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Violet Apr 2017
My pups are in bed,
both tightly together.
They need their head(s),
because of the weather!

The ground is so wet,
such clouds in the sky!
They shiver, like threat:
I 'd ask myself, "why?!"

Seeing me, they get up.
Yoshi watches as Kirby grins.
Clawing our door, both of my pup,
would be as just the cutest twins!

I open the door, for them.
They'd sit, being so gracious.
Being just the cutest gem(s),
my dogs, they're precious!

They perform their neat tricks:
both wait for their sweet treat.
I’d give each one, transfix(ed),
of course they then both eat!
This poem is an ABAB poem/non-fiction story about my two sweet dogs. (Those two last lines are in free verse.) It has 100 words, as my other works do too.
Stephen E Yocum Sep 2013
Can there possibly be,
any more affable and
devoted friend than big old dog?

Dogs; the only animal in the world,
bred, and raised that have within
them one driving passion and desire,
to live along side and please their
human companions.

Should we find reason to scold,
or forcibly correct them for some
transgression of unwanted behavior,
They merely love us with their eyes
of shinning acceptance and affection,
Ready to forgive and forget.

A dog is not petty, they hold no grudges.
They seldom nag, never talk too much,
In short they are the perfect friend.

Other than a hopeful encouraging gaze,
Two times a day, like clock work,
Beseeching us as they do, for food,
They seldom require anything of us.
Except to be protected, loved
And treated fair.

Oh sure they also let us know when,
they need to go outside to do their Duty.
Now that is so completely preferable,
to that other odious option.
How **** smart is that?
Sometimes I don't even know,
when I got to go to the bathroom,
And I'm an intelligent human.

At least once a day, they
conspicuously stand at the
door, leash in their mouth
looking to go outside,
for a little exercise.
And gentle reminder to us,
that a brisk walk would,
do us more good, than them.

I can sometimes be a little down,
When along comes my canine clown,
And charms and delights all that,
Right out of me. Such is their nature.

Even merely going out to the garage,
for less than five minutes,
Upon my return, I'm excitedly,
lovingly greeted as if,
I'd been gone forever.

Five minutes or five days,
To a dog, it does not matter.
Unconditional love has
no built in time meter.

If you could hook up,
their gyrating, manic tails,
to your house current,
no utilities' bills need be paid.

Sometimes I swear,
that old dog of mine,
is actually smiling.

Long tailed dogs can be a bit of a menace,
What with their "Excitement Whip" appendage,
slapping seated kids on the floor, in the face,
And sweeping all the little bric-er-brac,
keep sakes, right off your coffee table.
A small price to pay for all their affection,  

I like people just fine,
but I must honestly admit,
to the company of noble dogs,
I can be completely content.

Sure occasionally I seek the
reassuring comradeship,
of some good humans
As long as my dog,
can come along,
and attend the party too.

When I was a child,
we moved a lot,
Human Friends
were not in abundance.
It was an old loving dog.
that pulled me through,
all those dark hours and,
I have never forgotten.

It was about then,
that I truly understood,
that dogs are people too.
Much smarter than,
we give them credit.

The only real sad part
to this compatible pairing,
this marriage of the heart,
is that we must always,
it seems, out live our buddies.

Love is love and
gone is gone
and nothing
can ever change that.

That loss has come
to me, more times
than I care to remember.
I weep and morn and
Swear to never ever,
Suffer that pain again.
That my last dear friend,
was beyond replacement.

Yet a sweet new
little puppy can
do wonders to heal
a sad broken heart.

Once more you begin,
to open your soul
and embrace that
young pup forever.
And what was old,
is new again.

And just starting over,
that fresh beginning,
That new budding
friendship,
Is what's important.

For no man is an Island
as long as he has a
good dog beside him.
A little surgery, sure. Over stated, maybe too
sentimental, could be. But if you ever had a
great dog in your life I think you'll get it.
To those of you that hate this write, go buy
or rescue a dog and a year or so later talk
to me. Or better yet write some verse.
I bet it will contain some of this same
sentimental dribble will drip from your
chin too.
Zeeb Jul 2018
Buckets of love, every day
Their feet smell like Fritos, in a good way

But they come with a problem, a heartbreak alas
Their clocks run too fast
Outside Words Oct 2018
Strolling through the park
With humans, dogs, and birds,
Pink leaves make their mark
As they hover down in thirds.

Drifting along lazy airwaves,
An amplified guitar echoes
As a band soulfully misbehaves
For all nearby bedfellows.

Apartments loom over trees,
From a place of urban gray
As blue air works to appease
Spaces between dusk and day.

Sturdy street lights rusted and old
Accompanying a worn path ignite,
One by one flashing dark to gold
On a normal Wednesday night.
Listen to this while you read:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KIJhiimooeg&list=RDP7K3pzoAwcs&index=2

© Outside Words
spacewalker Sep 2017
I have my grocery list in my hand,
a pack of razor blades
a gallon of bleach
a bottle of *****
an egg
I have my grocery list in my hand,
but I am listless.

Sometimes I crack a smile
when my dog wakes me up with his kisses
Sometimes I make eggs
for him, of course,
I would never waste them on myself
With this list, I'm gone
I make my dog eggs and me a bath
For me, bleach, *****, razor
soon to be listless no more
I open the bottle and welcome the burn
at first, I really hated how it had no clear flow but it kind of captures the sense of pointlessness and awkwardness  I was trying to portray
i remember crying
asking him to stop
as he held me down
face in a pillow
some people call this
*******
probably because
they know
men are dogs
if this has happened to you or someone you know, please seek help
IMMEDIATELY!!
Wk kortas Apr 2017
There was, every spring, a new batch of pups,
Yipping, nipping, clumsy ***** of ***** fur,
Looking for all the world like speckled tennis *****
Before they’d learned any hard lessons
At the hands of a racquet.
They chased their tails and each other,
Not to mention various other denizens of the barnyard:
Frantic chicks, cranky piglets,
The occasional bemused draft horse,
And sometimes they chased us as well,
Yelping childishly, rolling with us on the ground,
Nipping bare fingers and toes,
Afterwards lying on the ground asleep,
Looking , save for the rhythmic twitching of their paws,
Positively angelic.

Come late August,
The time would come to set them on the *****.
We’d long since stopped thinking about it,
Much less questioning it
(I had, one year, asked my father if the puppies had to go
One time too many until,
With a look that brooked no further conversation,
He said flatly It’s what they’re born to.)
So we went on with the business
Of the soft, slow late summer
Until one evening just after sunset
We would hear the baying of the hounds
Out toward the back fields,
Mechanical and workmanlike at first,
But soon strained and syncopated with excitement,
And at some point there would be
A cacophony of cries and snarls
Until such time there was only silence.
The next morning we would visit the dogs,
And we’d pet them and rough-house a bit,
And there might be an oddly rouged spot
On their coats here and there,
Or one of them might sneeze out a tuft of fur
That didn’t rightly belong to them,
And every year our Uncle Bryce would slyly opine
You boys may want to be a bit more careful
Around their mouths now, hear
?
Vexren4000 Sep 2018
A stray,
Wandering softly lit streets,
Scavenging for food,
fighting for life,
Cats meowing and jumping trash cans,
Showing off Olympic skill,
For nothing but a meal.
Dogs finding homes,
Or abandoned by owners,
Lost in streets,
Hoping for a scrap of love.
Only to find more garbage.

©BAS
Krison Oct 2018
Light awakens,
shakes and beckons,
Come and see my shine.

I pierce the dusk,
away the dark .
For shadows pay no mind.


For the green does call me so
"I've seen"!,  unchain my glow.

This the maker of the grain.
That dictates heat in rain.
The day within the fog.
The loss within the gain.

For you cannot drain
the sun .
You cannot cause it pain.

For it is yule that's burned to death,
The dusk to make the dawn.
And never can you stare in awe,
At it, such blaring might.

Unless it be, by nightly stars,
When it allows you sight.
Seen from all it's children,

Europa, earth and mars.
Deb Jones May 2018
I lay on the floor, on my stomach, looking into your eyes.

The beauty of you.

Your eyes like wet chocolate thumbprints

The uniqueness of you.

You don’t blink because blinking would break the bond

The sweetness of you.

Your eyes emanate love and everlasting kindness

The freedom of you.

Your nose quivers. Can you smell my love?

The kindness of you.

Someone that I gratefully travel my private road with.

The giving of you.

One of us blinks.
It wasn’t you. Of course.

The pleasure of you.

I reach out to lay my hand on your head

You finally close your thumbprint eyes.

The love of you.

I murmur encouragement.
You crawl forward to lick my hand.

My ever present companion

Who can’t love a dog as unconditionally as they love us?
CK Baker Feb 2017
late night by the holland sill
white framed and frilled
alongside the meadow
down by the grand
where cat fish
and cow pies
and silly yellow bees
make their stay

there are swings now
and empty barns
(with quiet corners
and broken walls)
echoing chambers
that speak of the past
...and little dogs
not big ones

the plaster cracks
and wheat sways
from a warm west wind
it’s about time
for that late afternoon pour
you know how it cleans the soul
old percy would say

and flanders
(the holder of those pigs)
who fed us good
with sow and milk
as we plowed the
dusty fields
into the
hot summer sun

i can still hear the screams
of river dreams
the grand slams
and flints run dry
the barks
and breaks
and bends
a world past
with forbes
and dolls
and crab apple trees

think i’ll take a trip
up the back lane
they’ve cut the brush
and opened the line
CK Baker Nov 2017
mirrored fly-glass
and polished chrome
are tinted
in the blood orange dawn
running dogs of lummi
hush quiet
on this celestial
summer morn

clubman bars
and tan saddles
strapped to
the lowered hind
skull caps
and fitted chaps
for the open flow
and rich peripheral scenes

concessions at the peace arch
(from the blue-coat fuzz)
black *****
and maples
cake the bow hill
and chuckanut

choppers launch
at edison
(with their metal fleck
and tuft)
a half moon rises
on the concho
and interstellar cross

cinnamon gulls
and ravens
scour the netted docks
warlock driftwood
and row homes
spot the winding
coastal roads

rumbling sounds
at the packer slew ~
the redolence
of briny bay
alive
on the overlook
at fairhaven
Spent a couple days in late September on a motorcycle trip with my brother...weaving through the small towns and villages of the Pacific Northwest.  Magnificent!
Debbie Brindley Sep 2018
Let me pretend our life is normal
there's no illness here
As I lay beneath the covers
with you
my dear

Under the covers
On a chilled mornings day
outside beyond our window
children are at play
Freshly brewed coffee
drifting in on the air
As we lay
beneath the covers
without a care

Spring flowers bloom
their perfume
dancing in on the breeze
Hear the Kookaburras laughing
outside in the trees
Dogs bark in the distance
a few streets away
But under the covers
nice and cosy
is where we shall stay

Till it's time to get started
on our day ahead
But for now I'm quite content
under the covers with you
in our bed
Pretending  life is  normal
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