch my grandma. She never liked to be home alone after she got back from the hospital.
After part of her got back from the hospital.
After the hospital.
She was never the same after that. Only the same conversation with a skipping record.
Eat carrots to avoid ****** noses. (Yes grandma.)
You should move to Hollywood. (I'm not that good of an actor grandma.)
Your other grandma hates me. (She doesn't hate you grandma.)
We don't talk as much as we used to.
We didn't talk as much as we used to.
It's death in two parts.
We're in grandma's room now. Sheets are being folded. There's a coffee ring in a half drunk cup of coffee. She'll never finish it now.
Exhale.
An innocent question (Did you find her in the bed?) Opens a wound with turns into a story which bleeds into a card game where we used to have Thanksgiving dinner because my mothers eyes are cracking floodgates and she needs time to repair them before she drives home.
She lives alone.
And we don't talk as much as we used to.
Silence.
The sound of cards slapping a table.
My mother says that talking about what happened has helped her and her voice sounds like someone who as of 18 hours ago, doesn't have parents anymore.
Exhale.
I leave the house and it's.
Still. Dark. Black.
Every light is off. Even the dog is dead.
I leave the house and it's
empty inside. This time I don't mean metaphorically, I mean physically actually devoid of people, and I don't think this feat has happened in 35 years.
There's one light.
Motion light.
It turns on when I leave,
and then it never turns on again.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
it is hard for the nostalgic to forgive. I was raised on awareness and reincarnation. I remember, doghouse, the dollmaker’s tornado. and how to clear for my drunkest brother a mousetrap from a mountain path. believing, as a hostage would, in the taker’s amnesia.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 10:53 PM UTC
a dog is not barking. father, no mystery. mother is telling a woman that what the woman has is a child of god. I’m in my room like the sort of thing exists in certain parts. porn, doghouse catalogues, the animal that saw god finish. my real friend has imaginary muscle control. I want to touch him but am not sure how much my fingertips have. my brother’s sanity is how a baseball bat makes it onto a crowded subway. in the dream, my father irons my mother’s back with his palms and his palms are scarred. in my friend there are magnets.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC