"labrador" poems
I am a Transgender Citizen - ( An American Citizen )
I am a Transgender MTF - ( With Opinion's )
I am a Transgender Female - ( With Feeling's )
I am a Transgender Girl - ( With Emotion's )
I am a Transgender Woman - ( With Love )
I am a Transgender Christian - ( With Faith )
I am a Transgender Parent - ( Of 2 Beautiful Yellow Labrador Retriever's )
I am a Transgender Friend - ( Too Many People )
I am a Transgender Sister - ( Too My Many Sister's )
I am a Transgender Sister - ( Too My Many Brother's )
I am a Transgender Daughter - ( Who Currently Isn't Loved By ? )
I am a Transgender Person - ( Who Vote's )
I am a Transgender LBGTQ - ( Who Accept's ALL )
I am a Transgender , Who has too Hide , Because most of Society
Say's they love Unconditionally , But Only if - I / We / Us - are who , They say We are . And "" NOT "" who We say We are
GOD - Created Me & You & Them & Yet "" ? ""
They & Sometimes even Us Judge each other "" ? ""
And yet GOD clearly Tells Us , "" NOT to JUDGE "" each other
But too Instead "" LOVE "" one another
By day I am a Person , I do not wish too Be
On weekdays I am a Person , I do not wish too Be
By Night time I am the Girl , I want too Always Be
On Weekends I am Mostly the Girl , I want too Always Be
And so You all can "" CLEAR'LY "" see
I am A Transgender Person / Female
Named Stacie Leelah Cheyenne
I AM in fact "" ME ""
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
It was the winter of 2009,
14 inches of snow had fallen overnight.
It was the most I had seen in years,
since when I was 3 years old living in Kalama.
My siblings and I
as soon as we saw the snow
rushed into our
heavy winter coats
and overall snow pants
with mittens and caps
to cover the gaps.
Then we raced outside
moving like marshmellows
with our golden labrador with us.
Determined.
we laid the first angels of the snow
and created the first snowman of the season.
The snow man didn't have buttons for eyes
or a carrot nose.
He had stones for eyes
and a smile and ears made of granola bars
and peanut butter pinecones for hair.
Our mom named it the birdfeeder snowman.
But our fat old goldfinch labrador ate him
before the birds could ever get to snack.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC
Remember that afternoon on the ferry
Ride to Nantucket
The labrador who fell asleep on my foot
And the kid who vomited
As we stood at the rail,
Mist in our faces
Foam that curled
From the keel in swirls
A whole world in that turbulence
That no one would ever know of -
Focused on the Grey Lady's
Promise that a warm comforter
Would melt us together again.
And it did, amid the strangers
We brushed past
On the cobbles at the wharf.
Back at the dock,
You greeted old demons
And so did I
But kept them secrets
From each other
On the long ride
Through pine forests
As you slept, I drove
Back home.
Apr 17, 2010
Apr 17, 2010 at 8:34 PM UTC
He's broken, he's in pieces, he's trapped, in a black hole
He's crying, he's heartbroken, he's dying of loneliness
He's confused, his mind is overloaded, his todger is dropping off
He's this and that and that and this
projecting your ******* fears and insecurities on him
Hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha
You know what....He's NOT....he's laughing at you
He's happy that you now realize there are still men out there
who transcend your ******* stereotyping and imbecilic assumptions .
He's still laughing because he now sees for ******* real
how immature and mentally underdeveloped a lot of you are
and how so petty, mediocre and easy to manipulate you are
Not to mention how weak, spineless and unable to handle pressure
so many of you are.
He laughing because you just act without fully thinking
You are a shallow lot, cowardly, infantile and narrow minded
You lack sound reasoning capacity and a lot of you are neurotic
He's laughing because most believe anything they are told
Unquestioning drones like a Labrador thrown a stick
Go fetch, off he runs, retrieve stick, pat on the head, good boy
Just simple minded followers.
He laughing because he's attained all he wanted
Got a good education, good self understanding, good morality
sensitivity, compassion, empathy, confidence and honesty
A well drilled man, adaptable, flexible, courageous and brave
A MODERN DAY SPARTAN.
He's laughing because you can't ******* take that away
He's laughing because he's shown you how a proper man is
He's laughing because he's invalidated your stereotypical
assumptions, your prejudices, your bigotry and your ignorance
He's laughing because you have confirmed your inferiority
exposed your fears and inadequacies and make others see how
damaged and vindictive you are
He's laughing because out of all only one woman has shown
magnanimity and she didn't belong to the class of the mediocres
Which proves the point that mediocrity goes hand in hand
with ignorance, fear and lack of Dignity and Integrity.
And he's laughing because he's got chutzpah
a big package
and a hell of "tener cojones"
hahaha...hahaha...hahaha...hahaha
[email protected] Sept 2018,Allrightsreserved.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 9:54 AM UTC
I wake to the news of another lynching
As our boys scream Bleed Blue
And over the border, the Green Girls rejoice
And somewhere in Jharkhand
Two families mourn the death of their men
Cattle traders? Terrorists? Muslim?
With cloth stuffed in their throats
And arms tied behind
Hatred showing in the mob mentality
Another dark blot on our secular fabric
And I watch a short film, India, India
Of a young boy on Tuesday selling ganeshas at a temple
Another image of the same boy on a Friday
Selling taweez and chanting Ya Ali
Outside Mumbai’s Haji Ali
And on Sunday, the same boy singing the praises
of the Lord outside a church, selling amulets
And I smile
This is the India I love, the different faiths
The acceptance, the co-existence
As the morning drones on, I watch and participate
In the endless debates on Facebook and Twitter
Of people posing, taking sides, sounding pedantic
While they sit comfortably in their homes
Sipping ginger tea made by an underage maid
While their Labrador retriever is taken for a walk
By their Nepali driver and the Muslim cook smokes a bidi
In the garden with the Bihari maali where their son plays
But what will happen to the sons of the lynched cattle traders?
What will happen to the brothers of the women *****
What will happen to the mothers of the sons killed?
What will happen to the fathers of the unborn children
Killed for their mistake of being a girl child?
Is this the India we want to grow up in?
Is this the India we want to have children in?
Is this the India we want to grow old in?
Wake up, my country, it is still dawn
The road is long and far and we have miles to walk
Towards peace and freedom and love
Towards acceptance and equality and oneness
Get off that sofa and make a difference
Participate, vote, empower, create, enable
It’s up to you whether our country goes this way or that
So, wake up, my country, it is still dawn
Wake up, my country, it is still dawn
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
Yep puppy sitting my daughters eleven week old
red fox Labrador *****
All long legs big feet and puddles of *** on the carpet
Oh dear, Mollie dogs not happy
This pup is into everything
The contents of my pockets now strewn over the floor,
Teeth marks in my very expensive cell phone
But
I wouldn't change anything
Its been eight years since Mollie dog was a puppy
And I'd forgotten what fun they can be
Anyway how do I explain to my daughter about
The scratches on Ambers' nose?
Well she learned the hard way about what happens
When a puppy investigates one of my boys
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
there was a little labrador he was very kind
he was very thoughtful and loved to help the blind
help them cross the road he would be there guide
help them cross in safety to the otherside.
picking up the post coming through the door
moving objects in the way clearing up the floor
walking by there side while they were in the park
when ever there was danger he would give a bark
he loved helping people especially the blind
always there when needed and always very kind.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
Remembering the Strait of Belle Isle or
some northerly harbor of Labrador,
before he became a schoolteacher
a great-uncle painted a big picture.
Receding for miles on either side
into a flushed, still sky
are overhanging pale blue cliffs
hundreds of feet high,
their bases fretted by little arches,
the entrances to caves
running in along the level of a bay
masked by perfect waves.
On the middle of that quiet floor
sits a fleet of small black ships,
square-rigged, sails furled, motionless,
their spars like burnt match-sticks.
And high above them, over the tall cliffs'
semi-translucent ranks,
are scribbled hundreds of fine black birds
hanging in n's in banks.
One can hear their crying, crying,
the only sound there is
except for occasional sizhine
as a large aquatic animal breathes.
In the pink light
the small red sun goes rolling, rolling,
round and round and round at the same height
in perpetual sunset, comprehensive, consoling,
while the ships consider it.
Apparently they have reached their destination.
It would be hard to say what brought them there,
commerce or contemplation.
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there was a little labrador he was very kind
he was very thoughtful and love to help the blind
help them cross the road he would be there guide
help them cross in safety to the otherside.
picking up the post coming through the door
moving objects in the way clearing up the floor
walking by there side while they were in the park
when ever there was danger he would give a bark
he loved helping people especially the blind
always there when needed and always very kind.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
As I lay beside my darling
On an early Sunday morn,
I could feel her rounded softness
Sleeping under blankets warm.
My mind caroused the memories
And loitered on it's way
And found itself deliciously,
Immersed in golden play.
I remembered something special
In the way my little boy would look
As his eyes rose up in wonderment
When I read his favorite book.
And the joy involved in feeding
A hungry little mouth
When the porridge spooned all over
From the eyebrows heading south.
A tantalizing moment
On the beach down by the sea,
In the warm December sunshine
With my happy family.
We were running in the black sand
Drawing circles with a stick
As the surging waves approached them
Laughing little boys were quick.
Laughing, happy moments
And some sad ones like the day
When dear old Meg, our Labrador,
Got sick and passed away.
Young Boaz in his sadness
Climbed the big tree to it's crown
And it took a lot of pleading
To persuade him to come down.
And young Solly played the taniwha
At the Cornwall Park school play
And a better taniwha has yet
To grace the stage today.
A natural in his element
This young comedian
So hilariously funny
As he drew the audience in.
The tender, loving moments
As we both strolled arm in arm
Through the verdant Ferntree Gully
With it's sunlit grace and charm.
And the towering eucalyptus,
Hanging wood smoke in the air
And the whiplash resonation
Of the lyrebird hidden there.
Of Buttercup's wild parties
When fancy dress was king,
When everyone would whoop it up
And laugh and dance and sing.
When mum's and dad's and little kids
All joined the happy throng
With spud mashing as a ceremony
And a night of fun and song.
Of sitting in the garden
With your feet up and a book
And a cold beer at your elbow
And a barbecue to cook.
With the easy feel of family
As they go about their day
And the joyous sound of summer
When two noisy tui's play.
Memories of yesterday
Moments in the life
Of ecstasy and agony
And wonderment and plight.
And the ordinary ness of everything
And the magic everywhere,
Like the auburn in the sunlight
As it strikes my darling's hair.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
10 October 2009
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 7:36 PM UTC
Pamela , O' loving Pamela , My beautiful & loving Pamela
We started our beautiful life together , We shared so very much
The mid too late '80s , Were beautiful & so full of the future
That no one knew , Except for GOD , How much time we really had
And so we both enjoyed each other , We both shared so very much
From all of our 9 beautiful & loving Labrador Retrievers , ( Our Kids )
Too our Homes , Hobbies & our many Vacations in numerous states
The one thing , That never changed in all of our entire married life
Was that she Loved Me & I Loved Pamela , My sweet Pamela Jean
We both worked very hard , We even worked side by side for S & P
S & P ??? . Wasn't just a business or even just a job , It was Our's
Sometimes it seemed as though the business actually owned Us
But looking back , There was a lot of times when Pamela & Me
Laughed & cried & Shared beautiful times & bad times together
From our 1st Labrador "" Callie "" , Too our current 2 Labradors
Reagan Jean & Shelby'Anne Kelcee , And the other 6 Labradors
Jack'ie , CJ ( Callie Jean of Callie's Acre's ) , Sammy , Daisey
L.A.B. ( Ellabee ) & Kelcee Jean , Seven are now in Heaven with Pam
As I like too say , Pamela Jean has 7 Labradors , With her in Heaven
I have 2 Labradors with Me down here on Earth , I Love You Pam
I will always Love You Pamela Jean , I will never stop Loving You
You were always the Love of My life , And You always will be
As GOD is My witness , I promise You Pamela , Love is Forever
As You and I took our wedding vows serious on that day in July 1989
For better or worse , In Sickness and in health , Till death do us part
We'll Pamela You're in Heaven now & I still Love You so very much
My Love for You is still On going , And our Love will never End
I will Love You for Eternity , As You & I , Will always be One
The time & the dreams , That We both shared Together as Us
I will never forget , My daily life without You , Is so very lonely
You're Family & Our Friends & GOD , And our 2 beautiful Girls
Are what is absolutely now keeping me going , Day in & day out
Until the day , That We both can & will be Together Again for all
ETERNITY - Just You & Me , Pamela & Me , Me & Pamela :
GOD BLESS ALL , Who read This - Amen :
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
You know that I'm a fuckin' baller, Kobé
Erryday I'm killin' ************* OJ
I'm always dealin' with some ******** matador
When all I want's another ***** Labrador
All the disrespect to Kobé
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
You call me your dog,
your ***** your fool,
hurling words like stones
to shatter my heart.
I wag my tail anyway,
smiling through trembling lips,
fetching scraps of kindness
from the shadow of your hands.
You call me useless,
a beast beyond learning,
but I only want to please you—
to sit, to stay, to love.
Even as you turn away,
your voice cracking the whip,
I crawl through every wound,
bearing the weight of your name
like a leash around my soul.
For to be your dog
is still to be near you,
and I, the fool,
would bleed to feel you call me mine.
Jan 16, 2025
Jan 16, 2025 at 11:18 AM UTC
I kame back home
To feed the kitten and butta bean
Butta **** his nikname
He's ma lil labrador
Big fat pickle nose
And his lil butta bean head
Makes me luvs him so much
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
Stranded the shore the loneliest row boat.
Laid on the shore as if a grounded whale carcass collecting barnacles.
No rescuers ro save this noble beast.
The tide may come and take it home.
Depending on the time of tide.
The setting sun brings with it relief.
Cooler in a peaceful air.
A lonely gentlemen elderly in years.
Walking his chocolate labrador, Charlie, stumbles across an old wooden rotting oar.
Was going to sling it back into the sea.
Further along the shore he spies a lonesome row boat.
A perfect pair..
Row boat and oar reunited.
(c)Livvi MMXV
Watch this space...part two to follow.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 5:26 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Peter Pan in Bowring Park
For Dan, who knows something of magic
“Do you want an adventure now,
or would like to have your tea first?”
-Peter Pan
Sweet little bunnies browse and squirrels climb
And tiny mice and fairies give delight
To all the little ones of Newfoundland
Who visit Peter Pan in Bowring Park
He plays his pipes for them, and they can hear
The joyful music of his magic world
Where they may celebrate their pixie-dreams
At this bright second star from Kensington
And sing in peace their happy morning hymn
For darling little Betty, who waits for them
...the history behind Bowring Park's Peter Pan statue? — Historic Sites Association of Newfoundland & Labrador
May 29, 2021
May 29, 2021 at 9:10 AM UTC
We are told to be happy
told to be healthy
'Go to the university, son'
to be handed intelligence
'Make some money,
marry a pretty girl.'
Force children into the world
to do as you did.
Live in a nice house
for the rest of your days.
Sit outside and watch your happy
healthy
normal children
play.
You'll hardly hear the whimper
of the sparrow
caught in the teeth of your
purebred black labrador retriever.
A bird with a broken wing
expected to live a life of flight.
Oct 29, 2010
Oct 29, 2010 at 1:58 PM UTC
JESUS emptied the devils of one man into forty hogs and the hogs took the edge of a high rock and dropped off and down into the sea: a mob.
The sheep on the hills of Australia, blundering fourfooted in the sunset mist to the dark, they go one way, they hunt one sleep, they find one pocket of grass for all.
Karnak? Pyramids? Sphinx paws tall as a coolie? Tombs kept for kings and sacred cows? A mob.
Young roast pigs and naked dancing girls of Belshazzar, the room where a thousand sat guzzling when a hand wrote: Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin? A mob.
The honeycomb of green that won the sun as the Hanging Gardens of Nineveh, flew to its shape at the hands of a mob that followed the fingers of Nebuchadnezzar: a mob of one hand and one plan.
Stones of a circle of hills at Athens, staircases of a mountain in Peru, scattered clans of marble dragons in China: each a mob on the rim of a sunrise: hammers and wagons have them now.
Locks and gates of Panama? The Union Pacific crossing deserts and tunneling mountains? The Woolworth on land and the Titanic at sea? Lighthouses blinking a coast line from Labrador to Key West? Pigiron bars piled on a barge whistling in a fog off Sheboygan? A mob: hammers and wagons have them to-morrow.
The mob? A typhoon tearing loose an island from thousand-year moorings and bastions, shooting a volcanic ash with a fire tongue that licks up cities and peoples. Layers of worms eating rocks and forming loam and valley floors for potatoes, wheat, watermelons.
The mob? A jag of lightning, a geyser, a gravel mass loosening...
The mob ... kills or builds ... the mob is Attila or Ghengis Khan, the mob is Napoleon, Lincoln.
I am born in the mob-I die in the mob-the same goes for you-I don't care who you are.
I cross the sheets of fire in No Man's land for you, my brother-I slip a steel tooth into your throat, you my brother-I die for you and I **** you-It is a twisted and gnarled thing, a crimson wool:
One more arch of stars,
In the night of our mist,
In the night of our tears.
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Giant yellow paws tap-dance on the porch
Her fat tail wags so violent you stand clear of the back end
Hip-hop, hip-hop, and an occasional skip
Her whole body shouts "It's time! It's time! Hooray!"
You might think she had never been fed
Except that she is huge
Her half-crazy labrador grin is fixed
She nudges you toward the bowl
Thanks you with a wet nose on clean clothes
Happiness in the morning
Happiness in a 40lb bag
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 8:52 AM UTC
aaron carter
my slobbering , always smiling labrador
the words of sylvia plath
the cold metallic feel of razors
and death.
but now, i think myself might be a candidate.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
he named me after him,
his best ditty ever,
my inheritance,
a laughing brook of
guppy royalties,
that keep our Labrador
reasonably well fed poetically
and of course his name
his name,
which was not so much inherited,
as deposited, X-mark-the-son
they ask,
no, they declarative announce
as fact,
answered even as asking,
tho their voices rising
in a pretend-questioning format,
are you as good as he was?
Oh no, of course not,
I'm merely the son,
He was the father,
between us,
the
Holy Ghost of Rhyme
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
I named her after nature
she came wobbling to me
from behind a flower vase
petals clinging to her soft fur.
No other name would have suited
this little bouncy pet
better than 'petals'
she just wanted that name
all for herself.
an extra biscuit for you today.
Author Notes
My Labrador named herself.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 12 days ago
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
Our faithful black Labrador, who was an old lady when I was just a boy, had six pups and despite the grey on her muzzle, produced enough milk for them all. She would take her bowl to the sink when thirsty, tinned-meat to the can-opener when hungry. When tired, she would sprawl out on a rug before the coal fire, on occasion, licking her master’s feet before falling asleep.
Sometimes, I would rest my head upon her chest, listening to her breathing. In her dreams she would sometimes yelp softly and I would soothe her nightmares away by stroking her sleek black coat.
In our garden, during the pleasant sunshine of a warm afternoon, we used to play together. Throwing a tennis ball that she would chase then fetch back and drop in my waiting hands for me to throw again. This was by far, her favourite game.
Some considered that she ran out in front of the School Teacher’s speeding car deliberately. “Because of her age,” they said, and “her inability to cope with the pups, only just turned two weeks old,” — that my mother reared, against all predictions.
I never accepted this nonsense. At the time, such a thing never crossed my mind as I looked at her, sprawled across the roadside verge. Her eyes were open, but through my tears I could see they were sightless. I also saw the muddy tyre-print across her unmoving ribs and how her legs twisted at an unnatural angle. I could not help my crying, but I felt no shame: none at all.
The sad regret I saw in the School Teacher’s red-rimmed eyes did nothing to ease my pain. If anything, her sorrow made me feel even worse. I felt guilty because I wanted to hate her. Perhaps I did hate her! I can barely remember now. With the passage of time the pain and the hate, if indeed there was any hate, has faded.
Whenever I pass our old house, where Moss is buried in the garden in which she played, I recall our times together and give her good thoughts. For good thoughts are all that I have for our faithful black Labrador, who was an old lady when I was just a boy.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 6:53 AM UTC
Half asleep on my walk to the bus stop,
The Texada clear-cut smiles like the gap-tooth of the Georgia Strait
and the 3 pops of melatonin ingested 11 hours ago still have me waning on the down-low like a somewhat solid ghost in a Labrador windstorm.
I send you paragraphs
And all of my heartbreaks make me worried I've finally scared you off
But logic trusts itself to you and says, 'Cabo San Lucas, tantrastic,'
I'm no stoic. Otherwise this poem would still be sleeping in alphabet.
It's only the middle of the week but it feels like it's been a month,
At least
At little
The weather is Hyde again,
But as of right now I don't really mind
I just wish you had sunk into my chest last night as we slept together,
Finding our mind within its memory foam,
I dreamed of you and wondered
If Mexico really existed.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 11:39 AM UTC