"terrier" poems
KISSING MR. CHELIDON GOODBYE
Ho...ho. . .oh!
I don't know
if I should be
telling you this.
I was just sweet
as in 16 &
never been kissed
and my *******
hadn't yet arrived
though I prayed and prayed
to a God who did not
heed my girlish plea.
All the girls in my year
had already budded.
******* to the right of me!
Breast to the left of me!
Into the valley of despair
I rode my Raleigh
alas alas
breast-less!
I practiced kissing
by kissing
the you know
inside of
( the whatchamacallit? )
my elbow the
chelidon so called
by an old falling-apart
medical dictionary.
I clipped some hair
from our Yorkshire terrier
stuck it on the crick of
my right elbow
so that it became
my first moustache'd kiss.
And so, was born
my Mr. Chelidon.
Pathetic...yes...I know
but the year after
my bosoms arrived
with a suddenness
that took my breath
away.
I breasting the waves
like a ship's figurehead
as I dived into the sea
a Venus for boys to see.
I was my *******
and my ******* were me.
Somehow I could then not
stopped being kissed.
And once kissed
grew addicted to it.
The bliss of the kiss.
I was my own drug.
I gave Mr. Chelidon
the elbow.
Discovered the joy of boys
inventing various uses
for them
as they
discovered
me.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 5:41 AM UTC
May I present a challenge?
Imagine if you will
You have created a flying explosive device
And it needs a name that will thrill.
A name, a good name, which name?
Well, none of those below.
Some twisted suits have already used them.
**** EVEN Tacit Rainbow.
What really goes through their minds?
As they sit and discuss the name
Of their creation that's destined to ****
Butcher, destroy and maim.
Just try if you can
To read the whole of this edited list
Imagine how many have exploded of each
With out angrily clenching your fist
Little John
Honest John
Hellfire
Matador
HARM
Terrier
Nike-Ajax
Corporal
Sea Sparrow
Redstone
Bullpup
Mace
Nike-Hercules
Regulus II
Atlas
Thor
Lacrosse
Jupiter
Quail
Hawk
Tartar
Falcon
Polaris
Hound Dog
Pershing
Entac
Firebee
Shelduck
Jayhawk
Cardinal
Firefly
Petrel
Redhead/Roadrunner
Redeye
Mauler
Skybolt
Nike Zeus/Spartan
Condor
Phoenix
Typhon MR
Falconer
Overseer
Taurus
Kingfisher
Cardinal
Walleye
Hornet
Maverick
Big Q
Minuteman
Blue Eye
Viper
Firebolt
Bulldog
Harpoon
Focus
Perseus
Firefly
Stinger
Compass Dwell
B-Gull
Agile
Seekbat
Delta Dagger
Thunderbolt[7]
Patriot
Aquila
Teleplane
Streaker
Tomahawk
Firebrand
Roland
Peacekeeper
Penguin
Pave Tiger/Seek Spinner
Sidearm
Skipper
Wasp
Sea Lance
Ripper[7]
Trident II
Midgetman
Tacit Rainbow
Pave Cricket
Have Nap
Peregrine
Exdrone
Javelin
Pointer
Hunter
Coyote
Skeeter
Outlaw
Wow, you're still reading
And you've managed not to throw up.
Just wondering how many innocent victims
Of a tax funded device called Bullpup.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
*running by your side
divinity colliding
sparks my soul anew
©2016janetaylor
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:34 PM UTC
every morning i walk my terrier
through a winding half-mile,
but i think he’s the one walking me:
he’s always in a sprightly haste.
i don’t know how many tail wags
i miss in between slow, drowsy blinks.
elsewhere, the earth is walking her moon,
both zipping around their own usual orbit.
in the city, the suited adults manoeuvre sidewalks,
dispensing brief greetings, sparse on chatter.
punctuality is a battle through suitcase-wielding phalanxes.
overlooking the bustling crossroads, a greyed man sits,
****** from cigar compounding existing inertia.
limbs in inactivity, mind far from monotony,
slowly drifting towards a familiar wraith
in a different hurry: the one for reunion.
i think about us and wish the same.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
Shivering against the cold
Fresh hair cut and she is old-
er
Wire fox terrier off white
plays hard and treats her toys light-
ly
curly lamb to sleek slim cut
demands attention, no if, and or, but
"Pretty me pretty me pet me keep me warm"
She is more than just a pretty face, not a farm-
dog
Curled up close against my leg to ward off the cool chill tonight
She is a companion dog and all her challenges are now my delight.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
He yells at his neighbors
and sometimes my friends
his hygiene is horrible
his breath smells like flem
when I ask him to come over, it turns into a huge affair,
cause he just sits in his lazy-boy chair and stares off into the air
he refuses to cuddle with me on the couch
but suddenly, when in bed, he is not such a grouch
his domestic habits do not exist
if they did, I would not be so ******
but for some reason
I still love him
I have no idea why
that little rat-
terrier, pug mix
**** dog of mine
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 9:59 PM UTC
Carrickfergus (1937) - poem by Louis Macneice.
I was born in Belfast between the mountain and the gantries
To the hooting of lost sirens and the clang of trams;
Thence to Smoky Carrick in County Antrim
Where the bottle-neck harbour collects the mud which jams
The little boats beneath the Norman castle,
The pier shining with lumps of crystal salt;
The Scotch quarter was a line of residential houses
But the Irish quarter was a slum for the blind and halt.
The brook ran yellow from the factory stinking of chlorine,
The yarn mill called it's funeral cry at noon;
Our lights looked over the lough to the lights of Bangor
Under the peacock aura of a drowning moon.
The Norman walled this town against the country
To stop his ears to the yelping of his slave
And built a church in the form of a cross but denoting
The list of Christ on the cross in the angle of the nave.
I was the rectors son, born to the Anglican order,
Banned for ever from the candles of the Irish poor;
The Chichesters knelt in marble at the end of a transept
With ruffs about their necks, their portion sure.
The war came and a huge camp of soldiers
Grew from the ground in sight of our house with long
Dummies hanging from gibbets for bayonet practice
And the sentry's challenge echoing all day long;
A Yorkshire terrier ran in and out by the gate-lodge
Barred to civilians, yapping as if taking affront;
Marching at ease and singing 'Who Killed **** Robin?'
The troops went out by the lodge and off to the Front.
The steamer was camouflaged that took me to England-
Sweat and khaki in the Carlisle train;
I thought that the war would last for ever and sugar
be always rationed and that never again
Would the weekly papers not have photos of sandbags
And my governess not make bandages from moss
And people not have maps above the fireplace
With flags on pins moving across and across-
Across the hawthorn hedge the noise of bugles,
Flares across the night,
Somewhere on the lough was a prison ship for Germans,
A cage across their sight.
I went to school in Dorset, the world of parents
Contracted into a puppet world of sons
Far from the mill girls, the smell of porter, the salt-mines
And the soldiers with their guns.
Louis Macneice
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
I'm at a road block,
While the clock went tick-tock
This one here is a fighter
He sets fire, easy like a lighter
Grabbed hold of that metal tight,
Not letting go without a fight.
Heavy and heavin'
He lets go to start leavin'
His mind tortures him "Nothing but talk"
Now he's in a head lock
Knees bent, shoulder back
He's a fighter that's back in his groove and sharp as a tack
Bulldozer
He won't go into foreclosure
He never breaks his composure
He'll break through this barrier
Provin to them he ain't no longer a little terrier
But a bull... dozer
And this one here is nothing but a fighter
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 7:41 PM UTC
depression
is not crippling sadness
as most think it is.
well, sometimes.
it is
apathy
most of the time
who cares?
no point.
everything *****
I lost my job today
cried, a little
but I cry about everything.
mainly
apathetic
now I truly have no reason
to ever get out of bed
sure,
I'll look for another
way
to live
but this *****
leaves me with no motivation
no motivation
to apply to colleges,
even though I have
a 3.9 GPA
no motivation
to hang out with friends
even though I am
lonelier than ever
no motivation
to eat food
even though I am
starving
after
I left my now "old work"
I had the impulsive decision
to rescue a dog.
maybe
if I have another creature
to look after
love
feed
I will start
to care for myself, too.
the shelter
made my heart hurt
the kittens
weren't crying
just
sleeping
in their jail cells
uninterested
in life
or their possible new
friend
looking at their possible
rescuer
with disinterest
looking
through their cage
like me.
finnegan
was a terrier mix
a stray
he was whining
licked
my hand
when I reached to him
eight years old
missing
his right eye
life has trampled him
yet he is not hardened
I cried
with him
as I walked him
around the play area
he sniffed everything he could.
curious
investigating
not crying anymore
just happy to be free
from the hell in his cage
he
treated the workers
with affection
like he treated me
with affection
it took awhile
until he came close
and cried while I pat him
climbed in my lap
and cried
I know
buddy
walked him inside.
the woman,
at the counter
looked at me eagerly,
"so?!"
I looked away.
can't
do it
not
today
I'm sorry
him and I
are both looking
for affection
love
a way out of this mess.
but
I can't help him.
no job,
no sure way I can buy him food
buy me food.
I can't
buy a living creature
out of impulse.
he needed security
I cannot provide that
only warmth.
I need to be happy
he cannot provide that
only warmth.
goodbye,
cutie
puller of heartstrings
I promise
someone better than me
will take you away.
not today
lost myself
lost my passion
lost my lust
lost my job
lost
my
soul.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 5:45 PM UTC
Does anyone here know of a canine murderer?
As I urgently need someone to bash the living **** out of
My fat ugly neighbour's disgusting Yorkshire terrier.
Oh Holy God, How I want the little ******* mutt to suffer.
I’d love to see it choking and coughing its head off;
Yorkshire terriers are the most repulsive things since sliced bread,
Yappy, repellent smelly little ***** of malevolent fur.
They only appeal when wriggling feebly at a rope’s end.
Woof! Woof! Woof! Gurgle! Gurgle!
Silence.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
This morning I asked a rose
for a kiss
dew on her petals
tears from my eyes
All the emerald leaves in my garden
are garbed in noir
and Joy the parrot has shrouded herself
with raven feathers
We bow our heads, close our wings in prayer
to honor our dear friend, Sam the Cairn terrier
who gifted us so many, many hours of
sunny, frisky, faithful love and devotion
These memories bring a smile to our countenance
and lift our spirits beyond the temporal horizon
where we can clearly see
beloved Sam playing frisbee with God
running free through Doggy Heaven
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
In the window of the pet shop
four small faces, lost.
Their owners, sick with worry,
want them found at any cost.
A quad of treasured family pets
roaming wild and free,
unmindful of the panic
they’re causing back in Leigh.
A sausage dog called Mini,
sleek and burnished dark.
She’s likely got a little voice
that is more squeak than bark.
Tinks: a sturdy Staffie,
with a plea on Facebook
praying for his safe return
his people beg you “have a look”
“in your sheds and garages,
or in the kids' playhouse.
You never know who could be there
‘cos he’s quiet as a mouse”.
A grumpy Border Terrier,
Underbitten, rough of coat
“Bill: a much loved dog, we miss him”
in shaky letters wrote.
And, last of all, would you believe
Someone’s lost their tortoise!
He’s been in the family since ‘77
(let’s hope he isn’t corpus).
For pets are no mere mortals,
nor fallible as we.
They’re up there on a pedestal,
in anthropomorphic fantasy.
Then one day they disappear,
our soppy hearts turn wretched.
No stick to throw, and if we did
none to go and fetch it.
On centre stage of family life
entangled in our tribe.
No separateness of species,
always by our side.
So if you’re there, or round about
And you should chance to see
Mini, Tinks or Billy
or a tortoise in his mid-thirties.
Tell the little pet shop -
it’s better late than never -
to mend an aching, wretched heart
who thought their best friend gone forever.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
Kindergarten
I don't know if I believe in God,
but I believe in heaven and angels
and the power of the vet,
so I mutter to them
in a sticky panic
when the rubber tire of the
UPS truck
catches your tail,
your midsection,
and irons your round belly
into the sidewalk.
I think this is the day I stop being a dog person.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 1:27 AM UTC
DEDICATED TO THE FAT HIDEOUS BETTY, MY NEIGHBOUR
**Does anyone here know of a good mohel?
As I urgently need someone to circumcise
My neighbour's Yorkshire terrier, canine boil
Needing lancing, joybringing to my eyes.
A kindly mohel simply will not do;
He must lack scruple and human pity;
That hound’s not been bathed for a year or two
So th'event might turn out a bit ******
Yorkshire terriers are of two classes:
The insistent yapping ones we all hate
And the ***** ones with hairy arses;
But both look good nailed to your garden gate.
And he needn't be a mohel either,
Merely someone with a willing cleaver.**
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
What joy to remove the glasses,
both the reflection of midday sun on back of purring Sports Utility
and the deep-cut wrinkles in Mr. Rhyne as he walks pretentious Scottish terrier
blur.
The sun's beams take a drink allowing the world to settle
into a point-blank water color -- lovely, blotchy, tame.
Glasses left in passenger seat, shoes laced, shorts of mesh,
a sweet breeze makes the leaves fall -- leaves I don't see,
but hear, relate.
Knee joints slow to start -- oh to be a cartilage machine --
Trees turn from shadow to canopy to cathedral
as the miles pass, as sweat rivers and empties into my eyes
the vision blurs further.
An elderly couple, I tell by their outline, their faces little more
than dabs of paint, wish me a good afternoon.
A nod acknowledging their passing, a wave to say hello/goodbye
and a thought -- will my knees feel this way forever.
A few miles more, the chalky white of eyes turn blood red
by streaming salt; I see even less.
But under another cathedral of trees, I witness the darkness bend.
Shadows twist -- not humoring the wind -- no, to bring attention
to my thinning shadow, and a question, *is this movement out of respect,
or are the shadows making room for me?*
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC
Shift work nurse, where do you go?
Is it to another ward, to another wound,
that is in need of stitches to be sewn?
Potbellied tarmac man, where do you go?
You’ve left the stove frothing at the lid,
can your couple of quid not wait for lunch?
Gym, mother-of-one, where do you go?
Your son is sat still with a coffee,
whilst you’ve gone to buy another toffee, poppy seed, frothy beverage- surely that’s not fair, is it?
Big-Issue-seller-of-the-precinct, where do you go?
Your Yorkshire Terrier, alone in the South,
is terrified from the traffic, moist at the mouth.
Market stall second-hand book woman, where do you go?
Lines of used literature are waiting to be read,
why have you left them to help your hash-head son on his second come-down of the day?
Shift work nurse and potbellied tarmac man,
big issue seller and gym mother-of-one,
market stall second-hand book woman,
where do you all go?
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
She sent a package
tied in this biege tweed cord.
It turned out to
be a picture of you two
at the lake,
that day it was cold
and she wore that beanie with the flames,
her hair all curly and escaping,
your lips all red and chapped.
A folded note tucked on the inside
of the frame reads:
"I have Connie,
**** you
Love always,
smiley-face,
smiley-face
smiley-face,
smiley-face,
me."
Connie: your/her rat terrier.
You put the picture
in its black frame
on the tv table.
The tweed
you nail
to two spaced planks
on the wall above the tv.
It's like abstract
modernist-expressionist-
constructionist-art.
It's just one string.
A taut cord
of brown tweed.
The black night comes,
over and over,
over and over,
she doesn't return,
but the tweed remains
as taut as a fingernail
or an exposed artery.
Somehow
it's so human and obstinate
that the woven vertebrae
seems to curve minutely
and femininely.
As time passes,
the tweed moves
from beige
to golden
and gravitational.
A call to a friend goes something like this:
"Come over here, I've got this amazing thing on my wall."
The friend, Eric,
calls more friends.
The friends come over,
all piling around this golden tweed
after they've taken stock of the kitchen
and Wild Turkey.
They take turns
plucking it,
thumbing it,
putting their ears to it,
and studying it,
all
at your insistence.
Somebody,
******* Eric,
coughs in the room.
More people begin to cough.
Eric walks up
to the the string,
that is nailed at top
and bottom
on two spaced planks.
Eric gives it a final hard tug,
snapping it like a belt.
the tweed hums and shivers off a few flakes
of dust and amber material.
"I've just wasted five minutes
with this thing,"
Eric says
to the string,
and you.
Eric speaks for the group.
He turns and leaves,
taking the whole group of
twenty
with him.
They trail behind Eric
like a great, long tail
flicking
and knocking things over
in your apartment
out of sheer agitation
on the way out.
The golden gravity subsumes you.
You do not close the door behind them,
you can't even hear their tiny, black voices
as they all clamor into the elevator
and ding.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 11:30 PM UTC
She looks at me with those pitiful eyes
I could give her all the hours of my day
Yet it would never be enough
Skin and bones when I found her
From the pound to high cotton
Her farts are the worst
Eating chicken nachos and rib-eye table scraps
She knows what "No" means
But rarely listens
A true Rebel
Stubborn like me
White and brown silky hair
Like sand on a beach
An innocent face that will melt your heart
This little terrier thinks she's human
And it's all my fault
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
Last night
I walked
With Jesus
My Jewish neighbour's
Ironically named
Yorkshire Terrier
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
TRIXIE...
When your an only child
and have a dog,
that dog becomes your best friend.
My dogs name was Trixie
a little fox terrier
who was as gentle
as a best friend could be.
We would sit underneath
the dining room table
while mom sewed, and
I would dress Trixie up
in baby clothes
and push her around
in my doll buggy.
As a best friend
Trixie just layed there
like she knew she should.
Why should she,
because I talked her into it.
Dogs understand things
more than we realize.
But....
One Christmas Eve
Trixie ate a whole bowl of
chocolate German *** Candy.
Imported from Germany
And....
She lived to wag her tail for us.
that candy had real *** in it.
She wagged her tail, and staggered
as she walked.
Trixie never chewed up things,
or bothered anything,
but...
it was Christmas Eve
and I think that the devil
told her to do it....
My best friend Trixie
lived for many, many years
and they say chocolate can
**** a dog, and certainly
*** didn't seem like it
was made for a dog.
But...
Having Trixie as my best friend
made my childhood days
really fun.
By judy
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 5:29 AM UTC
They thought she'd be Sassy,
You'll read she's no Lassie;
So they chose an Isle,
For kin and kith,
Meaning more than breadth and width;
Henceforth she's called Skye.
She's a dimunitive terrier,
She'll not be a harrier;
She'd fall down the holes
Chasing rabbits and voles,
And never be heard of again.
Too quiet for a guard dog,
In the pack, she's no lead dog;
If she tried herding sheep,
They'd bleat in their sleep,
And the sheep would lay down
For the wolves.
She's no sledder like Buck,
She can't carry a duck,
And certainly no fighter like Fang.
She's no Rin Tin Tin,
Can't run fast like him,
And she's not sleek like Roy Rogers' Bullet.
She won't find a body
Buried under the snow,
And she won't win blue ribbons
At any dog show.
But I'm convinced
By her snuffles
She's well worth the trouuble,
I'll take her out hunting
In the woods
For my truffles.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
Today, I told a butterfly he was God
my eyes followed the magnificent cape
of his orange monarch wings
from September flower to flower
The inquisitive coral throated lizard
leaping over the garden jhoola
listened, awestruck as I announced
with deep conviction
"You're, God too, my friend"
It was time to tell Joy, screeching
at the top of her parrot lungs and
Sam my bright-eyed cairn terrier
the exciting news
I could feel the teal blue heavens,
all the creatures of our earth and
beyond breathing in
absolute pin drop silence
as I filled a glass with water
opened my mouth
and slowly poured
God into God
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 12:07 PM UTC
(Poet’s Note : This poem is the first of two poems on The Nature of Truth)
Truth came from the purest of pure
smell of pine between toes endure
from crystal streams where trout shimmer
like rainbow dreams
from seagulls on wing, willow whisper then sing
deep down Poseidon takes his blue cue anew
She came from violet centres
floating in a bowl she enters
new-borns **** her milk rippling
down sunburnt throats
never forlorn, sailing a boat
Truth swoops her eagles over the Globe
travelling cyberways to hold her laughter
floating from Galactic Sun
Radiant across every gradient smiling
warmest sweet, tiny perfect teeth
gleaming in a tweet !
She came to stroke, sprinkle justice with
joy, transform lies with tears, lifting hearts from holes with bells on her toes
out of dirt, up the stairs eating mushrooms
with dare
breathe in human hair, listening to rolling
drums with care, ******* sweet nectar
She senses through many lenses
Truth comes to give Grace, sweetbreads
shout-outs, petals, stardust, eggs
across ages and aeons from Mercury
Venus and Mars to give answers in
glasses between shells from lagoons
Her breath smells of grass newly cut
exuberant nasturtium and lily in hug
conflicts melt away
Truth in a barn where couples lie
butternut soup on a winter’s table
where fathers laugh with a terrier
in good health, Siamese
purring on a persian rug
Truth completes a circle, opens up
channels joyously
¥
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 6:21 AM UTC
The ball of fur flying across the road,
Barely made it and stubbed a foot and toe,
As the car did not know, never slowed,
Into the bush the juvenile raccoon rolled.
The bumper and glare of headlights in the dark,
Blinded my dog so she did not pull or bark,
I saw it all unfold, told my dog to "walk"
It was after the spot we passed, she went crazy as a lark.
Nose to the ground, like a terrier on a scent,
Told she was late the raccoon had went,
No worse for wear, probably still running hell bent
For home.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC