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Prose Poetry Dog Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Dog

These Prose Poetry Dog poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Dog. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Dog poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry |

Big Dog

A narrow set of stairs, open on one side,
Goes down into the basement by the washing machine.

When she was little she'd watch me do laundry,
Standing sideways on the stairs, where we were eye-to-eye.

She liked being up there - I'd pet her,
It was bonding, the age-old connection between dogs and people.

Now she's big, she's so big she doesn't fit -
Gravity tries to pull her off the side or to the bottom.

It's hilarious how she contorts herself, putting all paws together,
Dancing and stuttering - trying to be entirely on that one stair tread.

I have to go around, up, and hug her -
"Oh, aren't you something...”

Things are good now; she’s a great dog,
Yet I guess I miss those days too.

Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

Filbert Gets His Wish

Filbert Crumb..... Gets His Wish!

A sad little man was Filbert Crumb....as he sat on the bus. "
Another lonelyday"  He thought to himself.  
Looking up, Filbert saw a little dog.  
Neatly tucked  into a little girls backpack.  
Its' head was peaking out 
and smiled at Filbert.
"See, even a dog has a better life than me"...
"I wish I was that little dog".  
Filbert reached out to pet the pooch 
in the backpack 
and was surprised when the little dog 
happily licked at his fingers.

“Hi there little doggie, How are you?”  
And then the strangest thing happened.  
The little dog replied back!

“I am wonderful..”  
“Did you just speak to me?” 
whispered Filbert to the  little dog.

“Yep...Yep...Yep...I did!” said the little dog.  
“But how is that possible?” asked Filbert. 
“I really don't know, I am just as surprised as you are.” said the little dog. 
“Are you happy being a little dog?” asked filbert.
“Oh yes, it's wonderful.  I have a nice home, good food 
and toys to play with”.

“I wish I were a dog.” 
“Oh, you can be.  
It's really very simple to do.”  
Said the little dog with a wink.....
“All you have to do is this....

“Jump Up and Down on just one leg...
and spin yourself a round....
around and round......
and spin yourself around”....
Sang the little dog.
.“Really! Is that all?”  said Sad Filbert.

Yep...Yep...Yep....said the little dog.

Copyright © Randall Smith | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |

Waiting At Doctor's Office

Cody was questioning the lettering on the doctor's plaque on the wall..
He asked me to write letters in cursive which I did ...
He said that the plaque's lettering was not anything like cursive..
Then he wrote in cursive "Once upon a time"
I wrote: "there was"
He wrote: "a Granny"
I wrote: "Who had a Chihuahua named Princess"
He wrote: " They were so alike that they both even had the same spoiled look on their face.."
I wrote: " Princess wanted a new coat and a new harness so we went to PetSense to shop..Princess wanted a rhinestone studded harness and a sequined coat..Of course, she got what she wanted its no joke"..Ha!!!Ha!!!Ha!!

Cody came away empty handed..Ha!!!  

Just for fun...

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Man's best friend is his dog

 “A Man’s best friend is his dog” 

The phrase receives little refute 
Anecdotal history alone settles any dispute
but he’s just a dog all he needs to be is cute

Trustworthy loyal and dyeing to please                          
in return asking only to sniff around the trees
checking if  other dogs crossed their i’s or dotted their t’s

You bring him home because he is oh so adorable
Now that you’ve stepped in it it’s oh so horrable
making matters worse your mutt is now incorrigible

your dog will figure out how to pass the time away 
waiting for you to come home even if it takes all day
you’ve had to toss the things he’s trashed away
You know all he wants to do is play 
you break out the treats and teach him to sit and to stay
but this is not why he waited for for you all day -but OK

walking and fetching may be good clean fun
but long legged  dogs really love a good run

understanding dogs is not as easy as it seems
dogs like people take some things to extremes

We soon discover our dogs are a lot like us
so get to know him well and don’t make such a fuss 

              In Memory of our beloved Samson 
  see related poem: Tale of the Dog That Licked Me  

Copyright © Monty Newman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Man's Best Friend

Abandoned, scared and alone he lay in his bed
Wondering if he will ever have a loving home
On the concrete floor, he lays his head
Without a care for his old bone

It’s loud and the rotten stench of shit and piss fill the air
He lay, wishing and dreaming that he didn’t have to be there
Locked up and taken prisoner he is so sad
He never thought his life could get this bad

What’d he do to deserve such a terrible fate?
Waiting for the day he reaches the end
All he is now is a cute little piece of bait
Never knowing if he will ever mend

From the terrifying experiences had
Now afraid of any large objects or yelling
He is older now and the young ones are the fad
Look in his eyes and see what they’re telling

A lost and most beautiful soul
Awaiting the day he may find love
And get out of this terrible lull
He looks up to the heavens above

All he can see are painfully fluorescent lights
Wishing so badly to see the outside
To get out of here and have play fights
What he really needs is a person, a guide

Someone to love and support him
He waits and waits for his special person
Someone who’d make his life less dim
While the pain and loneliness worsen

Copyright © Aubrey Brown | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Tale of the Dog That Licked Me (a memoriam)

Poor old Sammy warming his tired bones in the morning sun
the passing car excited him so he forgot his age and tried to run

I got his breakfast ready something easy to chew with an added treat
placing his bowl within easy reach in time he comes to his feet to eat

I stroke his head and I am moved to reflect on the passing of time
In dog years he is as old as dirt surely neither of us are in our prime

Yesterday he could run like a little quarter horse doing what a dog does best
Today he contents him self with short walks, gentle play and plenty of rest

When he barks in his sleep his paws are on the run
 running and barking in his dream just having fun.

He’s a Weimaraner in love with a Great Dane her legs go all the way up
love is blind and he’s out of his league but that would be a beautiful pup

As he guards our home all nobel nosed wearing that doggy grin
I like to think his daydreams are of things that might have been
              In Memory of our beloved Samson 
  see related poem: A Man’s best friend is his dog

Copyright © Monty Newman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |

Paws For Christmas


The tree stood straight,
It looked so nice.
Even had shiny things,
To look like ice.

A star on the top,
Was special to see.
Plus the lights and toys,
Filled our hearts with glee.

A package or two,
Were placed on the floor.
For family and guests,
To see and adore.

Then the puppy came close,
What did he see?
What is that shiny thing on his nose,
From the Christmas tree.

How did the ornament so bright,
Get down on the floor?
I bet this puppy could tell you,
As he ran for the door.

What are these teeth marks,
On the package we see?
A gift from our puppy,
Under the tree.

But we take it in stride,
And hug the old mutt.
For it's his Christmas too,
but "stay out of the nuts".


Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

Crossing Through The Red Sea Undivided

The calm and quiet serenity embracing a string of fine buildings and a hypocritical weather which seems as if a quarrel manifested between the day and the night say it all as we enjoy the romantic stroll. Our aim is highly achieved if this was official, we would demand a certificate but the environment, our smiles, our love and our world are more than enough reward as we warm our souls and take the slow, gentle pace. the red flag was totally absent as we noticed many of them with tails unwag by-passing one, not knowing it is the scumbag began its vile its voice and energy much more than three angry wives on top of their nag. A drastic lag in our steps of royalty as my darling was taken over with gags. Then comes the full rage, attacks and great disdain to us. They were initially five; but now twelve. Creating a strategy by walking zigzag served fruitless and more like a drag as the voices of hell get even closer. making my wife scared as never before. Just one attack , can attract a deadly feast. Turning us into rags tearing us snag after snag and separating our flesh from body like a slag. That one bite, is now seconds closer with the lead intimidator showing its brag but 'the protector' being my tag; I turned swiftly and immediately going downwards and acting to take a weapon. Then the dozen of cowards impersonated Usain Bolt. 'That's my swag!" was the showing but in reality, I embraced my love passionately, thanking God for such a miracle with a skipping heart and a trembling body.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


YOU SLY DOG I saw you standing there all alone. I came over to see where you ready to move on. You said you were just shooting the breeze. I left without thinking that you probably were deceiving me. You arrived home about ten. You pull yours shoes off as you were kissing me. Never did I expect that you had not been doing anything but what you said. I told you to get you something to eat so that we could go to bed. Morning came and nightfall and this behavior continued. We would spend time together and talk. Wednesdays were your night for personal space. If I came across you, I found you always standing in the same place. Today I found you out. You are a sly dog and contrite. You are a cheat. I want you out of my life. You sly dog. You ain't lucky at all.

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


I remember the first time I saw you
You were a bundle of cuteness
With your huge ears
And unstoppable wagging tail

My heart choose you at first sight
You choose us too 
When you snuggled in my arms
And gave a content sigh

Placing your head on my shoulder
You went to sleep in my arms
Safe, loved and trusting
You completed our lives
You became family

But time is merciless
And the years started to weight on your shoulders
You couldn't run so fast anymore
Nor play with your favorite toys
You didn't had the energy to dig up crabs on the beach 
Nor run chasing birds

Until the day we noticed you couldn't jump on the sofa
Until the day we noticed that you were tired

Now we're left with the hardest decision
To let you rest your tired little body
To let you go to the Rainbow bridge...
To say goodbye...

We did our best for you
You were loved for the whole time you stayed with us
You had a happy, loved and long life.

Now you can rest my love...
We'll hold you until your last breath
Our faces will be the last thing you'll see before you sleep for the last time.

And when you wake up in the other side,
You'll find yourself surrounded by angels
Your body young and strong again
Able to run, and jump and bark...

So be patient love, and wait for us
Wait with the angels
We'll Keep you in our hearts
Until the day that we can meet again

I love you now, tomorrow and for eternity... 

In memory of my beloved XUXÚ
06/09/1999 - 19/11/2016

Copyright © Claudia Polydoro | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

My Unconditional Dog

First of all, it’s a big responsibility,
especially in a city like Jacksonville, or Philadelphia, or wherever really.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
when you’re walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain’t no one going to mess with you.
Because crooks and muggers think love is
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?
Broken glass bottles.

On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies between you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
It needs to be fed so it will grow and stay healthy.

Love doesn’t like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.

Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.

Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Somethimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know “Don’t you ever do that again!”

Sometimes love just wants to go out for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise. It will run you around the block
and leave you panting, breathless. Pull you in different directions
at once, or wind itself around and around you
until you’re all wound up and you cannot move.

But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.

Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, lots of it.
And in return, love loves you and never stops.

Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

Introducing Me

Who am I really? Who does everyone think I am,                                            and what do they think I’m really like?                                                                 Do I even know?  Stay tunnnnned.

I was a newborn in ‘49 in a home within a mile of Highway 49
There was no doctor; but a midwife arrived on time, nice and kind.
My weight was 10 lbs.; and I have reached 165 in 66 years of time.

I didn’t go astray; and I’ve done my best to walk the narrow line.
Old people said, “Be good so you don’t go where the sun don’t shine.
Anyway I respect everyone, and I serve notice on any who disrespects me.

O I have over time exceeded the speed limits, and ran a few stop signs.
My folks attended a Church in the neighborhood known as True Vine.
I’m not perfect, but I’ve never  been accused of being a liar or hypocrite.

People called me “a good boy” when I was a kid growing up.
But there was always something inside the me that they could never see.
They never knew the deprived, the denied, and the underprivileged me.

My grandma was my best friend who taught me love; and man she was tough.
My next best friend came along when daddy gave me Jack, my first little pup.
He was the best, boldest, fastest, and loved to ride in daddy’s pickup truck.

By grace I’ve done good like we all should, and never committed a crime.
I don’t smoke, drink, or dope; but I’m a sinner saved by God’s grace alone.
I believe in forgiveness and not “an eye for an eye”; but please don’t ignore me.
04012016  PS Contest, Who Are You?, by Catie Lindsey

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |


Awaken me, Lord.
Open my ears that I may hear the voices,
Of those wo cry out for help.
Let me not be deaf to their pleas,
Lest they perish, because I would not hear.

Awaken me, Lord,
That I might make a difference.
Open my eyes that I may see those who suffer.
Let me not be blind to their needs,
Lest they perish because I would not see.

Awaken me, Lord.
Clear my mind that I may undersrtand the plight,
Of those who cannot help themselves.
Let me not be ignorant in my comfort,
Lest they perish because I was thoughtless.

Awaken me, Lord.
Open my heart that I may truly feel,
For all who suffer and have need.
Let me not be cold and unfeeling,
Lest they perish because I would not care.

Awaken me, Lord.
Loose my hands that I may reach out,
To those for whom You have suffered and died.
Let me not be lazy, or fearful of what others might think,
Lest they perish because I would not reach out.


Once when I was out walking I heard a dog screaming in agony begging to be let inside out of the cold. I just laughed to myself saying to myself that the dog was acting like she was dying out there. I paid her no mind sense the dog wasn't mine.
Later when I passed by again all was quiet. I figured the owner had let her in.
The owner wasn't home.
They went to school and to work forgetting the dog was still outside.
Just because it's an animal that doesn't mean they don't matter or "don't feel pain like we do". Pain is pain and it HURTS. They feel it like we do they just can't tell us because they can't speak our language but they speak in every other way if we will just listen.
That dog died in agony because I didn't listen and her owners FORGOT ABOUT HER.

Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |


man loves to stand
dog love to roll can
its his best friend
it come from with in
as the the walk
hear dog barg talk
lets them roll there log

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |


""Papa" "What about Spring ... ? 

"I don't know Son?"

Killdeer' draw you away from their nest, Bluebirds holler to all about it, hungry Father Fox he knows about it ... .

Kinder yes I think much gentler Spring, when the rejuvenation is just first arriving reminds me of the back and breaststrokes holding your breath while doing a crazy twirl, all the World alive with energy surrounded together in warmth. 

Saw three of them Kamikaze my humble dog one day. Samba just hit the grass rolled over boxed away at them old Bluebirds on his back yelping; I laugh now yup-..."Ha ... !" I mean "Woe!" "Close one for him-I guess!" He was just a pup then ... .

Best way to compare it ... I would think Spring;

"The hands of time are alliterate Spring is but the brunt of this each Season carry's snow capped Mountains Berries in the Valleys Lilies in the Meadow Pine in the Woods Squirrels rummaging in the trees.

Bird dogs are quite capable of pointing this out ... as still this Hope presently exists, yes Spring it truly is I believe its sweet Rejoinder to us for all of our Winter's Supplications, the Harvest of the Wheat in the Fall Spring rains I feel remind us ... .

The Summer Sun always toasting the memory's golden brown ... ." - 


Summers, sweet ... warm those days long; strung out tucked each one right there set just left of the middle; everyday, each; just like the other, Lord carry them before us merely, 

and grant for us always their Peace to remember?"

""Peace the fluency, surety; purity forget the wealth bulky it's only collateral damage; - 

Expected He chuckles yes I know He must I believe sometimes probably more than often yes; the Holder of time.

His patience; vision, faith placed solely mid this simple inclusion; His Grace.""

Sweet Summer days yes willing they all remember.

Timeless moreover following Love joyous delighting within itself can be found dancing away upon the crispness mid the gathering up beading up high upon the early June; Morning Dew.

Winter shades of Pail Grey cast their eyes upon them too.

Overt all cry out as they sing God watching His Grace knowing worthy Autumn always, welcomes in the Rain ... !

Yes oh of virtue Tiny Hatch-lings of Many can be seen, as in unison they all bellow out in their innocence as driven by Their hunger; remaining open weeping high in the Willow Father watches, lying ready ... .

As in their mouth puking it up Mother eager, in Her goodness, offers Them Food ... !

Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

It Must Be Puppy Love

Love and faithfulness live together - Psalm 85:10

Throughout the ages,
Family pets have served.
Faithful til the end,
Many have observed.

Do they know how to love,
As humans think they do?
Look into their eyes,
The rest is up to you.

Watch those tails a swinging,
There's a story to be told.
This is how a puppy loves,
Worth much more than gold.

They do not need a reason,
As many humans do.
It is their gift from God,
Especially for you.

But if you do not understand,
This passion that is so.
Follow our little tails,
They will show you how to go.

Chicken fresh for breakfast,
Roast beef at dinner time.
Sirloin steak so often,
Am glad that you are mine.

Snacks available all day long,
Special ones when you depart.
Is it any wonder then,
That you control our hearts.

Today you are special,
We thank our Lord above.
Thank you for being my mommy,
We will smother you with love.


Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |


A fine morning to watch the birds
By the ocean side. My dog by my side.
Deep cool breeze
Setting ablaze my ribs
My jacket and the dog’s fur
All I needed and asked for
Perfect company and comfort
…a lonely life.

My surrounding,
Oblivion of me
And me too, void of all
Very deep in thought
Knowing not when,
I sipped from the coffee cup
Wincing in disagreement,
I jolted back to memory
By its bitter taste.

What a way to discover.
But discovered I have.
A great deal of life is false and bitter
It’s bitter when you love
Yet, you be not loved
It’s false, thinking you are loved
But all the while, mugged

Why do you tell me
All is fair in love and war?
When I know what I saw?
The weak is the stepping stone
For the wicked
The honest a tool
In the hands of the fraud
Woe to them who made you bear grudge
Woe to you who got soiled in vengeance.

Nature is smart…so smart with it
For the sun must rise again
And time must heal your pain
Like the Americans will say
Every dog has its day
Dust up and take a walk
For your new lover
Might be waiting by the side walk

Copyright © Isioma Esemene | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Man of the road

Walking slowly along the curb of a footpath next to main road staring at the ground,
Swooping every few seconds to feel the smoked dog ends to see if they are intact, dry,
His shabby greasy clothes make him look like an old scarecrow escaped from the fields,
If dry dog end is over half inch his shaking hands pull out a match box and lights it.

He is walking towards the Salvation building to have a hot cup of tea and whatever else,
His pockets are now full with cigarette ends and the dirt on them he smells of old fags,
His rotten trousers with holes at the knees and split up the backside he is done caring,
Wearing a black tee shirt that he has not changed for years clings onto his filthy back.

Finding real treasure a cigarette that is nearly whole he smiles a dirty line of teeth,
The lines have gaps in them where some have rotted and cracked, literally bit the dust,
Brown lips as he smokes his dog ends to the very end, black scabs where he went too far,
On cooler days his nose drips unattended as he has no rags or no care to wipe it clean.

His shoes are odd and worn down to nearly nothing looking at the soles they have holes,
Along time ago he had underpants but they faded and wore away with time, skids and all,
Go back fifty years he was some mothers son who had high hopes for him in his manhood,
He had friends sometimes did well at school, where did this poor soul go so very wrong.

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |


so there's no tickets
so fits it
as you take out the pet
don't you forget
just like your desk

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

My dog is loyal than your hug

It was eating, drinking and sleeping, you are yearning for
I gazed at your eyes and I saw the love, I was looking for
You were a hedonist whose life was replete with fun
I was just a student whose pen always acts as a gun
You come to me as a traveller who has nowhere to stay
I felt my dream comes true since the time I say my pray
You were old enough to be my companion in this way
I start to make my life every time from night till the day
You told me that's wrong! You are not a girl I'm thinking about
I confessed myself there is something makes me dubious about
You were alone as the wrecked ship for the sea
I was the same like the bloom for the honey bee   
You belonged to a wonderland, a home of dust and sand 
I was much more like Alice who wants to die in your hand 
You touched me once that was all my pleasure 
I had no one before to give me such treasure 
You left me soon as the moon for the sun 
Just tell me how broken feet can go to a run? 
You know it when you have the next girl in your bed
How unfaithful you are, I've had your name in my head
You were lost yourself in the world of the fog
I come to see my dog is loyal than your hug.   

Copyright © Elaheh Abdi Langaan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Dear Friend

As the year thunders on the autumn day's begin to get shorter the nights are early,
My old dog stretches out by a blazing log fire only turning over when he's too hot,
Arthritis is slowing him down his hips are so sore he walks very slowly with a limp,
Soon it will be time to take him out on grassy rich heaths for the very last time.
Although the weather for autumn is calm it is the damp air that makes the pain worse,
Outside he lays watching spiders form radiated circles on every single bush and twig,
And at the silken threads on every blade of grass and he barks and sniffs so quietly,
His mood is solemn but calm, he is in a daze and forgets his way back to the garden.

We walked along forest meadows running chasing sticks and shadows barking with joy,
He would bound up to some lovely hedges or soft willow plots and rolled in the grass,
Smoke from autumns bonfires has a smell that reminds me of wonderful golden sunsets,
Now it will remind me of loneliness my faithful old friend running in a dog heaven.

By my log fire my dogs eyes are brown and pleading there are tears in the corners,
He doesn't understand that he is old and cannot do the things he always loved to do,
A haunting stare asking me to help him because you're my dad will you make me better,
Next day I take him out for the very last time I walk into the vets and I break down.

My hands deep in my pockets I walk where we always walked and soon it will be winter,
Standing and watching the departure of numbers of birds that have shared our summer,
The Curlews, Sandpipers, Snipes and Bean goose fly across the sky but my joy has gone,
Norway thrush's arrive but where is my dear old friend we watched the seasons together.

The Fern-owls, dotterals, swallows and some of the plovers used bid us a last goodbye,
Today go the fly catchers, white throats, warblers, wheat ears and hardy red sparrows.
Gardens show us autumnal flowers crocuses, autumnal snowflakes fall on meadow saffron,
Everything is going and saying goodbye I turn into the wind, tears roll down my cheeks.

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |

~ (~) ~ The Things of These ~ (~) ~(Part #4 of 6) ~ (~) ~

As you see, hear a few moments later a funny looking Huckleberry Hound dopey little dog cartoon the families all time favorite as the children snicker, and everyone there comes in the room just in time and laughs together. With our dog cocking her head slightly and barking with us. As our kitten Timid whacks at her ears stops again and chases her wagging tail, hysterically. And I tell you if it is all I can do to cherish the freshness of these things, friend I will. I tell you I've already won. My baby's laughter there in the highchair clapping with his superman bottle sitting in his diaper splashing away all over Him listening to Dave Matthew's' It's Not Easy To Be Me waving it in one hand as he shimmy's and rocks too and fro to the beat of the ambiance of the new day, yes, reminds me ... . Our Oreo cookie looking kitten named pounce, playing alone today now there in-the-rain. How everything from birth has remained so curious to him. His resilience as he laid there with her saying goodbye ... . As Gracie his sister just passed on, yesterday. So I feel fate brings us to this opportunity, gentle mercy, tender beauty, purest of goodness, when willing, everyday. Though even we do, or do not pray. Like the perfect feel of those glorious tender kisses. Sweet caresses flying footballs bike riding scuffed up knees tender love and band aids humming-birds-humming. As-they-hover by the honey water feeders. The dog barking Pounce and Timid playing with their super bouncy ball bouncing around whimsically too and fro. The Mango Chicken Surprise chicken in the Set-It-and-Forget it rotisserie. Slippery wet feet legs flung up swinging arms and tossing shoes loud thunks of your older swimmer Son slipping coming in from His morning workout on the linoleum floor being just freshly mopped right bye the back door. As Mama cries out ""sorry Son" the dog or cat peed and you yell too"" You alright", and he yells back frustrated "Whatever!" "This is a crazy family"! "I want out" Let me out"! And yes some other real good humor I cannot really hear right now, and as well yes I feel he is like Jim Carry and Robin Williams and a lot like me and my morning coffee. Still being drank all throughout whatever heat of the day. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWJVmk8s9NU&playnext=1&list=PLAAF17CBEBB7C3D44&index=78

Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |


Wherever you go
My words will follow you
At your feet
As a faithfully companions
To your beauty...

Copyright © Gitlan George | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

Pet sitting Panic's

Oh my goodness,
the dog has gone poo,
What am I gonna do?
Go get a wet rag,
and a bottle of windex,
wip it all up,
and move on to the next,
Oh my goodness,
the dog ate my lunch,
shouldn't have left it so close,
woof woof, munch,
Oh my goodness,
the fogs run away,
got to go find hime,
there's no time for play,
Oh my goodness,
the dog was right here,
Ar'nt you glad that he stayed very near?
Now it's time for some rest,
until the next day,
this pup's put you through the test,
but would you have had it,
any other way?

Copyright © susan viscione | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |

Rubble in the Hubble

Seems our beloved space telescope
Has been mistaken for a park trash can
By certain alien races.

Shuttle crews removes 39 beer cans, two soda pop bottles, three alien 
newspapers, a very bizarre condom wrapper, and six emptied cans of 10w40 
intergalactic motor oil.

They also found, what they think might be, 2 Plutoniun hot dog wrappers, and a 
broken dog leash of unususual nature.

No Littering signs were posted in an attempt to correct the situation.

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry |

Rip Rippy

It was long ago,
Whilst I was still going to college,
Way back during the dawn of mankind,
Still living with my first wife, with my parents,
And my beloved mutt-dog, Rippy...
A smallish, black dog,
Long a part of the family,
He loved cheese, like all Bells,
And hated harmonicas, I guess,
As he would howl when my father played...
But we didn't know that then,
We thought the cutie was merely singing along...
Well, Rippy was in the habit of being let out,
On his own, as we had a big yard,
And always came back without incident...
Until one winter's day, when he never returned...
All hearts were broken,
But none more than mine...
I went out after a snow storm tapered off,
Found his frozen carcass in a street nearby,
And buried him, not an easy task,
In the frozen back yard ground...
Set up a cross,
Although he never admitted to a religion...
And sadly resumed my routine...

Two days later, I came home from C.C.N.Y.,
One afternoon, via bus and subway...
When I came in the door,
My young first wife, Ann, and my mother,
Greeted me with mysterious, mischievous smiles...
They told me to close my eyes,
They would take me inside my parents'
Sealed close bedroom, for a surprise...
Great mystery was evident,
And it was evident they were enjoying
My perplexed looks...

Well, I did as told,
They took me into my parents bedroom,
I was told to open my eyes,
I did, and there on the bed,
Was my beloved Rippy!!
I was delighted, of course,
But wondering if this was some evil magic,
As I had buried him some days prior,
But no, it was Rip, and he was find,
Just a bit skinnier than usual.

So, who had I buried?
To this day I don't know,
But what are the odds,
A dog of similar shape and size,
Should appear dead, frozen,
Directly across the street?

Was his whitish frozen hue
The reason I was fooled?
I don't know,
But I was so overjoyed,
To have my favorite dog of all times, back...

When he ultimately did die...
My wife was gone from the scene,
And my dog died in my arms...
And if I live to be 600,
And have 100 dogs more
Before I die,
I will always miss my Rippy most,
So deeply did he I adore.

For Rhoda, who is about to lose a favored cat,
whose posted picture proved that
that particular cat was gorgeous
beyond normal expectations.   tom bell

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Man of the Road

Walking slowly along the curb of a footpath next to main road staring at the ground,
Swooping every few seconds to feel the smoked dog ends to see if they are intact, dry,
His shabby greasy clothes make him look like an old scarecrow escaped from the fields,
If dry dog end is over half inch his shaking hands pull out a match box and lights it.

He is walking towards the Salvation building to have a hot cup of tea and whatever else,
His pockets are now full with cigarette ends and the dirt on them he smells of old fags,
His rotten trousers with holes at the knees and split up the backside he is done caring,
Wearing a black tee shirt that he has not changed for years clings onto his filthy back.

Finding real treasure a cigarette that is nearly whole he smiles a dirty line of teeth,
The lines have gaps in them where some have rotted and cracked, literally bit the dust,
Brown lips as he smokes his dog ends to the very end, black scabs where he went too far,
On cooler days his nose drips unattended as he has no rags or no care to wipe it clean.

His shoes are odd and worn down to nearly nothing looking at the soles they have holes,
Along time ago he had underpants but they faded and wore away with time, skids and all,
Go back fifty years he was some mothers son who had high hopes for him in his manhood,
He had friends sometimes did well at school, where did this poor soul go so very wrong.

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |

Frolic in the Off-Leash Dog Park

With a wag of tail and tongue bedraggled
dogs drag their owners to frolic off-leash
in parks devoted to dog meets dog dalliance and play.

Despite their authority, the owners know each
not by the owner’s names, but by the names of the dogs.
“Where’s George today, and Horris the beagle?”
The humans are the referees, the comforters and lapdogs to canine confrontations.
They are the come-between that sort out dogs that fight, can’t mix or can’t cope.
Dogs get banned or ostracised to fenced-off remote areas for fighting or misbehaving.
Mostly the dogs themselves know how to cope with friends and foes
and carefully choose which other dogs to play with.

Owners get shepherded into groups with mutual interests and similar dogs.
The humans are classified by their dogs, as if they were their biological parents
They are also tagged by their dog’s behavior and breed.
“You know Debbie, she owns the poodle pup”
People look first at a new dog that arrives in the park,
and the breed and how the dog behaves instantly categorise their owners.

The park is all about dogs, but the humans share socially,
The dog park as the catalyst for people and dogs to meet and greet offleash.
The dog parks change many lives, especially for many lonely people who
get dogs after break-ups, boredom bouts and divorces.
For many owners it is a unique way for people to engaged socially
in ways they would not other wise never do.
The people that come to the park have varied backgrounds
Lawyer, meets nurse, public servant meets surgeon, returned soldier meets shop keeper.
Their dogs the great leveler, the starter and binder for friendships.
It is often more about the dog friendships with the owners tagging along
The dogs provide the spark for conversations that begin with chats about dogs.
Many great and lasting friendships have begun and fostered at the dog parks.
Dog owners are a unique breed, and their special needs
are provided by time spent at the dog parks with other dog owners.

The dog parks have their special etiquette and unspoken rules.
Every owner knows that their dog is the best dog in the park.
No dog should be criticised or belittled.
Balls are not meant to be shared or thrown by anyone than their owners.
Misbehaving dogs should be controlled by their owners, except in an emergency.
No dog is shunned no matter how ugly of silly they look.
Men and women are dogs best friends.

Copyright © John Anderson | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

Country Dog

If a country dog could talk 
What would he say?
His nose has explored the great outdoors,
Always smelling unashamedly.
A country dog knows everything,
So many things he wants to tell you.
There’s a brand new colt in the neighbor’s barn,
And baby bunnies in the thicket.
If a country dog could talk 
He would tell you all the things he knows.
There’s a row of beans sprouted in the plot.
Catfish are jumping in the pond,
Where the hedgehog lives down in the bog
And broken bottles at the old dump site.
A country dog’s knowledge is beautiful.

Copyright © tammy swank | Year Posted 2017