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Grace Echols Aug 2015
Pugs need hugs
Pugs  need buds
Pugs need Ugs
Old Deuteronomy’s lived a long time;
He’s a Cat who has lived many lives in succession.
He was famous in proverb and famous in rhyme
A long while before Queen Victoria’s accession.
Old Deuteronomy’s buried nine wives
And more—I am tempted to say, ninety-nine;
And his numerous progeny prospers and thrives
And the village is proud of him in his decline.
At the sight of that placid and bland physiognomy,
When he sits in the sun on the vicarage wall,
The Oldest Inhabitant croaks: “Well, of all …
Things… Can it be … really! … No!… Yes!…
**! hi!
Oh, my eye!
My mind may be wandering, but I confess
I believe it is Old Deuteronomy!”

Old Deuteronomy sits in the street,
He sits in the High Street on market day;
The bullocks may bellow, the sheep they may bleat,
But the dogs and the herdsmen will turn them away.
The cars and the lorries run over the kerb,
And the villagers put up a notice: ROAD CLOSED—
So that nothing untoward may chance to distrub
Deuteronomy’s rest when he feels so disposed
Or when he’s engaged in domestic economy:
And the Oldest Inhabitant croaks: “Well, of all …
Things… Can it be … really! … No!… Yes!…
**! hi!
Oh, my eye!
My sight’s unreliable, but I can guess
That the cause of the trouble is Old Deuteronomy!”

Old Deuteronomy lies on the floor
Of the Fox and French Horn for his afternoon sleep;
And when the men say: “There’s just time for one more,”
Then the landlady from her back parlour will peep
And say: “New then, out you go, by the back door,
For Old Deuteronomy mustn’t be woken—

I’ll have the police if there’s any uproar”—
And out they all shuffle, without a word spoken.
The digestive repose of that feline’s gastronomy
Must never be broken, whatever befall:
And the Oldest Inhabitant croaks: “Well, of all …
Things… Can it be … really! … No!… Yes!…
**! hi!
Oh, my eye!
My legs may be tottery, I must go slow
And be careful of Old Deuteronomy!”

Of the awefull battle of the Pekes and the Pollicles:
together with some account of the participation of the
     Pugs and the Poms, and the intervention of the Great
     Rumpuscat

The Pekes and the Pollicles, everyone knows,
Are proud and implacable passionate foes;
It is always the same, wherever one goes.
And the Pugs and the Poms, although most people say
That they do not like fighting, yet once in a way,
They will now and again join in to the fray
And they
Bark bark bark bark
Bark bark BARK BARK
Until you can hear them all over the Park.

Now on the occasion of which I shall speak
Almost nothing had happened for nearly a week
(And that’s a long time for a Pol or a Peke).
The big Police Dog was away from his beat—
I don’t know the reason, but most people think
He’d slipped into the Wellington Arms for a drink—
And no one at all was about on the street
When a Peke and a Pollicle happened to meet.
They did not advance, or exactly retreat,
But they glared at each other, and scraped their hind
     feet,
And they started to
Bark bark bark bark
Bark bark BARK BARK
Until you can hear them all over the Park.

Now the Peke, although people may say what they please,
Is no British Dog, but a Heathen Chinese.
And so all the Pekes, when they heard the uproar,
Some came to the window, some came to the door;
There were surely a dozen, more likely a score.
And together they started to grumble and wheeze
In their huffery-snuffery Heathen Chinese.
But a terrible din is what Pollicles like,
For your Pollicle Dog is a dour Yorkshire tyke,
And his braw Scottish cousins are snappers and biters,
And every dog-jack of them notable fighters;
And so they stepped out, with their pipers in order,
Playing When the Blue Bonnets Came Over the Border.
Then the Pugs and the Poms held no longer aloof,
But some from the balcony, some from the roof,
Joined in
To the din
With a
Bark bark bark bark
Bark bark BARK BARK
Until you can hear them all over the Park.

Now when these bold heroes together assembled,
That traffic all stopped, and the Underground trembled,
And some of the neighbours were so much afraid
That they started to ring up the Fire Brigade.
When suddenly, up from a small basement flat,
Why who should stalk out but the GREAT RUMPUSCAT.
His eyes were like fireballs fearfully blazing,
He gave a great yawn, and his jaws were amazing;
And when he looked out through the bars of the area,
You never saw anything fiercer or hairier.
And what with the glare of his eyes and his yawning,
The Pekes and the Pollicles quickly took warning.
He looked at the sky and he gave a great leap—
And they every last one of them scattered like sheep.

And when the Police Dog returned to his beat,
There wasn’t a single one left in the street.
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?
Ema Sep 2020
One leg up
hand resting
I'm scribbling ideas
to help me fall asleep.
I like tall buildings
and lots of concrete

One leg up
while walking in the city
still
faces in weird spaces
move
my gait, not that pretty
look!
four pugs on a chain
city cerberus
concrete keeper
perpetual eater
grim reaper
shh

One leg up
on a concrete world
that idea spilled
like a cup
coffee
on the floor
my mind
sleep
Cyril Blythe Jun 2013
Grumble

Of pugs. Or old men. Correlates to the grouping
of wrinkles: smile lines (down) whiskers (up). Synonymous to a gaggle of geese. Or women.
A grumbleman steps on the Pug's tail
and a passing girl hears
a crack, yelp, ****. She turns to help
but the grumbleman is gone and the pug
with him. She wonders why her neighbor's car
is still at her Mom's house? Why her Mom
wants to be called Veronica not Mary. One night she dreamed Veronica dancing on their roof
in the rain holding tight to an old red picture whispering to a woman on the lawn dancing
dry in white. She tried to call out to Veronica
she saw her slipping, but when she touched her lips
She felt them sewn shut with coarse, wet thread. Veronica turned and flew to her, to the window, grabbing her hands forcing fingers to feel
the brail graven into her Mother's giggling teeth that read, Don't look, your father will be bleeding soon. She awoke and her window was bound
in greased black leather. The floor ashen. Her lips still sewn
shut.

Anne stood,
picked out her fathers bones
Veronica had sewn into her
pillowcase
and
she
danced.
Lynda Robson Jun 2016
I have become a gran again,
To a special girl,
Shes's got warts on her face,
And a squashed-up nose,
And she trots at a fast pace.
She's cute and she's brown,
Apricot to be correct..
I love her so much
Even when she's being greedy,
Which is most of the time
But we keep her in line
As pugs tend to go fat..
And we don't want that,
I find it a joy
To have her stay,
My cat isn't impressed
And does her best
To ignore Peggy the pug,
I hope one day
They will be friends,
As I care for them both,
The love from a pet
Is unconditional,
Their loyalty knows no bounds
To stroke a pet is therapy they say
I know being with Peggy makes my day
I never knew much about pugs until my daughter got one, and they are the most lovely dogs ever.
sarah bell Jan 2015
he likes neck kisses and being called "sweetheart."
he drinks milk when he eats peanut butter,
offer to pour it for him.
he loves pugs and his dog, ******.
if you're not best friends with ****** by the first month,
you're doing something wrong.
when he tells you you're beautiful,
it is easier to just agree.
when he takes you home,
allow plenty of time to say goodnight (he takes forever).
he hates crunchy peanut butter.  
he'll give you his jackets and hug you until you stop crying.
if you watch lord of the rings with him, bring kleenex.
know and understand star wars references or you're *******.
he is an incredible writer.
he'll buy you lots of things for christmas,
do not try to compensate.

if he isn't the best boyfriend you've ever had,
you're not giving him enough credit.
love him, he deserves it.

and i kinda hope you never exist,
because i'm not done loving him yet
and i don't think i ever will be.
As pure as a dew drop on a rose petal
though colored like a bird of paradise
as soft as the *** of a newborn
but tough as nails of another mettle
such is the charm of my new friend

As light as a fleet footed furry fox
but boy! She fights like an enraged ox
As cute as a hovering hummingbird
though wizened like wrinkled old grandpops
such a pretty picture is my new friend

As disarming as a tub full of puppy pugs
though she swears more than a grimy ****
As lovely as a lily in full bloom
Yet scarred by the world's inner gloom
Such a darling is my new friend

With her eyes riveted to the stars
armed with love, and a smile
she fights a million wars
for the minds of the world's rank and file
to set them free, let them see
the light in her eyes, what makes her come alive.
Such a treasure is my friend
sarah nugent Jul 2012
kiss me on the mouth, on the
way to the elevators, with
everyone all too close, and my
heart pounding.
squeeze my hand and tell me
I'm yours and we'll run to the
Hudson through the slush and
watch the barges roll by.
our breath will be Dragon's fire,
and our hearts in our throats, and
I'll be so happy I won't say a
word.
we'll stay up all night watching
the lights in Hoboken,
sharing a forty
and
talking about pugs, broken mugs and
mice; climbing, metal bands and some
story you heard on NPR; your twin brother
and sister Patty, and I'll shut you up for
telling me the same story for the tenth time and
invite myself back to your place,
shut the lights off, and cuddle
with you all night.
Sam Temple Aug 2014
lasing fallacies
facilitated by flunkies
fictionalizing facts
for freedom
re-done interiors
inferior to craftsmanship of old
offer glimpses into consciousness
of the common folk
squandering birthrights
for a burger richer in trans fat
and bacon flavoring
atop an evangelical spire
I peer into soulless zombies
seeking connection
with my kin
only to have reality slap me back
as wolves are kin to pugs
but they cannot coexist
storm clouds gather
night falls
tears drop
I am alone
bone dry dust bowl
harboring fuchsia scorch marks
landscape scars
fracking remnants
humanity’s blight
my line of sight tracks trite sprites
pixie wings and bath salts
eating dog faces for jesus
or worse
feces
out of hunger
horrified I recoil to a safe spot within
again
with old friends
in the din
I win
Mitchell Mar 2014
IV.
We walk down Steiner street after we eat. The food was decent. Not worth the price, but good enough where we didn't have to talk about it afterward. Olivia was nice to look at. I liked the way her upper thighs rubbed together as she walked. That was something I noticed but said nothing of to him. Her silhouette in the window was shaped like a fresh picked pear. And that smile. I could sit there and drink water with lemon and order nothing all day and just look at that smile. I would have to go back. She was beautiful and I wish I'd never met her the way I did. Not that it wasn't a romantic kind of way, but to order from someone you admire is a kind of awkward thing. It puts one in an uncomfortable position. You want to take that person out of their place and put them into someplace better. Who am I to judge? Maybe she enjoys it there. He didn't seem to show any signs of care or wear.
We continued to walk down Steiner until we passed over Lombard street. The traffic was already thick with cars and their horns. A hummer, lazy and rolling, has a driver inside with thick black sunglasses and all the windows down. It's not even very hot yet. The music inside is loud and is a mix of rap and mariachis. After we cross the street, I notice a pizza place standing on the corner and a long line is coming out of it. It looked very busy for being so early in the morning. It is only 11:15. He looks at the line too, but says nothing. He's been very quiet and moves with very light footsteps. I hope nothing is wrong.
"Jesus," I say, "Look at that place." I point at the pizza joint.
He nods, "Who needs pizza at a time like this? It's so early."
"It is Saturday," I shrug, "All bets are off."
"They'll be in bed by 1, guaranteed."
We cross chestnut street, which is bustling with people already. A few joggers **** by us as we pass a pair of miniature pugs. Their tongues are both out, dangling like a worm on a hook. In front of us, two women walk in their skin tight yoga pants and I force myself to look away. Too tempting. I can see every curve. He sees them to and steals a few glances, pretending he's looking at a parking sign or the details of a lime green Prius parked next to a fire hydrant. There are many people out and I wonder where they all came from and why they are all up so early. I wonder the same of myself and shut up.
I stop. "You ever eaten there?" I ask, pointing to a hole in the wall taco stand. It's closed, but we can both see the chefs and front of house people moving around inside getting ready for the lunch rush. "Their best is the fish taco with freshly picked cilantro, some kind of spicy, thousand island, grilled red onions, and lime on the side. Very good."
"I'll have to go there the next time I'm in the city," he says.
"Definitely," I say, "The next time you're in, we'll go there."
I ask myself what I'm really doing here in my head. Not out loud. I don't hear an answer, so I try again. You want to talk to him about the phone call. Why? Because she called you and he knows that she called you and you two haven't once spoken about it since. Can't it just be one of those unspoken things where we both know what happened and never talk about it? Sure, it could be. You could leave it in the dirt and let it rot there like a dead rat, molding and boiling in the sun for another little rat to come along and eat it. That's graphic and grotesque. Well, it's what I see. You see a lot of things. Yes I do. Well, that is a very graphic thing to see that perhaps is not really even that big of a deal. It sounded like a big deal to her when she called you. I don't want to get involved. That's fine. They have their own problems just like I have my own problems. I can respect that, but it wouldn't hurt to say something. What will he do? Get offended or something that you picked up her phone call? You didn't have any choice after you picked up the phone. She started weeping and bawling hysterically. What would it look like if you just hung up on her?Yeah, you are right. That would've looked pretty bad. Very bad. Alright, I'll say something. Thanks. Thank me later. When then? Later.
At the ocean front, we sit on a bench and look out at the water. The waves rise, peak, froth, and fall reflecting the sunlight in their marble surface. A gull passes over us and squeals. It startles me, the little ******. I look up and catch a glance into its blank, black eyes. Their brains are the size of peas. Did you know that? He doesn't notice me jump. He is looking out at the water, silent. There's something powerful in not feeling the need to say anything and wading in true silence. It takes a certain amount of vulnerability, humility, and ***** to sit with another and admit that sometimes there just isn't a **** thing to say.
"She called me two weeks ago," I say.
"I know," he says, like there's no more words that need to be said.
"I called you also, but you didn't pick and didn't return my call."
"I know," he says again.
A female jogger passes by us in those skin tight, jet black yoga pants and we both steal a glance. Her **** is so firm it barely bounces as she runs.
"I don't see you guys that often," I tell him, "I don't need to get involved."
"She called you," he sighs, looking at me, "So she got you involved and I really wished she hadn't."
"I see that," I nod, "I don't like people getting in my **** either."
He turns his head side to side, stretching his neck, trying to crack it. I can tell he's getting nervous. I can sense it. Something gets released into the air when someone starts feeling like that. Some people call it tension or anxiety or some fancy name, but there isn't one. It's a feeling and he was feeling it everywhere.
"We're fine," he says, "We're actually doing better than we were."
"I don't need to know what's going on with you guys. She called me and just didn't know where you were. Naturally, I got worried about where you were because you're my friend."
He turns his hands face up. They are resting on his thighs. He opens and closes them, staring into his own palms. His breathing is short, silent and his eyes very soft, yet focused. There has always been something array with him and he knows and I know, really everyone knows it, but what this it is is mysterious, unnamed, uncategorized. There are labels that people give other people and he never had one. Not really. None that stuck and stuck. He was always changing. He was too quick.
I get up and walk to the edge of the waterfront. I look down and see the clear, jade blue water lap against the concrete. It slaps lightly against the wall, breaking the reflection of the sun into a million diamonds when it hits. There's no fish I can see, just some driftwood and scattered trash. He comes up beside me, but says nothing. There's no need to say anything. Silence rests in between our shoulders like a birds nest. I don't want to move for fear of dropping the eggs inside. We stand like that for a while.
"You can do whatever the hell you want," I tell him, "I'm just your friend and I would hate to see something happen to you."
"I know," he nods, tightening and relaxing his jaw.
"You have friends in town, not just me. If you need anything though, same with her, I'm always there. I'm always around."
"I appreciate that," he says. He turns to look at me, "I really do."
"It's true. I've known you a long time."
"Same here," he smiles, "I've known you as long as you've known me."
"That's true. That is very true."
"Where to from here?" he asks. He turns away from the water and slides his sunglasses up onto his forehead.
"I don't know the area that well. Let's walk back up and see what we can get into."
He puts out his hand, stopping me, "Thanks Roger."
I take his hand, "You don't have to thank me, but you're welcome."
"It's hard to a find a friend you can truly rely on. Everybody's got their own agendas nowadays."
"Well," I say, "Its part of my agenda for my friends to not do anything ******* stupid. Don't know why, but that's just the way it is."
"That's good," he chuckles, letting go of my hand. We start to walk up the hill and he's still laughing a little to himself, "That's real good."
"Let's get a drink?" I ask.
"Let's get a drink," he says.
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2014
Fishing on a pier
In midsummer haze
With my grandfather,
Out on a misted lake,
The blues of the waters,
Stirring, deepening blues
Of drizzled sky, we baited
Our hooks, lapping waves
Caressed the drowsy pillars
We rode and so, were reminded,
That there is one colour for both
Joy and sadness. Over slow time
Different fish appeared, bass, pike
Trout, hornpout, but mostly the rangy
Perches, scaly pugs of yellow-orange,
Like slabs of weighted, tiered sun, they
Fought on the reel with high crested spine,
A quiet, noble ferocity.

                             Later, moving lethargically
In the grey of our pail, like broken beads
Of water shed from the morning sun,
How I wanted to toss them all back.
In New England, “hornpout” is a local name for a catfish, it is also known as a bullhead, and horned pout.
Coffee’s brewin’! Breakfast’s ready
Logging in to fb news
Screen’s a glowing- click the icon
Hoping I won’t get the blues

Fb login pw stronger
Are there messages for me?
Memories from 2 years ago
Show me how it used to be

Scroll down scroll down, puppy pictures!
Cute and funny photo fare
Type Amen cuz I love Jesus
Share this post to prove I care

Ooo! A test to know my angels
Good to know she’s got my back
What does the color purple mean?
DIY? I can’t do that!

*** Is Donald singing?
Bernie’s busy counting votes!
Hillary is text-deleting
Did you see those dancing goats?

Talking pugs and grumpy kitties
Lol! they’re here to stay!
“T-Rex Tuesday”, “Throwback Thursday”
It’s a Facebook Kind of Day

Ty.  Like and share or 27 kittens will be run over by a truck
" Ok friends, I admit it: I really enjoy Facebook! so this is my tribute to the cliches we have all come to know and love. Feel free to add a stanza or two, have fun!  "
Autumn Sep 2016
Just a few reasons I think we really might work.
Well first because who else will fix your rogue eyebrow hairs?
Because I like your thrifty style, and I'm pretty sure you like mine. Because you scream, "AUTUMN!" like I fell off a cliff when I'm simply "lost" in target.
Because in the morning, when you turn to kiss me, I'm captivated by your sleepy eyes.  
Because you are hilarious, and most of the time know when it's best to be serious. Because I crack up at your relationships with Russians named Andre and Andrew.
Because I swear, you're perfect for me.
Because of your obsession with pugs, and my love for pugs on surfboards. Because you make wooden creatures.
Because we met in creative writing. Because you like to write creatively. Because you like to climb up a specific set of 45 stayers.
Because I'm scared of howler monkeys. Because we have a guardian angel named Calvin. Because you went to Nicaragua and that was brave, daring, and tough.
Because nobody else will do celebrate hands. Because we Skyped for 5 hours.
Because geese we think are swans are so lovable, even at 3 AM. "Tim" "I hear them."
Because you were tardy Tim to ol' chem.
Because you have an adventurous heart.
Because you get it.
Because you like early morning fiestas as much as me. Because you'll turn my head into a biscuit.
Because of how dang good you look on your long-board.
Because you fought for me and now it's my turn to fight for you. Because I know it's truly funny when you laugh so hard there's no noise and I love it. Because sometimes you laugh at me and I don't know why. Because I could stare at you forever and still not believe you're there.
Because we blamed Hisky for being naked. Because Hisky said he thought we were "it"
Because you ran cross country.
Because you love veebs more than me.
Because casio.
Because you have strong opinions about sensory loss. Because you freak out about Thursdays and groundhogs day. Because you enjoy the little things. Because you love mountain biking.
Because you'll dance with me even though I know you don't really like it.
Because if it weren't for my stupid self, we would've conquered long distance.
Because I get sick of everyone else.
Because I could sit in a coffee shop with you all day, even if I never beat you in chess.
Because there's a huge market for corn-dog holders.
Because you believe in ridiculous dreams. Because you like to be ridiculous.
Because you have soft lips and awesome hair.
Because you're different----
Because I fell in love with you, and don't wanna get back up.
To ease the pain of your anti depression
Let me walk you through your first park lesson

Accustom your eyes to autumn’s wonderful display
Leaves of orange, yellow and some even grey

The branches alive with birds dancing around
And the collectors of nuts scurrying about on the ground

The jogger the biker and one man on a ski
The people out walking, the cafe, the hot tea

Winter flower's start to blossom in the sun cold day
A coloured relief from the winter of grey

The bridges, the river, the afternoon tide
The secret garden with their doors open wide

The carvings of seals, beetles and one giant frog
Walkers, walking Lurchers, pugs, and a fast whippet dog

So throw away your anti depressants of glom and pain
Get out doors walking, in the sun, cold, and rain

Let the wind blow through you wash your problems away
A walk in the park will always turn, a grey day
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2014
Fishing on a pier
In midsummer haze
With my grandfather,
Out on a misted lake,
The blues of the waters,
Stirring, deepening blues
Of drizzled sky, we baited
Our hooks, lapping waves
Caressed the drowsy pillars
We rode and so, were reminded,
That there is one colour for both
Joy and sadness. Over slow time
Different fish appeared, bass, pike
Trout, hornpout, but mostly the rangy
Perches, scaly pugs of yellow-orange,
Like slabs of weighted, tiered sun, they
Fought on the reel with high crested spine,
A quiet, noble ferocity.

                             Later, moving lethargically
In the grey of our pail, like broken beads
Of water shed from the morning sun,
How I wanted to toss them all back.
In New England, “hornpout” is a local name for a catfish, it is also known as a bullhead, and horned pout.
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2016
.
Fishing on a pier
In midsummer haze
With my grandfather,
Out on a misted lake,
The blues of the waters,
Stirring, deepening blues
Of drizzled sky, we baited
Our hooks, lapping waves
Caressed the drowsy pillars
We rode and so, were reminded,
That there is one colour for both
Joy and sadness. Over slow time
Different fish appeared, bass, pike
Trout, hornpout, but mostly the rangy
Perches, scaly pugs of yellow-orange,
Like slabs of weighted, tiered sun, they
Fought on the reel with high crested spine,
A quiet, noble ferocity.

                             Later, moving lethargically
In the grey of our pail, like broken beads
Of water shed from the morning sun,
How I wanted to toss them all back.
In New England, “hornpout” is a local name for a catfish, it is also known as a bullhead, and horned pout.
.
mg Feb 2014
He studies her.
She is sitting  just across from him, re reading the same book for the 12th time.
Literally.
She is always finding a new book, and if it was really good, it was all she would talk about. He loves that about her.
The way her long, dark blonde hair contrasted her structured cheek bones. He loves the way that her eyes turn dark green when she cries, and when she’s smiling, the way you can see her small dimples.
He loves the way she wears his shirts around the house.
He loves the way she lights candles, because she thinks the house smells “beautiful.”  

“Babe, do you want some tea?”  he asks, reaching across the table to hold her hand. Her nails are a pastel coral.

He loves the way pink looks on her.

“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.” She says, looking up from her book and smiling at him.

He stood up, and walked over to the white tiled counter that had his Canon on it. He loves taking pictures of her. He prepares the camera.

He notices the way her large white sweater droops over her shoulders, exposing her pale skin. You can almost see through her, like she’s some kind of glass you don’t want to break.

The whole kitchen was completely white.
But it didn’t look weird.

She had put up little drawings of cute things, like pugs, cats, poetry she had written, all in pastel colors. The sun from the window was hitting her face perfectly, and he takes a few pictures. She acknowledges him taking the pictures, and just continues to read. 


“God, you’re beautiful. You know that, right?” He mumbles, while facing the kettle.

“I don’t think beautiful is a word to describe me, baby.” She responds, looking over her shoulder to see him.

She admires the way his curls were wild and rugged when he didn’t brush his hair. Or the way you could see his tattoos through his white shirts, when he wore them. She admires the way he tries to impress her by doing silly things.

She admires the way his dimples show when he gets really excited and happy, and the way his green eyes could make any girl swoon.

Quite often, she thinks about how he could have any girl he wanted, yet he chose her, in all her glory.

m.g.
Robin Carretti May 2018
Who what why
We feel enveloped
Like we were licked
E---Tricked frightened
Secretly eloped
Who do we elect?
Why all signs
Horse, Of course
monkey, Divorce
Tiger Eyes strong heart
This world falling apart
The presidential
minds over
shock waves
surfboard
Or somebody is a great asset
_
The brain waves hand slaves
boardroom
Ready set became
the schoolroom
The study
The speed walker
sturdy built
She had a heart
of a magnet lover

Recharge to be reset (Elect)
Main course subject
lips met to
be picked
when the sun
goes down
electrified
Our sunset

Ms. Marrionette
The trick misery
chair
To be tricked like a
hollyhock around the
ticking sticks
and stones
clock
United Nation
security
council
being spied upon

Mr. Sherlock
holding his
unsharpened
pencil

Pop Eyes poppy flowers*
Sun-lit showers overload of hours
Over the amazing hills of
Ireland my pick
He takes you
the hand like a
stranger in paradise
like a dream lips like
divine shades the taste
cream demitasse

You're sleepwalking
He is Jaywalker
Jack climbs
up pins of the
cactus sting bean-stalk
Being pinned to the
election talk small talk
Moms' crock-***
He's the spacewalk
Taking my arm
Armstrong+
__**
Proud but now its
the forgotten land
Needing a brighter future
(Night owls Neverland)
Nighthawks of
Disneyland bringing

(Ray of sunshine)

The more  I see you
the more I want you
As years go by love talks
The luck of the
Irishman shamrock walks
All pranks
Flinstones of bedrock
Going to the
boardwalk
*

Coney Island Baby,
he is half-cocked
A piece of the rock
More like gridlock
The hat was flying
windy
__City
Cool electric, please
stay calm don't panic
Your face was
the ice puck
Goldilocks Grandmas house
three bears acting like
someone's spouse
Dog of pugs big bark
The lights bright electric
Fell over her porridge dark
Robin red breast bird fly
His Mark cornstalk but why?
The heat intensity
Everlasting
chemistry
no drilling so
hot heat beat
blasting electricity

If I had to
pick something
Let me be well
Crystal ball met me sanity

Your husband has his
toothpicks you
are his lady
dental floss
You're both
better off with
prays of God
Never to be tricked
by the cross
Electricity came a long way but we are still acting like we are from the stick playing pick up sticks throwing rocks I am hanging out by the waves and the sea breeze docks please come join me
Moon Shine May 2015
There's a hole in you
There's a hole I can see right through
There's a hole in everyone else too
They fill it with drugs
They fill it with pugs
They fill it with mugs
But nothing fits
They fall out every time you try to sit
Not even the hole filling kits
But if you run
If you turn right towards the sun
The hole makes a noise that's fun
So won't you run with me
You'll see
You can have holes and still be free
Haylen A Wills Aug 2016
(this is basically talking about the character in the book im writing.
Love ya beef pugs)

Sitting on the beach,
The skies cold and gray,
A girl sings a song all ears can hear,
Strumming a guitar so close and dear.
Standing in a room of nails and cracked stones,
This girl waits ******* and alone,
The guitar she longs to run to.
Head hunched over a table,
Knots all in her hair,
The guitar girl works while peers just stare.
In a house so huge that trees touch the roof and
branches swish and sway,
The girl stands proud with her farther screaming loud
And her brother running away.
On this beach so cold and gray,
She plays music and melts away,
Sings the notes so sweet and true,
Her only way to fight life through.
On a tree so far and wide,
Holding hands with her only guide,
Watching the beach's moving tides,
Holding all her pain in so she won't cry.
Guitar girl winces at her name,
And no one knows why,
She protects her brother all the time,
No expression In her eyes.
Escape the world she always tries,
But you can only run so LONG without stopping.
At this beach she sits alone,the only place she calls home.
Singing songs so deep and true,
Playing a moving and loving tune
With the guitar her dead mother gave her.
There are drugs.
There are pugs.
But my addiction,
Is not fiction.
Technically it is,
Since it's fantasy.
Maybe it's clear,
What my addiction issue to see.
But actually,
It's videogames.
I have a problem,
That requires medical help.
If I even see a videogame,
I will yelp.
Because otherwise I will waste my life away,
And I will not let that happen today.
But maybe I could play for a few minutes...
I have a bad obsession for videogames.  Well, still not as bad as drugs or alcohol!
Kyle Huckins Apr 2018
My hands open as our paths unfold
apart, and behind us, cities unfold.

Two Lycaenidae tear through the lavender field,
whispering new ways for their wings to unfold.

A book dances open, its words staring at the wide-
eyed wonder of woman, watching its truths unfold.

The breath of the ocean lingers, tasting of memories:
ice cream, vinegar, and warmth, as waves unfold.

Cookie dough, melting in the oven. The smell hits
hard, and I wish for the taste, in my mouth, to unfold.

Under plum blossoms, gardens of people cultivate
understanding, allowing their chanting to unfold.

A splash, as the boy is pushed down into water. He
rises, bonded by water, to his God, his faith to unfold.

Three pugs, home from patrolling the boulevard,
resting on their owner's lap, puppy love unfolds.

Our journeys have led to different roads.
My soul opens as our fears unfold.
C Mahood Jun 2018
They're back, They’re back, Were under attack,
The lunar rabbits are out for a snack!
Alert the army, the navy and scrabble the jets,
The rabbits on the moon are down here with nets.
They come armed with cannons with weird purple goo,
They fire brown bullets like moon rabbit poo.
We have to fight back, with our own ***** bombs,
So, Fire the grannies in pink frilly thongs!
If that doesn't scare the big moon bunnies back,
Send in the school teachers, send them in in a pack!
Armed with rulers and dusters and big books of maths,
Throwing questions and fractions and patronizing laughs.

Alert all the animals from around the whole globe,
From the great Megladon to the smallest microbe,
Get the Austrian emu with the horns on its feet,
And the machine gun bees to assemble their fleet.
Call the ninja koalas and the samuari fox,
And rats in the prisons with socks full of rocks.
Ring the axe weilding pugs from Norway’s fjords,
And the peacocks from turkey with tails made from swords
Then maybe we can ride into battle on the back of a beast,
The mysterious king ***** that migrate from the east.
Well almost be ready to hold back the attack then,
I fell for that story once, I will not fall for the same trick again.
When i wrote "Rabbits on the moon" i would read it to my many pupils who loved it and always wanted more. So this is the sequel i suppose? Silly, Ridiculous nonsense!
Breathe and live.
Positive. Inviting every inch of me.
Testing waters.
Chemical inversion
My disturbance. Like a luxury.
So heaven like a tuxedo deal.
**** me see me luckily
Like coming up 7s real
While my stud husband
Cant stop ******* me.
My family jewels.
Tucked away. Dont **** with me.
Money comes so rare.
I swear.
I need to come up.
With a monthly.....
Self replenished
Money tree.....
And dont thinkbasis.
Is creative *** I made
The corners. Of the rug.
A ******* funny place
For pugs to ***.......
Them ugly looking *****
Something similar
To mister Donald Trump.
His ******* junk
Is made dysfunction.
The assumption. Being
Donald's *****.
Is the reason.
Santas fat *** replaced jesus as the meaning of the season.
I should pull meat cleavers.
Pull the lever.
Move the temperature.
To jam rock.
Mary Jane with solidarity. And reach a fever.
And create a religion solely baced on marley vibes. And make Donald first believer.
Launch a soaked ******. At his roster of bodyguards.
And tell himeat it. You big dumb ******* creature.
Back to shadow moves.
Chaotic evil is my breed
Of feature. So ****** feed my need
Or show me fear.
But never show me fakeness.
I'm made for basic. Greatness.
Blame myteacher.
And my leaders
Cant take it here's a spoon.
******* and tell me how it tasted
zebra Apr 2021
there's a  fire in this madhouse of Venus
where unattainable romance gives birth
to cunty darkness and pleading clawish fingers
to obsessions of strange mental constructs
something about blood and tears
birthing black ******* and vampires
with vermillion mouths shaped in circles
that gorge themselves on violent thrusting *****
and ***** resembling mushed faced pugs
just asking for it

a woman's eyes burn like cigarettes
and tongues snake into esophageal
swoon revivals of glorious deliverance
flashing souls flit like street lights
and flames of wraith hair
she begs to be strangled with a black chord
and kissed till her brain blurs fizz

she dances
wigwam wiggle and clutches
like a sliding oyster
licking my *******
**** ***** and ruby ***** 
gagging repeatedly onto the hilting root  
falling into submission
for her dark ******* god Faustian thing
a little doll with mythic eyes 
a ******* wraparound mouthy wigged ***** 
with a baloney-pony disco stick orifice

will you **** me with your **** sir
a dark hunger gnaws deep within
so bleed me merciless
like a gushing artery
make me red dead in love in bed
butter **** and properly spread
pound me like a hell ***** ****** 
in a burning five alarm 
emergency suicide ****
-
i corkscrew her 
into a writhing
murderous wreckage 
as she dissolves under me 
like a sugar cube in hot tea and blood
christened by a magic wand
that forces her round belly 
up and down like a toilet plunger

her ***** drools like runny yolks
a deep homework 
the shamanic decent 
an illusive weighing of the heart 
the sweet meat priestess 
who resuscitates abandoned legends
making my ***** click like castanets 
a Mr. Winkey party
spewing Icelandic yogurt
her teeth rattle
as her brains and one eyeball 
hang off my **** 
like pig trough slobber

her face smiles 
and vomits peaches

there's moon glitter
in your beautiful hair
my darling

God save the kink
first seen in ellesmere with period characters we felt may be best removed.



lucky to have one on my birthday with lights from a battery quite reasonably

priced.



visiting town and gallery see them there are quite a lot. more money as craft.



seems little houses are fashionable now.



as are pugs.



sbm.

— The End —