"fido" poems
He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide,
He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside;
He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair,
With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear
He was very poor and humble and content with what he got,
So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot;
Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain,
Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain.
Now the butcher, noble fellow, was a sport beyond belief,
And instead of bringing actions he brought half a shin of beef,
Which he handed on to Fido, who received it as a right
And removed it to the garden, where he buried it at night.
'Twas the means of his undoing, for my wife, who'd stood his friend,
To adopt a slang expression, "went in off the deepest end",
For among the pinks and pansies, the gloxinias and the gorse
He had made an excavation like a graveyard for a horse.
Then we held a consultation which decided on his fate:
'Twas in anger more than sorrow that we led him to the gate,
And we handed him the beef-bone as provision for the day,
Then we opened wide the portal and we told him, "On your way."
8.4k
It was the early days of the organic food craze
and my wife, ever a slave to the latest fads
(which disposition sometimes benefitted me pleasurably
but mostly cost me dearly)
made me run on an errand
(like: “Fido – go, fetch!”)
to get some organic vegetables
and arriving, I blurted out to the produce guy, stumbling:
*“Some ****** for my wife”* –
and that wise guy, Oxford-educated as he was
(though a failed Professor, so ended up at the greengrocer’s)
he said: *“That you must induce or encourage in your wife, Sir;
I cannot and will not be of service in that connection.”*
And I slowed down and I said:
“Well, dear fellow – for my wife, have you any organic vegetables?”
And Oxford-educated as he was, he did not understand such fads
having mostly a sedate and Classical demeanour
and he pointed his most English nose to the air;
and so I attempted again to sensible-phrase my inquiry:
*“Are your vegetables -
and this I ask on account of my esteemed wife -
sprayed with poisonous chemicals?”*
And the Oxford guy apprehended now, and he pronounced:
*“Poisonous chemicals for your spouse
you must procure yourself, Sir”*
Now, that was an idea. I knew Oxford-educated guys
were smart in some way or other.
And since then I have been free of my wife.
I have no need to run on errands for no baby, no more;
though I do have to count bars,
limited as my numerical skills are,
as is my verbal proficiency.
And the Oxford guy, meanwhile, I have it from the grapevine,
has set up an ******** Food Chain Store*, worldwide;
I knew he’d go places, sooner or later, far and global
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
Fibromyalgia, microfibral mania, Malaysian phalanges making
fibrous writing utensils used for playing fetch with Fido.
The point is moot.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
*you made me
play dead
so many times
that when i finally
died
you didnt even
realize*
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
Cleethorpes
Shoveling sand up Sally's ***
n passing gas in the Lido,
Fitties camp n a loose hipped *****
somefuckers dog named Fido.
Oh yeah; shove-halfpenny with gennyreny
and pitch n toss in big alley,
candyfloss, Bruce Lee's Big boss
n slurping on Sally's valley.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 2:19 AM UTC
You are the salt I crave
That scalds my skin & brands my mind
I hunger for the oblivion of your lips
The famine of your naked skin
Imprisoned by the trance of your eyes
And swallowed by the gentle abyss of your voice
The cruel perfume of your forbidden skin
And taboo of your musk
Your warm thighs wrapped, butter soft, around me
I ache for the drowsy tangle of our joyful limbs
The sculpture of your arching back beneath my trembling touch
Your drifting hand, lazy traced across my cheek
I hunt at night for the dream of you, to feed my soul
I hunger for the moments when the universe dissolves & we float untethered, alone, together
Consumed in our feast
© Alfa Fido 2013
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
My dog only knows what's at the end of his nose
But our brains are much bigger than Fido's or Digger's
So are the questions composed
Answers we find of various kinds
So the questions get harder
Pushing us farther
Till our poor monkey brains overload
Don't ask that question
Take a different direction
There are some things we never will solve
Let sleeping dogs lie, put those questions aside
Perhaps this should be our resolve
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 1:49 PM UTC
Both Freddy and Frieda Flea
Had an itch and felt the need
To leave their home on Beagle back
So they packed their bags while Fido napped
They'd heard magical tales of the Big Top
Since their larva days on top the pup
They weren't here this time to clown around
As they found themselves circus bound
They hitched a ride in a hobos beard
Too no telling who knows where
But one thing that is perfectly clear
Both those fleas are outta here
Along the way they purchased needs
In a market place made just for fleas
Like underwear and mint toothpaste
Soap on a Rope to wash their face
Plus deodorant, quite a bit
You need a lot of it when you've got 6 pits
The rumor mill can be very mean
Fleas after all are fairly clean
After a day of personal shopping
It was all aboard for more beard hopping
Riding that hobo from coast to coast
In this their new hairy chateau
As circuses go they started their own
Advertising on the hobos back cause he never turns around
Over time their acts they've modified
As the flaming hoops set the hobos beard on fire
Now with Freddy as Ring Master and Frieda on trapeze
They are the Greatest Show On Earth, at least among fleas
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 5:57 AM UTC
Wherever I go
goes Impetigo,
yeah yeah- I know-
I shoulda named him Fido !!
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 12:01 PM UTC
Half full, half empty...
we both see the glass, the liquid, the space?
you see half a picture, i see the WHOLE
BOOM! Just topped us both, and topped off my glass. At least yours is half full and not half empty. Convenience!
Get it yet Fido?
Killed another one of your friends, right before your blind eyes. Can you do anything but sit, and roll over?
I never looked at poetry as something you win, but it looks like i am in the lead. Do you really have a muse? She is an airhead. Sometimes i wonder if you even have a muse. Nice glass you fools live in
Oct 12, 2021
Oct 12, 2021 at 4:35 PM UTC
Fireballs zoom across our sky
spewing massive vapor spawn
watering, our garden orb
with agua from beyond.
Collected in a "to be" hole
(Crater if it is quite large) Bomb!
How much H2O, would it be?
A puddle? A lake? An ocean? A POND !
Stealth droplets, called, 'landing craft"
filled with teeny folks who yawn,
as they splashdown, into our dome of air
crahing, SPLAT, on my, fresh cut lawn.
I must pause here, to lament,
the aliens brought their tiny pets
Fido, Prince, Hairball, Fluffy, Spot.
enzymes, microbes, worms, insects!
Is what they look like to me, on me, in me...
They also ignore, grav-ity!
Or they would all end up in our toes's.
Now, they fill the "empty" spaces,nest in our hair
beards, on our faces
enter and exit? where? Thru our nose
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 9:46 AM UTC
I saw his last moments,
he was screaming for his mother,
said he tasted aluminum,
to please save him,
to not let him die.
I had no idea a human being could sound like that,
but I guess when your missing your legs and *****
anything less would not seem real.
It was his body-spasms
after he gave up the ghost
that I'll never forget.
FIDO.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
We can break bread or stand and make threats.
Man we can grab the cannons, blast and face death.
When this is all over you'll have half a face left.
For the rest of your life with a limp, you'll take steps.
I could end this rhyme right now and save breathe,
but I haven't said all I've got to say yet.
You ain't a killer you a dog, now just go and play fetch.
You a coward and a liar Fido, run off and play dead.
The wolves'll ******* find you we don't often stay penned;
all the **** you've been talking will see you pay debts.
You won't find time to scream "mama this is the end!"
When I get my hands on you and open your head.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
The wheels are turning
Rubber burning,
The lines are blending into one
Night is slipping into the sun,
Been driving on the highway
All through the dark lost my way,
My GPS is broken
Fido has just awoken,
We're going nowhere
But I really don't care,
At least we're far
Tuned-up my car,
For the long trip
Shift **** in my grip;
Feel the engine rumble
Change the station static jumble;
Blaring I find the perfect song
It won't be long
Before I'll need to fill my tank
My lucky stars I've go to thank,
I'm heading down this trail
Looking for my holy grail,
Left behind a world of pretension
Seeking to blaze my own constellation,
As long as I've got with me my best friend
I'll never hit a dead end...
© okpoet
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
Imagine a story - Imagine a day
Imagine a life that started this way ...
a talking cat that loves couture
with a crib in Paris when out on tour
a guitar playing cat that loves her fans
that echo her songs from up in the stands
speaking French,
I wave of course
while riding "Fido" my sweet loyal horse
"Bonjour! Bonjour!"
(squeaks a mouse)
that's busily sweeping a little house
all of sudden......out of the blue
a fairy fly's up wear'n red shoes
"Wow!"
I hear myself say...
(she's shaking her wand)
"That girl packs a wallop for such a small blonde!"
"Look out!"
Someone shouts --
"She's madder than heck!"
(so everyone knows to hit the deck)
except for the mouse - who gave her a hug
the next thing I know
they're laughing n' scratching...sharing tea on a rug!
I never found out why the fairy was mad,
but I think she lonely or, a little sad
and, that's how I met a kind little mouse
who sings next to me in a much bigger house
along with the fairy who plays wicked drums
using two wands ...
while she sings, and she hums.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
While meditating earlier today,
a flashback leapt
clear for me to assay,
those ever receding
early boyhood daze,
now subsumed within fifty,
plus nine shades of gray
blissfully innocent naivety,
(though blessed) no way
would, aye desire to turn back
the hands of father time (hypothetically),
where unstructured play
regularly with older sister
(thirteen plus months
my senior) predominantly
slicing, sliding, and slipping
stockinged feet skittering
across slippery basement floor,
this then soul full
skinny thing bellowed hooray.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I'm Matty Mattel; I got hurt;
Can you go out?"
Those words uttered
by the very first
pull-string talking doll
Mattel did tout
circa nineteen sixty
revolutionizing the birth
of quasi simulated (lifelike) toys,
and made of common
materials found scout
ting around the house simply comprising
hard vinyl (i.e. pseudo
plaster of Paris) head he did flout
with remaining body
stuffed with padding,
a definite no
no (chew toy) when Fido about.
Actually that pooch,
would be Georgie to you,
(a hybrid Boxer Dalmatian)
with docked tail
my young parents acquired,
when as a newborn,
aye did inconsolably wail
though recollection of such memory
fifty nine years ago tis of no avail
yet, a resumption of meditation,
sans lightness of being
(analogous trancelike state),
that doth prevail
replaying silent film preceding,
when psyche seem so frail
plummeting into emotional abyss
the nadir i.e. anorexia nervosa
pleading return to nostalgic boyhood
decrying change hide didst bewail!
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
Bury the silencer beneath the doggy bones
that Fido misplaced last May.
Their presence is scentless now,
just like your mind is today.
Arms down, head up dear friend,
lines in the sand are only drawn
to spend your time crossing footprints.
Place perspective above greed,
as we are all suffering
in one way or another,
so give our children the chance to succeed.
It doesn't have to be this way,
swollen knees pray for peace,
take your high school daze by day
and let your mind evade the inner demons.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 10:55 PM UTC
!да да да!
darling daughter chews dad's toupee
when she has her fill
Fido takes over
toupee or not toupee
the hairpiece is having
a bad hair day
Fido and next door's doggie
engage in snarling tug o' war
oops that's torn it
dad now looking like a monk
his bald spot badly
sunburnt
darling daughter kisses
where the hairpiece ought to be
claps and slaps: Da...Da...Da. . .DA!"
it is the only word she knows
in Russian
the world is just one big Yes!
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 4:10 AM UTC
From my window
I see Fido going up to scent the plug
first a sniff, then a dance
cocks-the-leg and gives a glance
and then he gives the grand command
to tell to all this is his land
From my window
I see you go, working on your house next door
first you paint, then you trim
and to make your house more genuine
a pink flamingo, proudly shown,
will tell to all this is your home.
From my window
I see clearly, man and beast, we are the same
one may bark, one may think
but both are ruled by their instinct
one may plead, and one may beg
but both by rule must cock-the-leg.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 11:36 PM UTC
The apple that grows high,
Red
The sunset marking the end,
Orange
The flower that brightens the home,
Yellow
The tractor that pulls the fields,
Green
The ball in Fido’s maw,
Blue
The fish that swims in cold waters,
Indigo
The galaxy shining high overhead,
Violet
These are the colors of our world
They shine and glow
Vibrant and joyful
They give life to the dull
Their meaning together
Is one of love
And passion
As they shine above
In an order they encourage compassion
These colors don’t define us
They don’t give us a label
Their meaning is pure
Any argument contrarily, unstable
A rainbow dances
It shines and gives joy
There is no group
That should use it as a ploy
It’s symbol is a promise
One made out to us long ago
Let me use this symbol now
To really let you know
I promise not to hurt you
I promise to never let you go
I promise now to push through
Any trials we’ll have in tow
I promise to not give up
Even when the going gets tougher
I’m promising you here
That though the road will get rougher
And won’t always be sunshine and rainbows
I will stick it through with you
I promise, from my head down to my toes
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC
What if we found the "tree of life"?
Would we cut it down?
Make it into a small house
for our dog?
and paint it Fido brown?
Or would we cure the nations?
And folks in our on home town.
Crush it, roll it, kneed it, bake it.
take a bite, pass it around.
Or would we give it to the giants.
who make life drugs that cure.
"Synthesize this herb tree please."
Make a pill that's pure.
Death? Poison? Take one more!
We tested it. We're sure.
Only a few, of you will die
Our words could not be true-er.
Oh, yes, that bush we started with
We, "THANK god", no longer need.
We make health from sweet crude oil.
It cuts down on the greed.
As well as fueling your car
It's know, you freaks love speed.
Think of all the time that you will save.
No more crushing up that evil ****
Imagine our world with life on a limb
It surely would be chaos!
So we destroyed every plant!
The leftover leaves we tossed.
We own all of the sea floor, pumps.
billions is what they cost.
Give up your plans to help each other.
It's over. Too bad. You lost.
The battle, the war, everything
It should be plain to see,
Worship those who give you life.
That's right, drop to one knee.
Swear allegiance to the king
Whom-ever that may be.
He only makes one demand.
Do not TOUCH that "of life" tree.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
In welcome old Fido is barking
But cats are too haughty for marking
If tenants are home,
Or off on a roam.
A shut-in gets cranky and carking.
Mar 24, 2024
Mar 24, 2024 at 11:03 PM UTC