"spaniel" poems
He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide,
He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside;
He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair,
With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear
He was very poor and humble and content with what he got,
So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot;
Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain,
Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain.
Now the butcher, noble fellow, was a sport beyond belief,
And instead of bringing actions he brought half a shin of beef,
Which he handed on to Fido, who received it as a right
And removed it to the garden, where he buried it at night.
'Twas the means of his undoing, for my wife, who'd stood his friend,
To adopt a slang expression, "went in off the deepest end",
For among the pinks and pansies, the gloxinias and the gorse
He had made an excavation like a graveyard for a horse.
Then we held a consultation which decided on his fate:
'Twas in anger more than sorrow that we led him to the gate,
And we handed him the beef-bone as provision for the day,
Then we opened wide the portal and we told him, "On your way."
8.4k
I imagine if I were a little boy, I'd get a little boy hard on by watching teenage girls buy underwear.
And if I were a little boy, I'd punch my brother so hard he'd start to cry
And I'd die laughing at him,
take back my nerf gun, just for fun in the sun
and I don't get burned
because I haven't had a girlfriend yet.
I think little boys ********** the wrong way for a while
but still smile
because they're ************
Still keeping it secret from mom,
nothing's really wrong, it's the bomb,
but turn up this song
It'd be weird if mom heard all the pokemon names I keep saying to stay hard.
If I were a little boy, I'd be mean to the little girls I like.
Push them off their bikes and get into fist fights
with other boys over toys that aren't even mine.
And I'd keep all my promises by the pinky,
and if we got married under the oak tree
in my backyard, I'd keep you forever
and we could watch goosebumps every night together.
The little boy version of me doesn't get heartbroken
and isn't smokin' anything.
He doesn't get wasted and tasteless,
grab ***** and faces,
screaming about cheating and beating up some guy just to prove he's alive.
His shoes light up
not the headlights of the car that peels out of the bar
angry
not thinking straight, into the house, irate,
to deliver hate, and take out any sons ready to stand up to him.
He doesn't sell drugs,
he gives hugs at thanksgiving
and isn't too strung out to watch an entire disney movie
and would never be caught dead on the streets
shakin' a can for money because his habit's are debilitating and killing him.
He sleeps with one girl, her name is Daisy.
She's a lazy cocker spaniel
and loves him more than you ever will.
He likes cartoons and afternoons playing tag in all front yards
throwing snowballs at cars, going to mars on a swingset
because he's not grown up yet,
and the world hasn't told him what it really thinks about him.
I don't buy underwear in front of little boys.
And it's nothing against them or their little boy friends,
I just don't want me to be another key in the inevitable end
when they try to get into girls *******
instead of heads.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 3:09 PM UTC
I wheel it out, my green and black bicycle
The roads shiny and quiet, the grey skies overcast
I start slow, breathing in the clean morning air
The fragrance of wet leaves and mulch, moss and old trees
I hear the morning song of the birds
And see the blossoms heralding spring
I nod to the old woman walking her spaniel
And notice the beating of my own heart
The rucksack a comforting weight
My breath even and warm in the wintry air
My derriere sore from yesterday’s excesses
The road, glorious, wide, welcoming and endless
Crossing the road, I am struck by the symmetry
Of a lone tree, leafless, bare, proud, naked
And the beauty of an old, stone church
And the wheels of the cycle keep spinning
The roar of traffic on the motorway always a shock
As I adjust, I breathe in the manure
From green fields so vast, flanked by white
And pause to see the muddy, turbulent stream
As I rack up the miles
My heartbeat is a sledgehammer
My legs are on fire
And I feel alive
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 3:38 AM UTC
Folk with the real Scots,
guttural and glorious,
know me for the cushion-mouthed patsy I am
I can no more ape
that lyrical brilliance
than I can do a Grappeli on the fiddle
or tickle the keys Theloniously
And when I see
a lounge-room spaniel
howling feebly at the moon
frustrated wolf-blood
squirting through its scrawny veins
I know
exactly
how it feels.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 4:55 PM UTC
236
If He dissolve—then—there is nothing—more—
Eclipse—at Midnight—
It was dark—before—
Sunset—at Easter—
Blindness—on the Dawn—
Faint Star of Bethlehem—
Gone down!
Would but some God—inform Him—
Or it be too late!
Say—that the pulse just lisps—
The Chariots wait—
Say—that a little life—for His—
Is leaking—red—
His little Spaniel—tell Him!
Will He heed?
2k
It’s a crisp October morning and it is perfect.
My son is nearby digging in the earth for bugs and searching for his new friend Bob the lizard.
I can hear my Boykin spaniel yelping and chasing squirrels in the woods. I am sweeping newly fallen leaves off my front porch and just enjoying all the sounds. The wind is slightly blowing and the sun is warming the dew on the grass. It is the kind of morning where everything seems wonderful even if for just this moment. I am going to fix me a cup of coffee and sit on the swing and enjoy it for just a moment more....❤️
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC
Ive spoken often about my Mollie dog
My constant companion for nearly eleven years
but the wild camping days we shared are gone
She's old like me now and just wants to sleep
And I know that one day soon she wont wake from that sleep
And so I got Megan
A little bundle of wire wool
She chose Wendy and I, not the other way round
Miniture poodle, Jack Russel and cavelier spaniel
what a mixture but so beautiful
She loves everybody and every dog
Will she ever replace the Mollie dog?
Only time will tell
My love for Mollie dog will never fade
But Megan is the future
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 12:56 PM UTC
Upon her back, a smooth mossy boulder rests
An old turtle shell that has not yet lost its aqua blue hue
or the blooming flowers between its cracks
The skin on her slim legs are the color of jean
her feet are soft and padded, much thicker than could be called delicate
they are like puppies feet
the other girl's feet tumble and toddle over one another
clumsy
but she has mastered their bigness
Around her ankles is a woolen strip
creamy white and fluffy
fair and curly like a spaniel's chest
soft as a cloud's skin
her hair is a lion's mane
I have seen it whip and sting when she is angry
but now its floating round her head
in a golden halo
like sun burned wheat
it curves, dips and dives
rippling down her back
blazing
The best part of her
as she turns her head, I catch a glimpse
her eyes
sad, dark moons
fanned with lashes, curling upwards, brushing the lids
they glitter as she moves
If I were to dive into a bottomless pool of chocolate
that still would not be deep enough
If I slid into a smooth black lake rimmed with obsidian stone
that still would not be liquid enough
If I leapt into a ebony panther's fur
that still would not be dark enough
to match those eyes that melt
and freeze
in turn
If there was a golden goose who laid a golden egg
and if a spider delicate as lace spun around it a thin moon dust thread
then placed it inside the black heart of the cruelest duke of old
and took it out after three hundred years
then that might resemble the two scorching molten drops
that were my lovers eyes
--Lily
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
Only two weeks ago it was quiet,
apart from the owls at night.
But now the song thrush has started
his merry, desperate tune,
and a murmuration of starlings
daily pervades the sky.
By day, falls of lambs
spring on grassy banks,
their mothers staring back
at the farmer's straining dog.
At a shout from his master,
he hits the floor,
his wagging tail halts,
pricked ears fall,
but his eyes remain fixed
on the now fleeing flock.
Thistles have clambered out of the ground,
buzzards drift high above.
Now a screeching pheasant takes flight,
my spaniel's footsteps are like
a skimmed stone on the brook -
he tries turning it into a runway.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
Blackine, notre chiot cocker
Blackine, petite boule noire, aux yeux enfoncés, déjà tellement brillants. Tu es entrée dans notre vie après le décès de la cocker Laika, dont nous avions décidé en guise de deuil, de rendre heureuse une nouvelle chienne Cocker. Ton pelage est noir de geai, tu as les dents morbilleuses, et t'efforce de lover ton fin museau dans notre cou. Cette fois ci; nous sommes allés te chercher dans le Gers, cher pays de vallons, de collines, de cocagne et de cockers, Pour te ramener à «La Comtale», ou les terrasses sont au neuvième étage. Ta vitalité surprend l’homme au mitan de sa vie que je suis. J’avais oublié ces fureurs de mordre Et ce goût inlassable de jouer. Tu as vite repéré la porte de l’appartement, et même le bruit de l’ascenseur ne t’effraie plus mais te passionne, tant tu aimes déjà tant sortir. Chère Blackine, tout de noir vêtu, Tu amènes avec toi jeunesse et goût de vivre.
Paul Arrigh
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
In December of '64,
40 years ago,
I was sitting in the Hacienda bar
on the South Side
of things
and here comes this cocker
spaniel looking
************ named
Roosevelt.
This man-man slides
in, slaps Sam Cooke on the juker,
then claps my clock with
a ************* billiards ball.
On the floor ****
tasting tooth..
It was my 33rd birthday,
but as God had-had it,
it was also Roosevelt's.
And that motherfucker-man
had been drinking
bumpy face
and smoking jazz cigarettes
since 10 o'clock
in the morning.
Let's pause. Now. Now.
Now.
Now-you may be asking
yourself what a man like me
did to deserve this disrespect-
(Grins. Sips his drink.)
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 7:46 AM UTC
A young gentlemen named Grant Cragnell
Sought debauchery in Newport Pagnell
He got terribly drunk
Before sharing his bunk
With a ****** and a brown cocker-spaniel
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
Our thoughts of time travel
burnt-up when Junior
sang The Blues.
Foreign creature.
***** voodoo muppet.
His spaniel’s moan,
a call to mud,
digging deep like
“woo-woo-woo”
Smacking the past in the chin,
he dipped a laden lead melon
in a barrel of black molasses.
A slow lowering,
tender sinew slackened.
Unclawed-
the orb traversed his finger tips
nicking his nails on the way earthward.
The black drink parts then
floods back where it once was,
coating the cold round load
as it sank down below
the Mason-Dixon line.
Junior gurgled in slow-mo
dipped his Gibson
and stirred the stew,
made the black brew dribble over
the barrel’s shoulders
and puddle in the thick sticky
corners and cracks of
the Juke’s oak planks.
He fished it out then
-bladaplowplow-
-WHAP!!-
split that melon in half,
no knife, they used the trap,
then Junior took his break
to take a nap
in Baton Rouge.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 4:53 PM UTC
"I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you."
Now you see, I am your spaniel, no matter now much you hurt me, I will always be faithful to you, I will always be yours.
You could break my heart one million times, and it would still rebuild itself to fit you.
I am unworthy of you, but still I am drawn to you.
I am broken, but you can fix me.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
Here is the situation,
As unfortunate as it is,
You no longer have a significant part of my heart.
Once there used to be a time, twice a time, when thoughts
bombarded my mind and chances were they concerned you.
But now my eyes, as reluctant as they are, can see you,
You unintentional enchanter.
You accidental seducer.
You oblivious snarer of infatuated captivation.
You are the alpha of canker blossoms.
You are the epitome of everything that frustrates me.
I used to live in a house where the
Walls were your voice and your face.
A mental institution in which I was never voluntarily admitted.
A house of mirrors in which I couldn’t see myself or anybody else,
My thirst for your infatuation reflected,
Mocking smiles of every kind.
I cried blackened tears that fell to the
Ground and then flew into the sky like
Bleached ravens, like childhood dreams,
So carefully groomed by the mommies and the daddies,
Collapsing into little liquid drops dripping through the desperate holes of a strainer.
I cried because you seemed to find it
Necessary to seek interests in other girls
And never me.
I am not a bruised apple;
I am not a crushed autumn leaf;
I am not a discarded baby blanket;
And I am not unworthy.
So why in god’s oh so deemed holy name
Have you not seen me?
Or maybe you see it right on my face,
Like I’m a displayed canvas as easy to
See as red blushed from a pale, void surface,
And you are just messing with me.
Playing with me
As I am your spaniel and you can treat me as such?
Like I am a doll whose string you pull
And receive a pathetic voice pleading,
Love me love me.
Am I below your standard of interesting?
What could possibly be so wrong with or about me that repulses you?
Not you really, but more your interest in me.
At this moment I am wound tighter with exasperation
More than any moment before.
You will always be a tug of war in my life.
If only I could simply expel you,
The nuisance you are.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 9:04 PM UTC
The first was taken before we ever met.
My sister: curled beneath insulated blankets,
a pink bow vaseline-glued to her bald head,
glassy infant eyes turned in the direction
of a picture of me (red striped shirt, my favorite overalls,
velcro shoes). Mom taped it against the outside
of her incubator; so she would know her big brother
even if I wasn’t allowed to visit her yet.
The second shows the two of us at the back door
of our house on Circle Slope Drive. Her palms and nose
pressed firm against the glass as she peers out at Whitney,
the cocker spaniel who became an outside dog
after knocking her over one too many times. My hands are tucked
under her armpits, and I’m using every ounce of my
three-and-a-half-year-old strength to make sure
she don’t teeter back onto her diaper-cushioned ****
The third, a candid from the family trip to Islamorada.
She and I are walking down the pier, on opposing sides
of Ganga, each holding one of her soft grandma hands.
She was our buffer for those eight days,
and years following the trip. We face the sunrise–
electric pink sky dotted with periwinkle wisps.
Later that day, my sister asked me to come look for seashells
with her; I told her I wished I had a little brother instead.
The final, from my college graduation last May.
My sister and I are laughing in the arboretum.
As excited as I was to never again sit in Hamilton 100
or bubble in a Scantron, I was already missing
eating pho and reading poems, making her matzo ball soup
when her throat hurt, and trekking to the taco truck at 1 am.
Neither of us knew then that I would have this job and this desk
with these four photos, and room for more.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
**The old photograph
bordered with dust
a long gone memory
A childhood of hooded dreams.
The fresh oak tree
now blasted and cleft.
The woods redeeming in ashes
The sky grey with mist
The high pants and sneakers
haven for centigrades,
a **** in boots
Max, the Cocker Spaniel
his strayed legacy on streets.**
**The mood silent
The wind mourning
of old times of photographs**
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 12:35 PM UTC
Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
Went to bed with my mate Nathaniel never ever bothered to read the manual Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
Died last night in a pool of baniel his name is Daniel and he is crazy he is Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
You see Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
Ooh he died and came back to life again
As a chicken for that is his name
Chicken **** Daniel the cocker spaniel
Daniel Daniel the stupid mentally man I know he is suffering and I feel sorry for him
I want to save him from his problems of Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
He watches soccer especially Barcelona he watches the match and if they win
He will play we are the champions really loud
Daniel Daniel the cocker spaniel
He was cool in a sort of a way
Yeah we had fun for this is just a joke to lighten the mood of the cocker spaniel named Daniel
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 5:23 AM UTC
When I dance crazy around my room,
Singing out loud, , just as you do,
My Cocker Spaniel, joins in too,
She is a silly Betty Boo,
The Terrier George, is a different case,
His expression says, oh for ***** sake.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
When you’re feeling melancholy,
take the bus down the road.
Smile at the driver,
look out the window.
Give your seat to Mrs Shay,
She’s always loaded with grocery bags
and you’ll see Yappy,
the spaniel, if it’s a Saturday.
Greet the family going to church
Mary and Elizabeth all knitted out in their Sunday best;
Smile reassuringly at the college kid, who’s sitting for a test.
Ah! There you are! My stop’s not too far, was it?
But you’re no longer feeling melancholy now;
Don’t forget to visit!
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
a wee golden doggie
came to me its tail all waggie
and bit me there and then
that blasted teenie meanie
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
Few memories remain
from when I was Five.
One that does, is still alive.
Her name was Penny,
a copper colored,
old Cocker Spaniel Dog.
Mostly blind, moved only slowly
deep into her last few years.
We lived across the street about
a block from my Grade School.
How she did it I will never know,
but every day when the dismissal bell rang
at 3:00, just outside my class room door,
There all alone, Penny would be,
Her old Sweet face waiting for me.
Like clock work as if she knew
the exact time of day,
she crossed the busy avenue
walked up the street and went
straight to my class room.
After greeting me with a lick or two,
she dutifully walked me home from school.
If a person thinks that a dog
has no real love to give,
I would politely, advisedly say
"Sadly, in this one fact, you are
greatly mistaken."
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC
Granddad had a front room
full of treasures
to your child’s eyes
from paintings of Madonnas
or other holies
to bowls of fruit
filling the room
with that applely smell
and vases
of all colours
and shapes
and only opened up
when Gran opened
the door on the way through
to the lounge
where your granddad sat
or when you managed
to steal a moment alone
while the elders
where busy
you opened the door
and gazed around
the room like
an Aladdin’s cave
the statues of spaniel dogs
or wiry cats
your ears listening
for the voices of the others
from the lower part
of the house
waiting in the doorway
your eyes wide
taking it all in
right down
to the smell of fruit
that filled the room
the half light
the dark shade
where another world
seemed to begin or end
until on hearing
your parent’s voice
or Granddad’s call
echoing along the hall.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 11:30 AM UTC
He walked right into the wooden door
time seemed to stand so still
and then it was as if his life
was presented before him to be relived.
He first saw his beloved parents smiling
and Monty, the cocker spaniel he loved
he saw his grandfather with his snowy-white hair
then his brother stood beside him laughing
as a little boy again, at the gypsy who knocked
at the door and was trying to sell lucky white heather.
He saw his sister and her friend playing cards
in the parlour, and then his friends from school
throwing a rugby ball in his direction to catch.
Suddenly it rushed forward to his adult life
his wife, his children, the fun, and all the pain.
And then it stopped and he passed through the door
but
he never went home again.
©Joe Wilson – In Transit 2014
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 6:29 AM UTC