"poodles" poems
The daughter of the village Maire
Is very fresh and very fair,
A dazzling eyeful;
She throws upon me such a spell
That though my love I dare not tell,
My heart is sighful.
She has the cutest brown caniche,
The French for "poodle" on a leash,
While I have Bingo;
A dog of doubtful pedigree,
Part pug or pom or chow maybe,
But full of stingo.
The daughter of the village Maire
Would like to speak with me, I'll swear,
In her sweet lingo;
But parlez-vous I find a bore,
For I am British to the core,
And so is Bingo
Yet just to-day as we passed by,
Our two dogs haulted eye to eye,
In friendly poses;
Oh, how I hope to-morrow they
Will wag their tails in merry play,
And rub their noses.
* * * * * * *
The daughter of the village Maire
Today gave me a frigid stare,
My hopes are blighted.
I'll tell you how it came to pass . . .
Last evening in the Square, alas!
My sweet I sighted;
And as she sauntered with her pet,
Her dainty, her adored Frolette,
I cried: "By Jingo!"
Well, call it chance or call it fate,
I made a dash . . . Too late, too late!
Oh, naughty Bingo!
The daughter of the village Maire
That you'll forgive me, is my prayer
And also Bingo.
You should have shielded your caniche:
You saw my dog strain on his leash
And like a spring go.
They say that Love will find a way -
It definitely did, that day . . .
Oh, canine noodles!
Now it is only left to me
To wonder - will your offspring be
Poms, pugs or poodles?
4k
When I get too blue
I laugh at myself
pick up the leash
and take Mr. Brown to the dog park.
He shows me how
to be carefree
will jump and bark
drink a gallon of water
and lick whomever he chooses
without a worry in the world.
Everybody admires his *****
What kind of dog is that?
He’s a Rhodesian Ridgeback.
an African lion hound,
but he’s scared shitless of my cat.
what’s yours?
A Visla.
Looks like yours, only smaller.
Did you see that American Foxhound?
That s.o.b. can jump!
Yeah, too bad he can’t pay my mortgage.
The young photographer shows off
his brilliant Doberman’s latest trick –
a double backflip
catching the Frisbee ten feet high
landing on all fours.
The old lady with the blind daschund
says, “Oh, oh, isn’t he wonderful?”
She claps her hands in delight.
The canine Noah's arc show runs all day
with the entry of pugnacious Sharpeis
the arrogance of Poodles
the inscrutability of giant Malamutes.
the pride of leash-holders.
Gradually tree shadows darken the sawdust
and people start parading home,
the **** athletic girls with their boyfriends’ Shepherds
the slow old men with their greying Labradors
the lady real estate agents with their tiny Shih Tzus.
And then it’s silent
I’m the last one there
alone in the gathering dusk
still hearing echoes of joyful barks
realizing how funny it is
that so many people
look just like their dogs
but I don’t think about it,
I just marvel at all this joy.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
Razor-mouthed maw
lurks in the shadows
receptacle of grim devouring
Watching and waiting
for foolish flesh
fresh meat
We all have to eat
Real monsters follow ALL of their appetites
Prissy poodles get dragged screaming
through sewer grates
Crumpled little pink permed bodies
Bones crunch like tortilla chips
Lifesblood imbibed
No rest for the wicked
No escape from the wicked
Crocodile smiles
sheds fake tears
for poor little creatures
Too stupid to avoid his bite
Too weak to fight back
Too closeminded to enjoy it
Crocodile grins temporarily satisfied
Scarecrow watches all from the shadows
Scythe sways in silence
waiting to witness
the next sacrifice.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 8:07 AM UTC
Where it all started...
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2018179/only-a-dumbass-man-could-love-a-smartass-poodle/
<•>
The Obvious Fact: Dogs Have Souls
******** poodle, of prior fame, suggests*
"surely this ditty will trend before one reads to the very end"
1. as everyone loves dogs
2. especially smart poodles
3. who writes soulful poems
really, here we are talking and you are gazing into my brown eyes adoringly,
and
you humans
still debate if there is a
god?"*
and then dog yawned,
a gigundo doggy yawn,
which is a supernatural,
miraculous biblical thing to behold
<•>
for no reason other than gravity
man says,
sometimes my earbuds fall out of my ears,
without provocation, of their own accord,
to remind that though they're in,
the music isn't in,
and neither
am I anywhere real, concrete,
existential,
to be found
which prompts a furious philosophical poodle to man discourse,
as to my exact whereabouts
badass poodle quotes Joan Baez (Diamonds and Rust):
"My poetry was lousy you said,"
and to verify my geo-physical locus,
and his opinion of the human's written hocus pocus
poetry,
gentle farts and adds, low growling,
"there your are!"
how I love that
centered, down to earth,
in my bed, in my heart
dog
<•>
"Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action."
Goldfinger
a favorite phrase from a movie of one's youth.
that rises to the surface, when smartass-u-know-who
reads my weak human mind and yes,
farts twice more, adding poetically:
*"the best things in life always
come in threes,
her, me, and you"*
"glad to be included," I replied,
to which he licked his
privates publicly,
adding lowly,
*"every smart poodle need a leashed human,
as if any self-respecting poodl could or would
type their own poems,
who's
the *** now!"*
and we got up, got the leash
(for human to carry)
put our earbuds in,
went for a sunrise
sniff-walk-and-compose
on the beach
the two **********
arguing
which Pandora station to turn on,
two only love poets, both thinking of their shared
her
finally, compromising, in tail wagging agreement on,
The Righteous Brothers
<•>
p.s. lol, only a ******* man could love a ******** poodle.
~
8:33am
8/11/17
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 6:32 PM UTC
~
Painting a picture of porcupines playing
Pincushions out in the field
Purple and pink for this playful perception
Plans of their purpose revealed
Painful endeavors of pacified pranksters
Presenting a pie at their place
Pecan or pumpkin, pickle, pineapple
Pieces are smeared on their face
Putting the paint on some powder puff paper
Pleasure in each stroke is plied
Pausing to peer at the porcupines playing
Prancing in pansies they hide
Puzzling problems with pretzels and peanuts
Posturing people to prove
Pistachio perfume in prime presentation
Preaches that peaches will move
Polishing pastels on pre-printed pages
Prized the possessions we seek
Paisley the plumes of a peacocks posterior
Portraits now come take a peek
Pampering piccolos play the piano
Pure as a pelican’s prayer
Picking a parcel of plum flavored pudding
Poetic prose fills the air
Pleats in my pants shout in proud proclamation
Puddle my pores they perspire
Poodles on playgrounds prevent prosecution
Plotting my hearts pure desire
Passion precedes every past tense of parting
Piled with a presence so true
Painting a picture while purposely dreaming
Promising my love to you
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
They come in many different sizes
Different colors, different cuts
All purebred from Poodle planet
No mixing of Martian mutts
Innocently enough we let them into our homes
Now with too many it is to little to late
We've been taken captive without even knowing
By Poodles from Outer Space
Soon, very soon to take over it all
Ruling the world of common man
Getting us to do their bidding at every call
Has all along been their dastardly plan
Leading us to believe that we are the Masters
But what is really behind the bark
And what's up with all the tail wagging
Just waiting it out while playing their cards
And the crazed frenzy in all of the yapping
That they do while roaming in packs
Is just giving away their location
So the Mother Ship knows where they are at
As it continues to circle our planet
In the unassuming shape of a Milk-Bone
The Alien Poodles are in cahoots with Purina
Google it, you'll see I'm not wrong
Years ago they first landed in France
Where quickly they blended in
From there is where they ventured out
Into all the major Continents
Now in every corner of the world
In all of its crooks and crannies
Saying hello to those in the know wherever they go
By their Planet's greeting...the sniffing of *****
Yes, they are Poodles from Outer Space
So toss that dog a bone
If you ever wonder who is in charge
And who it is that's owned...
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
What's your addiction?
Computer or television?
We're in a Gestalt on Google,
Like well trained poodles,
The land of Google glasses,
Is it a blessing to last us?
Is this the Prince of Air,
I read in the Bible somewhere?
Dimly switching on Google glasses,
Edited agenda, the mouse passes,
All like web trained poodles,
We're in a Gestalt on Google.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 6:07 PM UTC
*Raindrops on roses,
And wiskers on kittens,
Don't know if I really wore mittons,
But I can be sure,
Nothing came in brown paper packages,
Which were tied up with strings,*
*So I asure you,
These are not some of my favourite things!
Cream colored ponies,
No! Crisp apple poodles,
Sorry if I made a mistake,
I'll go with noodles,
White owls that fly with some
Food in their beaks,
I assure you,
These are some of my unfavourite things!*
*Girls in white dresses,
With blue satin sashes,
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,
Silver white winters that melt into spring,
Well,
These are a few of my favourite things!*
When the dog barks,
When the bees sting,
When I feel like shouting!
I simply remember my unfavourite things!
and then all I feel is,
too bad!
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 8:27 AM UTC
OK. Today may be dull. It happens. Sure.
But tomorrow remains rife with possibilities.
Podcasts of Trump on on the value of modesty.
Street fights in several extinct languages.
Hillary wins at Detroit poetry slam.
Jihadists explode poodles in crosswalks.
Island countries wave & grin as they sink.
***** flicks found starring Merkel and Putin.
A sane, reasonable presidential election.
Angry cats with opposable thumbs rebel.
Men & women speaking & understanding each other.
Brock Turner announces *** change operation.
God announces: No More Mulligans!
Gender wars conclude. Everyone’s dead.
Debut of lost Bach Partita for Electric Kazoo.
New, hip-hop production of Treblinka: The Musical.
Shakespeare cloned. Buys poetry anthology. Dies.
End-up, instead of start-up, launches in Palo Alto.
Smart phones install apps with annoying ads on users.
Common sense becomes common again.
Victimless rhymes decriminalized.
This is America! Never two dull days.
Take Heart! Tomorrow, there be Wonders…
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 10:04 AM UTC
I chanced upon Polly Wolly
Walking one day after school
Clearly without her doodle
Something she thought she'd never lose
She told me she had sat it down
As it was out of tune
And when doodles sound more like poodles
What else is there to do
So I took a hold of Polly
And led her by the hand
Downtown to the lost and found
Where all that's lost is left
She went on and on about her doodle
Like a long lost friend
She asked the lass behind the desk
If she'd ever see her doodle again
The lass asked the doodles color scheme
And how large it was in size
Seems people lose their doodles often
If not most all the time
When they handed her her doodle back
There really wasn't much to say
As Polly Wolly and her doodle
Waddled arm in arm merrily away
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
sublime
luminous
strum
showering
poppies and poodles
puppies and puddles
seeping
surreptiously,
stepping
starlight
into my soul
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 3:34 PM UTC
Footsteps should feel like rose petals, velvet and red,
when you’re not soft enough
I can hear you approaching
wearing your father’s shoes. They used to clunk around as you walked;
they used to be too big.
Now they fit.
I know I shouldn’t hold you without arms,
but I am too in love with this
and it’s getting to my head faster than the things you say when we're falling asleep.
I’m telling you about things I felt
because you asked if they were real feelings or simply colors
and I don’t have an answer yet but it’s coming to me.
Now,
about last night
I only cried because you said you were afraid
and my heart goes out to you:
the only thing you have to fear is your mind.
I made a new color today.
I thought I would be able to tell you more
but isn’t that always the case
filed and boxed and put on a shelf because no one bothered to look close enough
or pay their bills.
I wasn’t going to say it,
but I saw a heart hiding under your bed and I think it’s mine
don’t keep it too long
don’t think I’ve forgotten it
Sometimes I think I won’t ever be enough
and that you won’t ever realize it
so, so sorry.
(Too bad you’d never experiment)
I’m always speaking but I’m never listening
all I want to do is hear your voice
clear
as a glass of water
but I keep putting a spoon in and stirring,
stirring until the water moves so fast that I get ****** in
half asleep and dreaming, forgetting the meaning
of oxygen.
I guess I was trying to show you something you couldn’t see
just like time—
there’s more of it than you think.
You watch me closely but you forget
blinks;
you forget the ripples in a pond.
Before you know it, dinner will be over
I’ll be full, and you’ll be wondering where
my appetite came from.
Didn’t you know?
I’ve been hungry for years.
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 1:38 AM UTC
There are crafts of countless drafts on this blank page,
accounts of my days of happiness or rage are on this blank page,
hinted goals and affirmations are blueprinted on this blank page,
look and you shall find that my mind roars it's thoughts unfiltered on this blank page,
Behold a story begins to unfold on this blank page.
Ink jives it's hips, thrives in it's own motions and clicks it's fingers in rhythm to the writers melody that lingers,
In order to transcribe what you're trying to describe to the mass of one or many on this blank page,
Sentences are redacted,
subtracted from the line of sight equating to something that now means nothing,
Why?
It could be a mistake,
a misfire of the message I attempted to make,
thinking I had it locked and loaded,
Ready to shoot it across this blank page,
Or...
It could be that I find it unnecessary to reveal deep parts of me,
So...
I become hell bent on destroying any trace that may possibly leave my scent in this blank page,
The land of doodles,
far and wide is it's reach,
with the population consisting of ...
stick-mankind,
Talking poodles,
Confetti filled with noodles,
Whatever you can think of is there in this blank page.
On this blank page I stare deep into it's void and wonder....
What shall we do today ?
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 4:38 AM UTC
I stopped at a run down Diner one day,
on the menu were dishes I couldn't even say;
I asked the Waitress, "What do you suggest,"
"Poodles and Noodles, it one of our best."
~
"I need a minute, could you give me a few,
I can't decide on what I will choose;"
"That's fine sir, but the soup of the day,
is pickled Grasshoppers, on a bed of hay."
~
My stomach did flip-flops, as she walked away,
but I decided I'd try something new, anyway;
She returned shortly after, with a large Menu,
"I'll try number 4, the Baked Possum Stew.
~
How fresh is this dish, did you catch it today,"
"This morning our cooks scraped it off the Highway;"
I waited patiently for my meal to arrive,
hoping that after this, I would survive.
~
It wasn't half bad, if I say so myself,
so I paid the bill, left the tip on the shelf;
I decided that if I ate there again,
I'd bring one of my very best friends.
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 10:28 PM UTC
She's lying on an old gray rug beside the kitchen table
Head gently resting on her paws,
Eyes watching me by the kitchen door.
"No tail wag this morning?"
I ask, and move to kneel beside my Callie,
Lay a gentle hand on her curly brow,
A pat for my old friend,
Who lifts her head and sets her quiet jaw upon my arm.
Standard poodles seldom sit for long,
But Callie's been here all night now for near a month...
Stays motionless, except her eyes and lifted head.
This morning my old friend attempts to rise...
She shakes a little and I see the sadness in her eyes.
A thousand times we've left together,
Headed to the barn in any weather;
She's ridden shotgun on the pickup seat,
And shared the ride and anything I had to eat.
The suture's long and tight along the leg.
The tumor's gone, but cancer has a way
Of reappearing in another place
In old dogs and old men tiring in their race
Against the gods of time and space.
"I'll be back soon, old girl," I say
And rise to start the choring day,
And Callie, good girl that she is,
Attempts to follow to the door,
Until my wife arrives to lead her
Back to her warm spot beside the table.
Mortality and love are on my mind
As the bitter January wind hits hard.
The cows are bawling at the barn,
And I have tanks of ice to break,
And buckets full of feed to haul...
Must be the dust that hurts me after all these years,
Or else I can't account for all these tears.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
*
early morning
every one works
to make the land
more beautiful
sprinklers sing
water jumping
up in the air
birds grooming
their songs
elderly women
with rolls walking
their poodles
old pick up trucks
filled with new
flowers to plant
slowly driving by
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 12:33 PM UTC
They are the sky.
I am the earth.
They are taxi rides.
I am a river rushing.
They are eyes glued to a screen
when their companions long for real conversations.
I am the wind in silence.
They are piss-coloured beer.
I am black coffee and stout.
They are cell phone towers.
I am the stars.
They are poodles on leashes.
I am the lone wolf.
They are elevator rides.
I am off the beaten path.
They have forgotten their roots.
I am plugging in.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 6:59 AM UTC
Yicketty Yack his loaded knuckles snap
with each invasive step he takes
towards bringing the daisies back.
Like a Gorilla dragging a bag of prolific
back up to the front of the line like,
"Look here, Mom, we made it this time!"
Young blood bloated dumb,
can't you hear them humble drums
droning on from the swampy slums?
Here we are! Final Stop! The point where four corners of the earth converge in preparation of the coming plunder.
It's a wonder for the poodles to ponder.
But why bother when every ounce of effort conjured turns into cannon fodder for those pesky mammoths ripe with Karma?
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC
Poodles are sweetest of dogs
Once i have a cute poodle,
O' my very own poodle
Darling-- i owned him for a
Long time, Until
Early one day--- oops
Suddenly he was broken
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 4:57 PM UTC
Baby feet
like sugarplum gumdrops
Covered in sweetness
Only the tongue can describe
Enveloped in intrinsic tenderness
It can’t help but commit-
Akin to the kind of touch a mother holds
Her precious children with
Plush plush plush
Fluffy poodles and the smile of the old lady who sells
Candied strawberries on the street
Drizzled around the eyes of a kind maiden
Laden with tumultuous softness
That always welcomes embrace
With honey trapped in dimples
Skin smooth and supple
I sneak a nibble,
Sly and delicious
Simply nutritious
To my soul,
As it seeks this aura everywhere.
This does not mean
Weakness.
This can withstand
A million and one falls.
The echoing ripples of circles
In the pond of teardrops
Reserved for the world
And everyone in it
Seems to scan for you in a hopeful distance
Permeating constantly…
I’m merely a timid girl
Who fears rigidity and barriers
Desperate for a haven
Of feathers
Of warm rotund flesh
To retreat my head in
No matter how hard
I rub it the wrong way
It will never catch flame
And anger skips straight to a pensive forgiveness
That will continue to love and be my friend
Forevermore
For we do not keep scores
And we treasure scars
Silly enough to pick at scabs playfully
Taking the new ruggedness
Regarding it still:
Soft.
Plentiful,
With the mark of experience.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 5:45 AM UTC
It's an insult to me
to be
decommissioned
tagged as
useless machinery.
I remember when
men weren't machinery men
they were supermen,
craftsmen
carpenters and
draughtsmen.
They built this Empire and
kept it going,
little knowing that they'd be
going too.
You scoff because you don't know,
you were never there at the dawn.
What do we have now?
pink poodles
Chinese and noodles
robots that know not
and what do we do?
easy
I write love
one hundred and nine times between
the lines on my face,
botox?
toxic,
someone
give me an ice pick
patch me into some voltage
and be quick.
Banner.
**** it anyway
I've had my day and seen more than
you'll ever see, look forever and you'll
see no stars and stripes,
you'll see baby wipes and feel
strangled by the star spangled,
but it's anti this or don't kiss me
goodbye
however hard that you try
you
will never see what I've been through,
up to, into,
cue violins
some Havana slims
a pitcher of gin and
let the music begin.
It's still an insult
the result is the same
I am substituted and
out of the game.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
To old age, and hefty time that laid upon your shoulders my dear friend. Your eyes illustrate circus poodles falling from high wire, into the arms of a performer in pleated sequenced dress of silver with a smile of a clever alligator.
Although your bones deteriorate and your blood grows thicker as you tipple your nights into slumber, your brain remains a fetus, music keep the heart at drumming pulsation. you cradle your very heart, when you close your eyes. To keep the spirit alive.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
Over thirty thousand years ago a pregnant she-wolf
And her mate lay hidden in the grass
Watching some of our human ancestors
Hunt with spears, bows and arrows.
They were very impressed
But more than that so hungry
That they followed those humans home
Hoping to steal some meat.
They were just about to ****** that food
When a humans appeared
All around them.
They were caught!
All they could do was look up with pleading eyes:
“Please don’t **** us! We just want food.”
Seeing one of them was heavily pregnant
Those humans presumed them starving
And threw them meat
Then let them go!
Hungry again, they went back for more
And the humans fed them
And even stroked them.
This was so much better
Than having to search for prey
So often without reward.
And as time passed they took to accompanying these humans
On their hunts
Then ferreting out some prey for them to shoot
Rounding animals up
And retrieving those shot down by arrows.
Soon the rest of their pack joined them
And the female wolf had her pups
Near the human camp
Where it was safe.
She taught her pups
To plead for food and care
With their eyes and whines.
Those wolves remained forever,
Generation after generation
Each litter getting cuter
And softer
And more loving
Towards mankind.
And so they evolved
Into a seemingly endless variety
Of “Dogs”.
From Rottweilers to tiny Poodles,
German Shepherds and Collies to Chihuahuas.
They became known as “Man’s Best Friend”,
Showing us unconditional Love
And loyalty:
A bond like no other.
Even evolving raised eyebrows
And deeply sad eyes
To attract our love and care.
Domesticating themselves
Yet begging the question
Who is really “the master”?
My money is on
Them.
Paul Butters
© PB 20\3\2021.
Mar 20, 2021
Mar 20, 2021 at 8:04 AM UTC
It looks like I'll never get my hands on those obliques. He walked out of my sights and into a steel press; I have had dreams straddling a lathe, ************ with anything I could find because my hands were borrowed late at night by a phony jesus. I wish, ultimately, that I was still a waitress living in a tiny trailer with two toy poodles; nails hot pink, bathtub shrine to flame, a psuedo dictator/drug lord. I could have touched him then, then nobody held my fingers to the slider, to the faucet. Better, though, to do better. A block of ice for my heat, and fiction. He wrote fiction. A sensible person would understand when I say shipwreck, my bled, my bed. Like wakoski-sex obsessed; shoulders and ribs instead of leather boots, mustaches. What nonfiction breadth, and seams. My teeth have ridges, says any spelunker thinking of oral. Its scary when disease settles in. Thats scary, making me sliver next to this scenic route, this ship-width. I'm sure I won't remember him tomorrow.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
.
Foam at the mouth
And breath becomes shallow
For Water is mortar,
To the man of the cowl
Shall I'll spin you a tale
of the knight of great might and
Of he who fights evil and villains of fright
On ,one fateful eave much like most others
The captain of batnis
Found he and his druthers
So
Took to the sky
In seek of his prey
The usual crooks
He fights everyday
But this battle is solo
As he is alone
Robins got bird flue
And is roosting at home
So muster did he
Gotham's great goul
Saw a shuffle of poodles
In a battle most cruel
An easy resolve
For this billionaire fool
The champion of right
And Harvey dents tool
And funny for he
who takes to the air
Would fly to a roof
Of dogs in despair
For wise is it not
When signs are unread
That said
hasmat, caution
Or end up most dead
But
Never of him
For the cat ******* bat
never retreats From simple a spat
But caution was missed
With that I'll gotten ******
Fogged his good senses
And made him less a match
For the black knight had blue *****
And saw not ,
the plot hatch
Of the bird of Ill flight
And jester of king
Road roughshod around him
And traps did they spring
On landing he slipped
And did finally see
That he landed smack dab
At the.
C
D
And
C
And oh with his logic
His ego did ****
For did appear
A crazed, snarling mutt
With a maddening sneer
And unsnipped of nut
For Distemper the mentor for mangy the mutt
He has
no vaccine
And dogs always bite
And survival one bitten is so very slight
So the tables are set for the guano
Fueled duel
With mankind's best friend
That kills with his drool
Chapter 1 the bat and the hydrophobic hound
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC