"pooch" poems
I dated a girl, a pretty gal
I dated her and her pooch pal
You had to like her dog Pogo
You had to, or it was a no go.
She took the thing everywhere
And never in a pet carrier.
It was sort of a turnoff to me;
A kind of no-intrusion barrier.
Scoochie up to poochie
Or you I wouldn’t get no *******
Otherwise I was a pimple.
It was really just that simple.
She had the ugliest mutt
That I ever saw before
Like a brown **** rug
That was left outdoors.
It snuffled through teeth
That were hideously parted.
I thought it was stuffed
Until the creature farted.
Scoochie up to poochie
Or you I wouldn’t get no *******
Otherwise I was a pimple.
It was really just that simple.
I got nothing against animals
And I really do like dogs
But they should look like pups
Not chimera or warthogs.
I’d overcome the boundaries
Whenever I got the chance
But that ugly canine lump of fur
Put the kibosh on romance.
Scoochie up to poochie
Or you I wouldn’t get no *******
Otherwise I was a pimple.
It was really just that simple.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home. Dorothy's Kansas never looked so comforting, her black and white world never so safe--never so flat, so barren.
Didn't she learn her lessons? She caused such trouble! She gave Auntie Emm such a fright! That bump on the head must have caused her brain damage. After the "big storm" was only a memory, and the terrible twister only a town tale, Dorothy did it again.
She ventured out on her own.
Yet Mrs. Gulch was still a witch. And Dorothy's "nasty, little dog" still got into the garden. The sheriff was ready to track her down and clamp down on her for good! Running home frantically for help, Dorothy realized that Auntie Emm was still too busy ******** at her shiftless farmhands, henpecking tired, old Uncle Henry,
and he was just too cranky to care. The farmhands were supposed to be her friends, but they just started crabbing at her again.
They soon gave her what for. "Dot, didn't you learn a thing in life?" "Didn't we rescue you once from a pigpen?" "That heart of yours leads you in the wrong direction! " "Where are your brains, anyway?"
Heartbroken, naive Dorothy realized something that was quite profound. Her heart was always in the right place--she just needed the courage, the courage to know she was smart enough to make it on her own. So Dorothy packed her bags, especially remembering her red ruby slippers. She would never forget her loyal friend and sidekick, her beloved pooch, Toto. If she was going, he was going with her.
So there she stood, suitcases in hand, in her bleak, little, colorless world. Terrified, she stood upon the precipice. Fear or faith? And all of a sudden she was noticed again! Just what was she doing? Who did she think she was fooling? Was she crazy!?
"You'll never make it!", they all warned. "You don't know the first thing about how to live in a Technicolor world!"
"Sorry, I do love you", Dorothy answered back. "But I disagree and I will forward you my new address". So off she went finding the path down the yellow brick road.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 3:54 AM UTC
when i'm drinking i always think
the whiskey bottle
to be in a predicament
of the bus stop;
i mean, waiting, for my
eager slurp (god i wish
i could insert an onomatopoeia
right now) -
i ate that body part and even
nozzled it, i mean
i stuck my nose in it
being ripe... you better have
sunday's news to let me forget;
i swear, performing oral
*** on women's genitalia
makes you into an orator...
or perhaps a gardener -
that skin fold sure as **** speaks!
well, better testimony than
abraham circumcising isaac
against holy ordained orders
not to; but then the cat and dog
doing overt-masturbation licking
the **** thing;
yes darling... pooch pooch ouch ooh
now chow ready for a pampering?
munch a moo choo cha cha wee wee?
yeah, get that slobbering *****
filler out of here;
oi! bring bang the blonde comb-over ferret!
i ain't doing the spider dangle
without it!
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
that’s the thing with those trophy wife types,
never really mandible in *** like a jaw ought to be,
too stiff, too anorexic model type:
pooch pooch a handbag full of duck quack pouts of the lips.
i like mandible women, scary scarred women,
the types that will grow into fond babushkas
and cook you a broth.
ah all this crap with daddy longlegs walking into a paparazzi
web of flashes is ruining the red carpet,
i was about to frizz it up into cushion afro softness
that would be quicksand for high heels.
i need blotches i need survival skills that hold the skin together,
every wrinkle, every passing jest of “irrelevance,”
every amulet glow of feeling through the kaleidoscope of depression,
jet-lag i call it, although i rather call it trombone,
with the numbers it was bound to happen, leaving the mammalian
kingdom and entering the insect kingdom, it was bound to happen,
the lost identity tiling the earth, ploughing the eardrum for symphonies,
it was just waiting... just waiting... like a spider waiting
with the flies of the urbanisation of green & green...
can’t change my mind... blotches on skin and bulges of missing protein
on the hips... perfect girth for child rearing...
i don’t like perfect... it’s supposed to have an aesthetic aura of an art
gallery... instead it has an aesthetic aura of hygiene of a hospital;
i arrested all the beauticians while talking to the paediatricians
painting my nails with u.v. liquorice in this hospital of hygienic looks
but unhygienic romping pompoms that swayed man to chlamydia.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
the girl was always strange...a little different from the rest...she stayed to herself in her room after school...and loved animals the best...talked to them out loud in funny voices...her long hair covering her face and eyes...so one day it really came as no surprise to her to find she was growing a funny bump on her backside...that sorta looked like a tail...at first it was easy to hide...she stuffed it in her pants and no one was wiser...except it felt a bit strange sitting on that thing...and when she was happy, darned if it didn't start to wag...all by itself...a few weeks went by and that tail started growing...longer and furry red like a setter dog...at least the back part anyhow....and her parents wondered why she never wore shorts anymore...one day she answered a question at school...and a happy bark slipped out of her mouth!....classmates eyes round looking at her...teacher smiled and thought it was a joke...of course that is how she passed it off...but by golly if she didn't control... her cheers for a team....yips and growls popped out in excitement...her friends really thought she was strange...but the more it happened the more the girl liked it...she enjoyed being different...and by golly...her dog loved her just the same (as he always did.)..but her folks wondered why there were furry dog hairs inside her clothes...just down the one pants leg...hmmm...
well that gal grew mighty strange...funny things like barks and howls sang out in the middle of church choir....they started calling her wolf girl at school....and darned if her ears didn't start pointing at that remark...at night she'd stick her head out the door...gaze at the street waiting for a bark...from a little yorky across the street...and when that dog caught sight of her... man...the barks went crazy...all from her!....soon she got the urge to run...so down she went when no one was about...and raced like the wind on all fours...man she could rip...faster than her dog...they'd zoom about the back yard...after a ball...and she caught it first...parents watching her one day...seeing her playing like a pooch...worried the heck out of them...they wondered what to do...they took her to a doctor...doctor saw that growing tail...well he scratched his head in puzzlement...and darned if the girl didn't lick his face!....and offer him her hand to shake...like a dog!....well time went on since then...that girl is still stranger than strange...running round barking scratching at fleas...got a collar now and tags that say her name....guess she's got the best of both worlds..being human...and being man's best friend...''
by L B
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
Botal Khuli Hai Raqs Mein Jam-e-Sharab Hai
Woh To Khaliq Hai Banda Parwar Hai
The bottle is open and dancing is the glass of wine
He is the Creator and the Benefactor so divine
Sari Duniya Ka Rab-e-Akbar Hai
Mera Sarmaya-e-Hayat Na Pooch
Ek Saqi Hai, Ek Sagar Hai
God of entire creation He is so Great
On source of my life, what can I state?
Cup-bearer is One & Sole, and so is the bowl
✒ Translated by ℐamil Hussain , Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 11:30 AM UTC
At the edge of morning--broad sky fine
And soft as peach skin--
The sun, a round, sweet skinless half--
Rilling water washes through gullied gorge,
Cresting fig root and tongue of cobbled stone,
Lazing into lacquered lake or placid pond;
Squat and pooch-bellied on flatly floating leaf,
The idle toad croaks his great guttural,
Glutted belch.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 8:35 PM UTC
Dear FutureMe,
I hope you are happy. Your mom is still with you and Anuj, well I hope he's with you as well. I hope you're ready to go sailing with your Sailor. I hope you were successful in all that you did even though you had some bad times and tired ones too. I hope you worked hard enough so as to make your mom's new school prosper in all ways. I hope you're still in love with coffee and him. I hope you have more confidence in you and still like wearing all that you love to wear. I hope you tried loosing the pooch ahaha well if you did have the time to do that. I hope after seeing this you'd be a little more happier if you already are and a little more hopeful if you're sad. And even if you're not following your dreams I hope you've made new ones and prospering in that too! I hope you still love yourself as much as you do now. Be strong you!
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
Aati hai kya yaad meri?
Mere mehboob kuch to bata do
Tadpati hui in judaayi
Ke palon ko kuch to salaah do
Aaj apne dil se pooch kar
Is mohabath ko kuch silaah do
Dil ki Jaadui chiraag se pyaar
Na kabhi kam-ho, maang lo
Aati hai kya yaad meri?
Mere mehboob kuch to bata do
Tadpati hui in judaayi
Ke palon ko kuch to salaah do
English Translation...
Do I come in your thoughts?
O my love please do tell
Painful moments without you
is pleading for a prayer impel
Today ask your heart within
to reward our love graceful
Wish hearts magical lamp gin
to always keep our love brimful
Do I come in your thoughts?
O my love please do tell
Painful moments without you
is pleading for a prayer impel
Jan 29, 2022
Jan 29, 2022 at 2:27 PM UTC
I wish My pooch knew what acoustics is,
With a voice bit more squeakier than a mice,
It tries to scare the cat down the road.
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
Backward-man loves his dog.
Ties him up before and after
His walks, likes to goad his pet
Too, speaking as the weather wails
And howls then dog looks down,
Sad on his master dumbfounded.
A chain is worn as it scrapes
The ground connecting dog
To his master. They both love
The sound of it hissing as it strikes
The concrete pathways, sometimes
Man and dog feel free, not a part
Of each other, the chain may break,
And fear is for forks in the road,
The rusty pockmarked grip of his links
Have always been there on walks
Ahead and behind though it makes
Things confusing as if in a dance
And sometimes they wonder which way
They might end up after all—
And when the dark and golden
Rope, as always, is finally tied
To some old fruit tree, the man
Is happy his dog has both sun
And shade, but also has joy watching
Dog beg for ripe apples he cannot
Reach. Some people might come
To think that dog thinks those apples
Are not for eating. Everyone loves
Fruit, don't they?
Backward-man built his dog
A house as cold as a three-
Storied barn, out of things
He could not afford, things much
Too good for dog to not care
About, maybe man built dog's
House for himself, he cannot
Really impress his dog.
Backward-man likes to think
He knows what dog is saying.
Barks and whimpers have deep
Meanings, 'world is a good place,'
Dog says, but when pooch says,
'World is cruel,' crying, disobedient
Whines gets him a serious kick
Out of old anger from backward-
Man. And man can be a hell-
Hound on his own, the way
He twists and unravels the things
He needs, like truth and food
And love— that goes without
Saying for backward-man hates
His woman, but loves his dog.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
graham ******* mud pie at pop's,
rest his soul
the rush of new friendships,
the faith in letting go
reading when you’re lonely,
chillin' while you’re old,
rivers in the blinding heat,
campfires in the cold
car rides with the windows down,
jogging with the pooch,
biking through a foreign town,
stealing a native smooch
gum drops,
lemon heads,
marshmallow peeps,
sunday dinner,
carnivals,
local meet-and-greets
snow days,
warm winter days,
soup to ward the flu,
paydays,
big-puppy days,
and coming home to you
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 6:44 PM UTC
I have this dog, a huge great pooch,
Just like the one, on Turner and *****
He really is a big orange lump,
Dare I say how much he dumps,
He shreds and ruins my favourite stuff,
Covering the floor, in loads of fluff,
TV remotes, he's chewed them up,
He costs a bomb, my naughty pup,
His snoring rattles the gates of hell,
And when he farts, my gawd, the smell!,
Don't let's forget, he loves his food,
Face in your cup, slurp slurp, how rude,
What's yours is his, he takes the ****
I dare you say the word, "biscuit"
He slobbers shoestrings, from his chops,
Each room has a rag, for him to mop,
But that aside, he has my heart,
His crinkly face, and stinky farts,
Rolling in fox mess on his daily stroll,
Sniffing crotches, of those who call,
I kiss his face off every day,
I could never love a man this way,
He has a face you want to snog,
I really, really love this dog :)
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
I’m not quite right today.
I’ve a thoroughly gasted flabber.
The milk of human kindness
Seems to have begun to clabber.
I got plussed but now it’s minus,
I’m so chalant I am nearly flat.
I am almost as spaced out
As a modern day Schrodinger’s cat.
Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.
I was once a pillar of immunity
But lately I am wagging a scally.
But somewhere along the line
I became a cat in some alley.
I‘m at five sixes and sevens
I lost the war and the battle.
My creek is totally full of ****
Here I am without a paddle.
Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.
My last leg hurts a lot, and
My pooch is rather *******
I’d say I am a bit ******
But then, that would be lewd.
I’m a scant one barrel short
Of being a real son of a gun.
My **** has started whiffing
And is no longer much fun.
Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 11:08 PM UTC
I am the only idiot who is so thick that he would think to take a walk
At three in the Monday morning
But I am not alone.
There are others,
Transient beings
Venturing forth into the shadows between the street lamps
No one is here to stay.
We are all travelers.
Where are you going?
From whence do you hail?
Why is there not silence? There is no one conscious here.
My footsteps do not make a sound. But the sounds are there.
Under every streetlamp, the highway sings.
It is an ugly song, but a song that calls one away never the less.
The sailors heard its prettier, younger voice.
Now it has grown old, and its voice is gravely from too many cigarettes
And it strains to keep singing, nothing but a cup of coffee holding it back
From peace.
Now, a dog.
Bashful, quiet, dark, tail held between its legs
Runs out under the streetlamp, beside I, the boy in the trench-coat and fedora
To donate to the national trust
He glances, back, and forth.
He knows I see him, but it don't matter.
We are partners in crime.
I am here, laughing at the world too.
Where are you coming from, friend?
The dog asks me.
No where. I like to think I am going somewhere beautiful, though.
Where are you going, friend? I ask the dog.
Paris, the city of lights. I have heard it is lovely this time of year.
Then godspeed, pooch, for your journey is a long one.
And with a nod, he let loose one more line: You realize you look like a ****** right?
And then he was gone.
Another transient being.
What a funny place
This world is
On Monday morning,
At three AM.
And here I am, heeding the highway's siren song.
Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 9:23 PM UTC
A dog shouldn't spend it's life in a cage,
Where even a week can feel like an age.
Sad and alone, not knowing when it will end,
Wishing and hoping for a new human friend.
But thanks to every volunteer's donated time,
And every donators dollar, cent or dime,
A new life is given to each beautiful pooch,
A new family to love, cuddle and smooch.
So thank you to everyone, your kindness is rare,
We thank you so much, for your help and your care.
~ Written for the Oahu SPCA
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
Mon Oneday I'll be top dog
Have the sofa to myself
Tues Chewsday all the bones belong to me
And to no one else
Wed Walksday let's go on patrol
Throw some weight around
Thurs Throwup day, you can clear it up
I'll sit here and frown
Fri Dieday for the bunnies,
If I'm fast enough
Sat Catsday, chase them up a tree
Watch them huff and puff
Sun Funday, all of the above
For the pampered pooch
Who knows he's very loved
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
Your mediocre dog
does not partake in birthday
parties or attend weddings,
theatrical events
bar and bat mitzvahs
nor dabble in oil paint,
yet the pooch makes
the most out its twelve
years of life and appears
happy when compared
to the seven billion
humans on earth.
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC
A dog on a silver lead walked past a shiny window
In the reflection he was horrified what he saw
He had no fur, no silky hair on his head, bald
Just skin and bone from his tail to his paw.
He thought to himself , "now don't I look a fright"
"You would have thought they would have helped me."
His thoughts mulled over in his little brain all day
and he eventually put together a rather good plea.
He sat signalling to his owner rubbing his paw on his head
Twiddling the air in a manner suggesting something big
Then pointing to this sofa with his tip of his tail
Therefore in doggy language he wanted a brown hairy wig.
But his master was confused and thought he'd gone mad
thought he needed to go outside to relieve himself
But the dog now at the point of uselessness was bartking
and began sniffing and crying at the brush on the shelf.
"If only I could make him see what I need"
Gesturing to the hairs hanging from this tatty brush.
"I need a wig, something to adorn my skin, cant you see"
"dont walk away stop telling me to shush."
He tried to bark his talk mimicking "I need a wig"
in four short sharp barks, " woof, woof, woof, woof. "
He should understand that, that's done the trick
I have portrayed my message, that is enough.
His eyes dropped to the floor when he saw his prize
It is enough to make the angry pooch bleed.
It wasn't a nice furry wig or coat that came
I was his trusty, now so hated silver lead. ****
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
.
Backward-man loves his dog.
Ties him up before and after
His walks, likes to goad his pet
Too, speaking as the weather wails
And howls then dog looks down,
Sad on his master dumbfounded.
A chain is worn as it scrapes
The ground connecting dog
To his master. They both love
The sound of it hissing as it strikes
The concrete pathways, sometimes
Man and dog feel free, not a part
Of each other, the chain may break,
And fear is for forks in the road,
The rusty pockmarked grip of his links
Have always been there on walks
Ahead and behind though it makes
Things confusing as if in a dance
And sometimes they wonder which way
They might end up after all—
And when the dark and golden
Rope, as always, is finally tied
To some old fruit tree, the man
Is happy his dog has both sun
And shade, but also has joy watching
Dog beg for ripe apples he cannot
Reach. Some people might come
To think that dog thinks those apples
Are not for eating. Everyone loves
Fruit, don't they?
Backward-man built his dog
A house as cold as a three-
Storied barn, out of things
He could not afford, things much
Too good for dog to not care
About, maybe man built dog's
House for himself, he cannot
Really impress his dog.
Backward-man likes to think
He knows what dog is saying.
Barks and whimpers have deep
Meanings, 'world is a good place,'
Dog says, but when pooch says,
'World is cruel,' crying, disobedient
Whines gets him a serious kick
Out of old anger from backward-
Man. And man can be a hell-
Hound on his own, the way
He twists and unravels the things
He needs, like truth and food
And love— that goes without
Saying for backward-man hates
His woman, but loves his dog.
.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 9:34 PM UTC
Filtered faces
Staged selfies
Eating oysters
Look at my new watch, sneakers this and that
Look at the places I visit
Look at my perfect life
No colours are too bright
Edited to perfection
Cropped out the background
Hide the mess If they don’t see it then it doesn’t exist
This is my wonderful wife, life, pooch and house
If I didn’t stage that selfie then this is all of what you would see
the dog that won’t stop barking,
the house that needs cleaned and possibly refurbished,
the wife scrambling at the debt letters on the kitchen counter wondering why the money don’t cover it
The life you wish to filter and draw a line under with the caption “perfect life”
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC
Structure
Puncture,
Leaves of blue and grey.
No one ever said
You had to be one way.
Apple
Laughter,
Hills full of green.
Ghosts of my forefathers,
Cringe when unseen.
Alone
Bone,
Catapult of love.
Sister Mary carries the cross,
As she releases the doves
Take
Bake,
Pretty red head.
All night I lay in the clouds,
Thinking of you in my head
Care
Bear,
Orange tangerine.
Love only takes you,
It doesn't tell you where to be.
Moving
Losing,
Brown paper snap.
Its fur is ragged and warm,
The pooch sitting on my lap.
Attention
Question,
Sirens roar in the streets.
The pavement shakes,
As a million faucets leak.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
Wajah bewajah
bina baat hi kabhi bas,
log rootha kyu karte hain ?
Kyu
apni hi ummeedon ke tang jaal mein
din raat,
yun hi ghuta karte hain ?
Jaane anjaane
hum “humare” “apno” se
wada jhootha kyu karte hain ?
Zindagi ki daud dhoop mein
kuch saathi bante hain
toh kuch
choota kyu karte hain ?
Dilon ke rishte
Aksar toota kyu karte Hain ?
Yeh roothne manane ka akhir silsila kya hai
Kai baar mile aur bichad gaye
Bhala majra kya hai ?
Iss banne aur sawarne ki
Iss tootne bikharne ki
Aakhir dawa bhi kya hai ?
Hey Nath,
Yeh das tumhare charano mein
Gira hua hai pooch raha
Mera dil hi kahin behaya kya hai
Ya paap ka ghada shaayad bhar gaya hai
Iss bhava bandhan mein phansa hua
Meri karun pukaar suno
Kukarmo ke daldal mein dhansa hua
Kar raha chitkaar suno
Davagni mein jal raha
Bheesan hahakaar suno
Daya karo ab hey Bhagvan
Ya ban Narsingh sanhaar karo
Aap ki sharan mein ab yeh dushtt
Iss neech ka uddhar karo
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 9:44 AM UTC
this ****** thought he could toss me around
some Indian ****** with a loud mouth
I wouldn’t leave my seat and he begged like
a pooch telling me “can you move, I wanna sit there,
let me sit beside the girl man.”
He kept begging to be beside this girl
later on he tells me that I should’ve moved because he is a
bouncer
one lousy skinny bouncer
he tells me that he would’ve put me in a head lock like the others
don’t mess with him you see
I TELL him to shut the hell up
no one cares and no one wants to hear you
he doesn’t take to kindly to these words
I am never ready for a fight but if it happens
it happens
but this fight didn’t happen
he just stood there with his stupid face
trying to scare me with his little child eyes
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC