Tender pats of a grateful mum
Saved from deaths door and sure scorching
The heat and ash were so close to overpowering
When a savior reached out and lifted us to safety....
How can I say thankyou, you are my hero?
I have not words but an overflowing heart
I give what I have....a tender touch
As I wipe the dust from your eyes
**Written about a picture of a mother dog that was rescued along with her pups from a burning
building by a brave fireman. The mother dog licked his face tenderly to say thanks for your help!
Copyright © Doris Culverhouse | Year Posted 2011
Daddy was… I don’t even remember but he wasn’t there
I don’t even remember why you were so angry
I got back home that night and my dog was lying in front of the garage
AT NIGHT in front of the garage!
I dial the keypad to get in the house but the door was locked and you took the key from its place so I couldn’t get in
I rang the doorbell
Knocked on the door
Rang the doorbell
Knocked on the door
But I didn’t make a scene
I carried my dog to the door on the fence, climbed over the fence, let my dog in and looked through the sliding glass door
You were asleep
I’m very happy for everybody that the sliding glass door wasn’t locked
I get inside and noticed you were passed out drunk!
The Grey Goose revealed it all
I kissed my dog goodnight, gave him a treat and BOUNCED
With YOUR keys and YOUR car
I’m so fed up I’m just SO fed up
The Bible says honor thy mother and father it doesn’t mention son and daughter
BOLOGNA if you ask me
NO child begged to be a part of this planet!
What does honor mean anyway?
Webster says merited respect… okay so maybe it’s not bologna!
I canNOT stop replaying my past
You are still here!
You are from the past!
I have let go but when you dig it up and throw it in my face
I pick it back up!
I try to be strong
I really do and EVERYONE notices I’ve made great improvements
You’re one of the people who’s praised me!
I’ve been having these occasional fluttering sensations in my heart for the past few years that I’ve mentioned to you recently
I still haven’t gone to the doctor
Neither of us will forget that time I was crying on the phone to Linnel about the two guys raping my semiconscious body and you busted in my room and said, “I hope your p____ fall’s off”
I can’t forget that time I confided in you about an unusual discharge and you said, “I’m just gonna let you suffer…”
Thanks for eventually taking me to go get tested but why did you have to say that?
I felt bad enough
Very true, Mom, I don’t have any friends…
I’m not even sure if I’m in excellent health and that I’ll make it many more years
Still, while I’m here
I just want to be able to help my people… somehow
Copyright © JustcallMe Britt | Year Posted 2012
A fledgling crow huddled in
the grass beneath the drooling
gazes of my curious dogs.
Its eyes were blue.
And in the tree, its mother screamed
In my hands it lay, gently confused.
Too young to fear me,
it opened its thirsty beak and greedily
swallowed water from a syringe.
And outside the window, its mother screamed.
I scratched its head,
stroked its breast,
and boxed it for its journey
to a refuge for homeless birds.
And, as I carried it to the car,
its mother circled overhead.
Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015
Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
My Mother caring about all five in different ways
Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays
My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John.
music a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !
Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
The music takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "
My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food
the yelling , slamming of doors , tempers Flare , passion
Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?
Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee
No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
the Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .
Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
Excited in Chicago ! seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
Cubs , museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `
Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones ,
scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
~ That is the Family I Love ,
that is the Family I choose to miss ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
Springtime fills the air,
like laughing gas.
(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
are starting to dance.
(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
Confused and intrigued,
with a slight urge to pee.
The father cuts grass,
like a sleepwalker.
(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
A six pack later,
he starts washing his car.
(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.
The mother kneels in dirt,
tending the garden.
(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty. (Figuratively, at least.)
A sunset later,
she cooks family dinner.
(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.
The son plays war games,
dying for fun.
(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
A full pitcher later,
tweaking on sugar,
(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.
The daughter makes a picnic,
inviting her toys.
(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
After the tea time,
she's off picking flowers.
(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)
They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."
(And proceed to stuff their face.)
The dog sits by the boy -
Loyal and true.
(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
he offers to help with the dishes.
(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite. The dog is not surprised.
Bedtime comes soon after.
The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
After tucking them in,
the parents watch TV.
(Or maybe they just dream they do,
sleeping in its glow.)
The dog is changing channels,
looking for a better show.
Confused and intrigued,
he pees on the carpet below.
Copyright © John Taylor | Year Posted 2010
It is just a dog, a common cur
The scabs, the sore upon the eye.
O the rattled temper
And the garbage bins tottering
Under the mischief of its paws.
It is just a dog, a common cur
And more method to it madness
Than man's dumb logic can ressurect.
Life has chewed on its pedigree
It searches, but never eats. Yet ribs stick out
Like bones suck white against the cruel teeth.
He marks each bin with seminal promptness
As if weaving from his heart some memory
Some hope to find again the heated *****
Among the refuse and waste of man's discard
But the rescue mission tears him hard
He finds no trail in the empty sniffs,
Like the joy of her sullen bark
Teasing him to mark the turf anew.
He use to bark at the moon
For always the shadow on the rock of light
Reminded his loneliness
Of the dog catchers coming.
The firs time they came
The truck moving like a hearse at edge of day
His father went without farewell.
The man wore collar and leash
Symbols tyrranical to freedom.
His mother wore none,
Her penury almost left her naked,
Howled at by wind, spat at by rain
She kept her freedom close to her vein.
The dog catchers came again
And his misery is not abated yet;
The pound swallowed up his son
And mother in almost one breath.
The ***** was analgesic afterwards
For pain that dogged a dog.
With her the future had neither chiarscurro
Nor sulking shadows for schoolboys stones
She was tied to the past
Yesterday's joys is tomorrow's anesthetics
Though he had only known today,
Barren now like an empty house
And dreams withering
Shrivelled raisins of hope
Hard as day against the palate.
This dog has no more gate
To wait. Mongrels are not prized.
Perhaps the flies got her,
He heard them singing in his ears
Wingless words. He bit on time
Took a good dose of it,
Anesthetics or analgesics,
The difference is irrelevant now.
Pedigree is nothing without honour,
Love is poison without trust,
A dog's heart
Turns to its master's whip like a child.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
There is no specific appearance attributed
to the horrifying Boogeyman, he may resemble
Windico or diabolic Krampus; these creatures
are spiteful and like to punish only the good kids.
In my childhood he came around and hunted
my longest nights and alone I started to tremble.
The frightening Boogieman was after the young boys,
he was as frightening as ghosts and gave goosy bumps;
he stalked nice kids who tickled their little chubby bear
at home when their mom was busy styling her frizzy hair.
He came around dusk and peaked in laughing to spot
beautiful children doing their homework by lamplight;
with lots of whims on his mind he got ready to act,
but he didn't know that the Bulldog felt no fright.
He pushed the unlocked door and barged in, then every kid
screamed and ran to the bathroom with a face of white wax;
his groan was a thunder, brave mother swung the long ax...
but the ferocious Bulldog attacked him without being afraid.
The Boogeyman looked too confident, but was overcome by bites
and profusely bled on the chicken floor, he was a defeated fiend;
the watchful Bulldog made sure that he didn't get up and opened eyes:
no mercy for such a monster, justice was done by the kids' best friend.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016
Just like football I am trying to reach the goal
Zigzagging down the field of life to keep from getting bowled
It is first down in the morning as that whistle rocks my head
Just a little button hook to get me out of bed
I am tackled within three steps as my son bursts through the door
His sister went long with his mobile phone to even up the score
I coach them how to play together, not to scream and shout
Both are yanked from the game for a personal time out
At ten AM in the second quarter I think I am gaining ground
The dog intercepts a pass by the cat to turn the game around
Racing out the patio door that dog and cat did mesh
It cost the dog a bout in his cage for unnecessary roughness
Halftime brings the team together to analyze performance
After lunch we play again to make good a second chance
The clock winds down with end zone in sight, dinner takes a tumble
An audible I had to call because the cake I fumbled
And finally in quarter four, the game down to the wire
A revelation that no one else could manage this empire
Though touchdowns are sweet in life, one thing I came to know
Sometimes to win the game at hand you only need a field goal
Copyright © Randy Steele | Year Posted 2011
A dog and divorce
I had a dog, a bitch, she loved me. I also had a wife, children Gabriel
and Apple. Apple? I know my wife she wanted to be trendy. We lived
downtown at a place that had been gentrified. When twins were six
my wife divorced me, ok; she got the house, car, twins and the dog.
I had to take a bus to work, which happened to drive passed her house.
Dog saw me and followed the bus. At work she sat outside, refused
to leave, I took her in she curled by my desk. Called my ex, she came,
picked up the dog. The next week dog was waiting outside my office.
One day, she wasn’t there nor the next days. Called the ex: is dog ok?
“I took her to the vet, she was jumpy it was best for her. This upset me.
My ex didn’t want me to see the twins, put many barriers in the way,
I gave up. Twenty years later she died, after the funeral the twins asked
why I never saw them? I told them, your mother didn’t want me too.
They thought I should have tried more. They were right, I didn’t care
enough they were too much like their mother it was the dog I missed
a creature that loved me and didn’t treat me like a bloody piggy bank.
Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2011
I’ve got this dog – a mix for sure
Its pedigree is far from pure
Its mother was a mix herself
A Shihtzu - Bichon little elf
Its father was a tramp – a bum
A mix of everything to come
That leaves my dog a unique breed
The kind of dog that no man needs
Because its mother had this fling
My dog’s a Shihtz-On Everything
Copyright © mike dailey | Year Posted 2012
Vivacious, practical, self-directed
Mary Bailey, nice body
it makes no sense that just because George
might never have been she suddenly becomes a shy,
homely, lonely librarian without a dog or god.
No, it did not fundamentally matter
whether George was born except to his mother. Potter
might have taken over but why should the morality
of a whole community decline? As for the ship
going down, if a butterfly in China had fluttered
right instead of left 10,000 years ago
the tragedy would have been entirely averted
in fact the whole war would not have happened!
I pleasure in and treasure
my insignificance. If only
I could be overlooked
by the planning board and IRS.
One false note gives the lie
to the whole premise. God died
but was elected posthumously to the Senate
as for the Big Bang theory, when it
supposedly happened what surrounded that
golf ball of matter and now what
occupies the time beyond the farthest edge of space?
My wife over dinner laughs, says Face
it, you'll never know so stop asking questions.
That is how we must make music, mindful of our extreme
limits, our politics, our complete dependence on the theme
of God as feedback, bifurcation and correction.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015
There’s dog poo on the carpet mum
There’s dog poo in the hall
There’s dog poo in the doorway mum
There’s dog poo on the wall
I don’t know how it got there
I haven’t got a clue
I only know its smelly
And it's even on my shoe.
Copyright © John W Fenn | Year Posted 2009
“Stop that scratching!” she yelled,
As the dog was trying to say something
at the door.
“What do you want from me,
I just sat down,
Could you really want any more?”
“Rough, rough” replied the dog
As he sat and begged,
Though nothing in return.
“What is it boy? Why so nuts?
For what is it do you yearn?”
At that very moment
the dog rose its paws
and turned to look at the cupboard.
In that very second
The elderly woman
Got up and surely muttered,
“Damn dog, always wanting a bone,
I never get any rest!
I can never just sit and relax!
Damn, got up for nothing,
The cupboard is bare!”
Copyright © Michael Degenhardt | Year Posted 2008