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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.
Temporal Fugue Nov 2018
Rough and wet of tongue
silky of fur and hide
bestest bestest friend
on a lifelong ride

Paws to pavement
ground and grass
ever by my side

Companions to the bitter end
simple joy and pride

As the winter years roll on
as we slow and creak
in the company of canines
never alone or weak

Paws to the carpet
tile and or wood
if only they could speak

Comrades in silence be
both of us
antiques
Nothing better than Old dogs, and children, and watermelon wine (Tom T Hall) :D Inspired By https://hellopoetry.com/TravelerTim/
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 ask myself, "why?!"

Seeing me, they get up.
Yoshi watches as Kirby grins.
Clawing our door, my pup(s),
they're just the cutest twins!

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

They perform their neat tricks:
both wait for their treat.
I give each one, transfix(ed),
of course they then both eat!

They wag their tails:
happiness represents!
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.
Data Apr 2018
What cause and what effect
has lead you to this place?

Was it that little dog
who, through a metal grill,
looked up at you
with brown sad eyes
and a lick of hope;

She who fought her fears
to find a lick of love beside you,

She who walked the mountain trails
to sit beneath The Wisdom Tree with you,

What cause and what effect
has lead you to this place of love?


What cause and what effect
leaves things, seemingly, unfinished…

Was it that random car
that mowed her down
and took her life

then speed off down the street?

Was it those who tried in vain to help?
Did you feel the rain upon your heart would never cease?
Did you wonder where again you’d find a tranquil place of peace
without her?

(Be still)

Yes, all of this will lead you here,

And those moments when you could not cry
nor stop, when you ached with guilt and grief,
when you felt you could not reach that mountaintop
without her by your side.

There again, before The Tree, you pause to think:

"I remember, you are dust for the wind now, little friend,
settled on all those magik places where we would have gone

together.

On all my travels, near and far, I will think of you, little dog
and recall at every step I take along this trail to the tree above the cityscape
that it is the cause and effect of having you that has lead me to this place of love.


Goodbye, little travel pup
farewell on your journey
home."


_______________­____________________­_

by Data © April 2018
There's a guy on Youtube who had a little rescue dog. He hadn't had her long when she was struck by a car and killed. The guy was devastated and, to honour the memory of his lost pup, he embarked on an amazing journey around the USA collecting donations for animal rescue centres. Recently, he posted a new video on the first anniversary of his dog's death; after watching, I wrote this poem. The video is very poignant & heartfelt - You can watch it at this link:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZW3wHnclls
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 ***** 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!!
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
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
?
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 an empty barn
(with quiet corners
and broken walls)
echoing chambers
that speak to 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
Jack L Martin Sep 2018
Pain in my rear
sitting here
dog pants in heat
expecting treats
for being good boys
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-coated 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!
Lawrence Hall Apr 12
For Riley and His Friend Bailey


In the beginning -
                                     we humans were primitives
Existing as crude hunter-gatherers
Quite unaware of any higher thought
And curiously unaware of love

But then we were discovered by The Dog

Who taught us the glorious mystery of play
And how to laze throughout sweet summer days
To contemplate, to cuddle, and to care -
To care about beings beyond ourselves

Because we were accepted by The Dog

Through God’s intended, love-barked dialogue
We pray we may be worthy of The Dog
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Deb Jones Dec 2018
A lot of people think
That men are like dogs
And women are like cats
It’s really just the opposite

The cat is aloof
And emotionally unavailable

The Dog
“Where you going”
“Where you going”
“Can I go, can I go”
“WhereyougoingcanIgo”
“Ok, I’m going to wait here”
“Wait, right here. Waiting here”
“Ohhhhhhh...Shoooooes”

The cat
“Oh, YOU’RE home”
Then “Ok,this is what’s going to happen. You are going to feed me. Then I am going to stare at nothing on the TV. Then I am going to pass out in the bathroom sink”

The dog.
We clean up after ourselves.
You ever see a dog *****?
She eats it right back up.
Usually does it in private.
No evidence.

The cat.
You will just puke anywhere
And make a huge scene about it. Evidence?
The hacking Hairball.
Even in the middle
Of having company over
Then the cat “Can you clean that up?
That is so gross. I don’t want to touch it”

Here comes the dog.
“I got it, I got it, I got it”

Another thing women
Have in common with dogs
We need to be groomed.
Shampoo,conditioner.
Blow dry. Fluffy!
And perfumed

The Cat.
Licks a paw,washes his face
Calls it good
“What I’m *****. *****?”
“You calling me *****?”
“For two days I will ignore you.
You will be invisible to me”

The Dog
“What did I do?”
“Do you want my favorite toy?
“Do you want my shoe?”
“Why won’t you look at me?”
“Are you seeing another dog?”
“You are aren’t you?”
“Why won’t you let me smell your ****?”
The premise of men as cats and women as dogs. I heard it somewhere and thought  there might be a little truth about it.
Like the frog of batrachian notes in the inkwell of swamp,
And the bee waggling hieroglyphs to the papyrus of hive,
Like the flight of birds in the palm of radiating skyline,
And the sad might of the world to the caged dog’s eye.
punk rock hippy Jul 2014
I want to hit it hard, not romanticize about the blood ya feel me?
As you read that first line,
when you cross over to the second,
your nose will start to bleed just before my fist connects with your face.
I often dream about it, being feared.
The only reason that you're on the ground is because I put you there.
Quite frankly I'm fearful of myself.
My throat still holds the ache of the alcohol going down.
I swear to you I'm doing better.
I swear.

I can't swear in this house hold so I will talk so quickly creating run on sentences without punctuation or breath because I'm panicking over nothing in particular.

******.

Add some shakes to your vocabulary and you've got it right.
My medication puts stray dogs under my finger nails, that's ok because dogs are happiness.
That's supposed to mean I'm happy.

I made myself write this, its horrifyingly scattered just like my head.

That's not right.
That's wrong.
Something is terribly wrong so I must fix it.

That's what I do,
I fix.
I'll just look at this as art.
Some persons trash is another ones treasure.

I'm too scared to write anymore.


This is garbage.
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