Best Beagle Poems
The beagle with a brown tail really stood out
for his high intelligence and good behavior;
he looked up to me as his rescuer and savior,
he was well-loved by me, he had no doubt.
I sought a related name for his sniffing cognition,
" Sniffer " seemed the perfect one I deemed;
very remarkable was his sensory perception,
I was stunned by this beautiful and gifted breed.
Out into the empty baseball field we often went,
I threw my hard ball and he caught it instantly;
I sat down and he ran to me breathing heavily
and licking my face, he smeared it with his scent.
The beagle with a long brown tail was rarely quite;
he had gorgeous eyes more brilliant than a lapis stone;
they winked and shone while I fetched his cookie bone...
many afternoons we chased rabbits to beguile time.
Entered in Laura Loo's contest,
" I Love My Pets "
Written on 1/ 24/2016
There once was an Arkansas beagle
Though quite common, registered legal
But when it would rain
The throne he would reign
As if thinking himself so regal
Feb 18 2016 an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
My dog eats tinsel,
It drives me round the bend,
It’s certainly not pleasant,
Coming out the other end.
I’ve heard about farting fairy dust,
But tinsel turds are a joke,
Clearing up after him,
Makes me want to choke.
At least I can find them,
Under the moonlight,
Just like a beacon,
Shining in the night.
There’s gold and silver ones,
Red, green and blue,
Who’s ever heard of,
A dog with tinsel poo?
I’m just glad he sticks to tinsel,
But now I can’t have a tree,
He’d probably think it was his own,
Inside place to pee.
I’ve given up on decorations,
Also, decking the halls,
I just hope he doesn’t attack Santa,
When he comes to call.
So, I’ll give him some turkey,
No sprouts though I’ll do my part,
Tinsel turds are rough enough,
I don’t need to hear him fart.
Boris the Beagle
This is the story of Boris the Beagle,
Fearless and brave like Eddie the Eagle.
Ski jumps, sky dives, death defying dare,
Hang gliding stunts, spinning in the air.
High speed zip wire, Boris on the line,
Jumping off a bridge into the brine.
Planning a wing walk over the sea,
Strapped to a plane, how brave is he?
Bungee jumping down Niagara Falls,
Our Beagle abseils, skyscraper walls.
Invited to perform at the Royal Variety show,
But he’s flying with the Red Arrows,
So, unfortunately can’t go.
What do you think of, when you hear the word SOFT?
Is it gossamer spider webs, lining an old barn's loft?
Could it be the fluff, from the dandelion seed?
Or the down from a bird, whose been recently freed?
Would you describe SOFT, in musical terms?
Like Pachelbel's Canon in D, or the songs of terns?
Is it possible to picture SOFT, as a pastel scene?
Or maybe the vagueness, of a old fading dream.
Might the caress of an eyelash, on the tip of your nose,
Rival the feel and subtle smell, of an opening rose?
SOFT could be a gentle breeze, in late afternoon.
Or the muted chortle, of a parenting loon.
Then there's the softness, of an old man's earlobe.
And Cumulus clouds, that circle our globe.
But I'll argue all day, or until my words are forgotten,
Nothing's as SOFT as Beagle Ears-- or a Baby's Bottom.
i wish i was a beagle
long fat and always legal
no hunting creatures
I'd change those features
a king of dogs most regal
5/2/18
I wish I was a - Poetry Contest, sponsored by Viv Wigley
I wish that I could hold you.
I remember how it felt.
But I’m so far away now
And I wish that I could help.
I love to listen to your voice,
But I wince at all your tears.
I want to take you away
And destroy all your fears.
I know it seems insane
And you may not want to go,
But, baby, I can promise you
There’s more to this than you know.
There’s nothing for you there.
I wish that you could see
A life that’ll make you happy
Is waiting here with me.
My beagles have talons
like eagles.
Oh the hell to be raised
If, one day, they
sprouted fierce wings
and dove upon this fair city.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes!
Blood and thunder. Slash and howl.
You’ve got the mind of a child and all there is to hold,
But never have I ever gone to such extremes in speech.
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Form:
The theme of this story
is a brown beagle puppy
with a blocky head, large ears,
a curved-up tail and white pawns.
I proudly mamed that gorgeous pooch:
Lucky...the hound that loves to smooch!
I was asleep, cuddled up in a warm blanket...
when I hear the bark of a dog, and
as the howl increased, the wind whipped the iced window;
and hurriendly went down stairs,
without putting my slippers on, so curious
to know where that high-pitched bark came from.
When the door slammed open, there surprisingly, I saw
a stranded, shivering beagle stucked in snow:
staring at me with innocent puppy eyes,
and I could tell he was hungry and cold;
he tried to lift his frozen and stiff paws, but he couldn't...
a quiver of sympathy gave me goose-bumps!
I picked him up and brought him in,
and he started to lick my face to thank me,
so affectionate and loving was that expression,
which I reminisce quite often, going back to that winter's evening.
I laid him in a small crate with a thick blanket, and he went to sleep;
how calm and happy was he, lightly snoring and dreaming!
The next day I took him to the nearest Animal Hospital,
and they gave him a warm bath, and how he loved that!
Yes, the beagle was out of danger and he was healthy,
like he was before he got lost and couldn't find his way home,
and since He had no tag on his collar, he couldn't be identified by name;
I wanted to keep this beautiful dog so badly...the playful dog I called Lucky!
Hey you, dog!
With your white tail tipping past my window
Or your face, tricolor, pressed against the glass,
I can see you even in the dark garden,
But now our garden games are past.
The couch stretched out beside me for a day or two,
The water bowl still full and going green.
The door bell rings and I'm alone to answer.
Frankie Boy! Bad dog! I thought I'd be the one to leave.
A jazz loving beagle in Fairfax
digs Dizzy and Miles to the max
But it’s now hip-hop and punk
No more groovin’ to Monk
He visits neighbors just to relax
I
Humans are divine, but watch & emulate pigs
II
We have body-vehicles; "I'm my car," is like thinking you are poultry
III
Scripture helps us recall our divinity (versus eating with pigs, as the fate of The rude spendthrift & HEIR in LUKE 15, teaches us)
IV
Earthly problems drag us to poultry level.
Recall you are an eagle; fly with eagles
A lazy beagle who lives in Merced
won’t budge ‘till it’s time to be fed
When his owner shouts: Stay!
she barks: You’re so Type-A!
Then walks off and goes back to bed
Wondering Not Lost
My beagle went on summer vacations
Spreading good will in many nations
He never got lost
Paid his traveling cost
He was so into public relations
Burrowing deep beneath black earth
He rakes aside the dirt
Leaving traces of his scent
To mingle with the whiff of the groundhog
Who is waiting just inside the shaft
Where he’s left his breath
And his frightened taunt
All in his whistling yawn
Excavating the channel to dispel
Any thought of leaving behind
This animal who he’s tracked
And trailed through
Underbrush and weed
Behind the oak, birch and walnut tree
Into this hole he’s mining
He’s hot on the trail of this varmint!
Digging deep into the trench
Where this old creature
Has made it’s den
The beagle leaves only a promise
Of bringing out the illusive
Beast who longs to find a way
To avoid being disgraced
By the dog who’s chased him all day
Murder in the Tunnel Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
January 26, 2021