I remember the day I picked you,
With your sweet little puppy dog eyes.
For my heart was searching for love too,
When I looked down and heard your soft cries.
Your brothers and sisters were running,
They were after a fallen clothes peg,
But there was a puppy so stunning
Trying hard to get up on my leg.
Four years it has been since that moment
And I thank God daily for his gift
Each day you give me such enjoyment
Your love has given my heart a lift.
Today I know as clear as can be,
I didn’t pick you; rather you picked me.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Your dad, a Dachshund once stuck in Chihuahua.
The best of both in you, with that expectant
Confusing carpets for the lawn enigma.
I know….the raining….getting wet….you can’t.
As coldness chills the room, a sheet for you.
The perfect tucking of in, but you moved!
I ponder, just how crazy is my Boo?
The sheet’s thread count too low to be approved?
Your dance in circles, spinning on the floor.
Rewards and treasures known upon the racks.
Induced by meals and that one pantry door.
In such a fury, choking on the snacks.
I know what God’s book says, I’ve searched it whole.
But still, I hope you have a little soul.
Rex2A20 Dog Of War
there ever will be but one pet for me
brought together in a land far away
a man and his shepherd, a team were we
the close bond we shared, forever will stay
my Rex was a Dog of War, tried and true
trained together, combat hardened, a team
throughout hardship to combat, our love grew
from dusk till dawn we stopped enemy scheme
one year together, our combat tour
training and playing, in our shared free time
the faith and respect we shared, it was pure
both of us, yet young, and in our best prime
the sad day did come, for me to depart
for me to my home,it did break my heart
Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
Some people say dogs are complicated
others will say we have mistreated them
some humans make dogs very frustrated
rarely are dog houses clean as a gem
man and dog have lived together for years
they’re not just men’s best friends they’re women’s too
and some owners and their dogs shared some beers
no one should think of doghouse as a zoo
as an infant a dog was always there
maybe that’s why I respect them today
I believe most dogs should be treated fair
some humans are abusive it's no play
dogs are just like children they want love too
pet them and love them and a bone to chew
A jiggling rush of energy
Wags along our messed-up stair
As Lullie huffs with a naughty glee,
To cause mayhem beyond compare!
My dachshund begs to play tag -game
With flopping of ears , this just disarms;
While dog’s trick to win is one big shame
She guards me dear from any harm.
Lullie sleeps often in my bed
Her belly twirling all around;
I wonder of mischief ahead
Till fingers trace a rounder mound.
Oh baby pups arrive, although
Lullie's mate, that I'll never know!
Shadow Hamilton's Pets
~ A true story ~
It’s no coincidence that the word God
spelled backwards is a word that we all know
for something by which we are often awed -
a creature, which unfailingly, can show
amazing grace toward any one of us!
Our canine friend does not care how we dress
or if we’re rich or poor. He makes no fuss
when we do not endeavor to impress
the way we do among our human kind!
Love without judgment from this animal
is like that of our Christ, whose love is blind
to flaws and won’t desert us when we fall.
This facet of God’s love is what I see
when my sweet dog’s brown eyes watch over me.
Finally entering this poem i wrote for Deb's contest.
I don't recall the theme being exactly the way it is now described at
the contest page, but I will enter this one anyway, for what it's worth!
A sonnet devoted to my dog Taz
I remember how he loved his big bones
I remember how he was always wild
I remember his heart was made of stone
I remember him acting like a child
I remember he was such a delight
I remember he would light up the room
He would always light up the room at sight
I wish he didn’t have to go so soon
He will always be deep down in my heart
I hope he is finally relived of pain
We were best friends ‘til life did us apart
At first I thought that it was I to blame
There is nobody else to that will compare
He is now somewhere, where love is not rare
When first freed from mother's skirt, still arrayed in white,
dew kissed, peach sweet, blush cored, I dove into
love, Persephone pierced; where ox-eyed daisies grew
within a field abreast a Roman ... in daylight.
Dry merlot overcast the blooded spot on site
where passion flowered upon the box stitched blue
quilt Grandmother with constancy had imbued.
Yet, youth was not enough to make the man contrite.
An omen ran through red bee balm, a hound of black
long-limbed, loosed to pursue the brazen few who dared
to lay unabashed in sunlight, the farmer stared back
from the porch; he saw them run, saw yarrow in her hair.
Ill fated yes, but first love is honeyed and that is a fact;
nothing's sweeter than a maid undressed in open air.
He was born perfect in every way
Until that fateful day
When from a height was dropped
His knee joint fractured, out it had popped
Was just two weeks old a boxer pup
Went to the vets to have it bandaged up
Had a plaster cast, yet he still wanted to play
When cast came off, he limped from that day
Named him Cassidy cos he hopped along
Never a growl or bite though big and strong
Was a perfect pet in every way until cancer struck
Just eight years old he said goodbye with a lick.
He won a rosette in an Obedience Contest
Which shows you don't have to be perfect to be the best.
Penned 6 November 2014
He has been beside me for fourteen years
Compassionate and wise, he always cheers
Once, as a puppy, he played happily
An older dog, he’s a sleeping beauty
He snuggles close to me when I’m sleeping
Always aware that we’re both now ageing
Giving up longer walks for shorter treks
Growing old, it seems, is a bit complex
He still wags and nags for bits of good food
Hoping for the bites that I always stewed
He has his treats, his sleep and he is loved
More than words could reveal he’s beloved
With all of my heart and all of my soul
I love this little guy who's my console
Pets Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
Date: November 21, 2014
Oh, yes indeed, you thought you had lost him.
All was well, you thought you're on easy street.
Your pathway was strewn with flowers and then
nothing to look forward to but to greet
grandchildren at the door, parcel out love,
forbearance accumulated in a
lifetime. Live life orderly and above
the board you built from illusions just a
little and dreams just a lot. One dark night
you awoke. That dark canine of chaos
and despair was back, sniffing, scratching right
there at your front door, the side of your house,
indomitable and stupid and near,
drawn like a dog to the heat of your fear.
Zareba's fences will be too small
our puppy will jump soon across all
his admirable growth until he's tall
for burglars his bark already a warning call
his Dutch tin-pan hovel his cave
a bounty of love our transparent wave
his wagging tail such a continuous heartfelt knave
being together always his preferable crave
Uluru's monolith his ancestry
his growth a source for chemistry
his presence with us an ongoing history
his maturity still a huge mystery
Australian Kelpie Captain Broome Uluru is our new young guard
a dreamlike black instead of brown dog has conquered already and again our heart
(c) Elly Wouterse
PS Cap has connected with us.. in a way that moves us so much... his his empathetic abilities are extra-ordinary and even life-saving!!!
Old Jim Hasselgrove lived out by the river bank
where you'd see him sometimes cookin
viddles on a small wood stove
now Jim's best friend was a dog named Blue
cause no matter where Jim went Blue was sure to be there too
like soft butter spread on bread those two were meant to be
so it was that the years passed by
yet that dog Blue never left Old Jim's side
then one day somethin mighty awful happened
seems Old Jim had gone up and passed away
everyone in town thought Jim should've had a church grave
but loyal Blue stayed by old Jim's shack
which in the end is where they buried Old Jim
and where some swear the ghost of ole Blue still remains today
Is my life not tortured enough for you to see?
I am broken as can be.
My heart is torn.
My tears stain these perfect floors.
Why are singing with glee?
Why do you not care about my every plea?
I am trapped in your arms.
I am the hopeless moth.
How did you pick me?
What is it that you see?
A girl untouched by life?
A flower blooming in the desert?
I have said goodbye to my loving integrity.
You took that from me through R-A-P-E.
Alas, I am still here but you are gone,
Verily so all things must pass old friend:
True the proud breast filled and white his coat shone
From beginning to inglorious end.
Rover of lane, hill, creek, wood, dale, and cave -
The car chasing fool in outrageous youth!
Yet in his lazy dotage I forgave
Endeared contrivance too long in the tooth.
That you bettered me I do freely boast,
And made less joyless this world unto me:
A kindness of heart I'll remember most,
And wagging tail known eponymously!
Shall always think of you well and not ailed,
And my love for you in this...a dog's tale.
"Wags" was the name of my English Setter/
Springer Spaniel cross when I was growing up.
Death of Bruce, My Friend
Bruce, my puppy died so very , very long ago
buried him in a grave deep beneath the snow
Vanished, the days of tramping wood and field
no more would such joy his countenance yield
Looking back seeing more sweet joy than sad
thank God and childhood for blessings we had
Remembering well the nights he slept in my bed
often climbing up to lay beside my little head
Attempting to crush memories of his sad fate
yet thinking of him often, so often as of late
A hero the time he attacked that poisonous snake
getting snakebit instead for his master's sake
A friend, a love , no greater has a boy ever had
In dog Heaven he awaits and I am so very glad
I had Bruce from age five years old until age
eleven. Six wonderful years, blessed years and
Even now at sixty not a week goes by that I don't
think of him , his loyalty and his faithful love.
I wrote this about twenty years ago. Found it
today in a scrap book , with no date attached but
remember writing it one week before Christmas in 1994.
Found the Christmas card from a dear friend(now departed)
right there with it...
This Old House Comforts Me
This old house, box where I rest my weary head,
my soul sleeps here, with uneasy comfort -
these four walls, they hold my precious sanity,
a SMALL service that matters not when I am dead.
Glorious roof, keeps the rain from waking me,
blocks the beautiful night sky, a small price-
to pay for secure and very dry retreat,
yet sacrifice, sacrifice always seems the key.
Solid floors, still they creak when I pace,
familiar noise like the bark of a friendly dog-
so unlike a cat's meow that says, you serve me,
this is my sweet abode, you are easy to replace.
This old house, box where I rest my weary head,
family lives here, dog lays at foot of the bed.
Robert J. Lindley
I have a feeling
that my dog is so spoiled
that she doesnt like dog food anymore
apperently she want's filet min yung and lobster
well this isint the surf and turf doggie cafe
get your head outa your furry butt
and eat your alpo
seething mass of volcanic ash
erupting emotions, scream and shout
awesome magma, fires clash
i'm chained forever without
gnashing snarling vicious dogs run loose
but starved and meek, they trot behind
will follow or turn a course I choose?
perhaps some peace of mind i can find
but in the lead, strong and mean
seem to conjure confusion and strife
where am i going, the wind is keen
whip-lashed running, fearing life
i'm at the mercy of my passions sore
a great big hunk of my ass has been tore.
Shall I believe that you are not like me?
A dog is but a wolf no longer wild,
and though you are a faithful friend, I see,
you are four-footed like no human child,
my boy; and though you answer to the name
the same the brilliant poet reprobate,
there somewhere in my brain is the refrain:
each species God did separately create.
But Wallace fed by spoon his little pet
orangutan, and longed to take her home
to England’s soil, where Darwin’s tree upset
conventional belief. And I must own:
that when your gaze unblinking holds my eyes
I know our likeness cannot be despised.
Slow Progress (a long sonnet)
In the last seventy years, little have changed
of technical innovation. we had radio, then
TV and now computers, all in natural sequence
airplanes still fly as before a bit bigger and
faster but the principle is the same.
And for cars they have not changed their appearance
for the last seventy years, except for cosmetic
more colour and easier steering , yet they
still break down at regular intervals.
Politics and money mingle as before corruption
thrives and we the people pay the price.
Privatization is the latest buzz word, but we have
been there before and we ended up with poverty
so bad, the state had to socialise the health service.
Forgive me the news that man has reached the moon
do not impress as much as man has found fraternity
which has been languishing in a basement in Lyon