Best Border Collie Poems
Barking at the people who
walk behind our house
is a dog that as a pup
was bought by my spouse.
Tiny border collie mix
he was meant to be,
but a Texas cow dog is
what most people see!
Chocolate-caramel, nutty too,
so it seems just right
he’s named for a candy bar;
just don’t take a bite!
Word Count shows 62 but different at another one. I count 60.
May 23, 2017 for Laura Loo's ONE of FIVE-70 words or less Poetry Contest
In 7/5 Trochee form. Topic #4: Your Pet
The old man had always had an unnatural fondness
for the animal but could never seem to bond with human easily,
with the exception of a special, dear grandmother. His mind
wandered back to his childhood, the Christmas eve of 1958 about
a special chore that he was required to do of his parents…….
“Being”
To be or not to be
One two three,
Five more to go…
The eight year old counted the puppies his female Border collie
had given birth to only three days earlier. The words of his parents
echoed in his ears, “We can’t have so many dogs around the house,
we can’t feed them all. You will have to dispose of them,
she is your dog, your responsibility.” The lad wiped the tears from
his eyes, as he prepared reluctantly to smash another head against
a large stone which he had selected. “Smash!” not a whimper.
He had become proficient at this chore.
“Being”
To be or not to be
One two three four,
four more to go.
The remaining puppies snuggled together for warmth in the cold
December breeze. I can’t do this his conscience screamed as his
young mind reasoned, “You have to, mom said, and dad will be home
in the evening. You will get a licking such as you have never gotten before.” “Smash!” not a whimper. The blood trickled down his finger tips.
“Being”
To be or not to be,
One, two, three, four, five,
Three more to go, He looked at the huge stone, “The killing stone” he
thought as he prepared to finish all three of the remaining puppies
in one swift moment if possible. “Smash! Smash! Smash!” It was over
he gave a sigh of relief as he gathered the tiny, still bodies into a small
shoe box that was to be the coffin of burial. He quickly buried the box
with the puppies’ corpses inside. He knew this was one chore on Christmas
eve day that would haunt him for many days perhaps years to come.
In Honor of Carol Brown
And Contest
border collies
highly intelligent-sometimes
two edged sword
We gather in groups
many to be sequestered as
strayed sheep
Haunted and shunned
by the societies we love
Who can we turn to
to ease the burning pain
of neglect and asylum
Who is our border collie
the light to wrestle us in
against the turmoil of everyday life
But still we stay strong
as it is human nature to endure
and lift ourselves above the suffering
So even though we strayed
we still love and have matured
to rise above the darkness that prevails
Barn Yard Dog
I am a Border Collie, recognized for my agility and speed,
I’m also a hard worker, one of the most intelligent breeds,
I’ve worked hard all my life, with eyes fixed on the group,
Not only at round up time, but while resting on the stoop.
My job “back in the barnyard” is to keep things under control,
As the farmers move their herds, to the market to be sold.
I was hired as a “working dog” food and shelter is my pay,
The benefits are a family, with who at days end I play.
I wouldn’t trade this lifestyle for anything in the world,
But I do wish I had a companion, preferably a girl!
Written By: Sarita A. Milliner © 3/10/16
Submitted for: Back To The Barnyard Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri
Interior Landscapes: The Border Collie
It is the country of fallow fields in
my dream, our car pulls off the road
beside a fenced in area...
The grass is tall and merciful there.
In this field, a border collie runs at top
speed back and forth.
My soul knows the dog as my dog who
died years before.
My heart bounds, I alight from the car
through the evening's heat, climb through
the fence love pouring like painful nectar
from me.
God tells me, in this dream, the dog has
gone through many lifetimes, soul traveled
just to have this moment with me.
I stand in the middle of the field, gray night
sky to both sides of us, but dark clarity
above and I call to the dog, my arms
opened wide, "Come to me, my beautiful
dog. How long I have waited just to
hold you."
The dog knows me and leaps from a full
run into my arms. The dog is as warm as
love and reality.
Then, the moment passes and the dog
scurries joyously away into an enourmous
white church at the far end of the field, its
orange warm light resounding through the
fallow and the full fields then... The gray
and the vibrant purple.
I know the white church to be heaven and
God assures me the dog is happy and safe
there.
I turn, go back to the car through the
Summer night's heat and am rested in my
soul, rested in my dreams.
It is easy to forget that in the main we die only seven times more slowly than our dogs.
Jim Harrison (1937 - 2016) - The Road Home
First Bobo, a cocker spaniel,
I remember only from pictures.
He ran way before we moved
to Canada when I was four.
Second Kizzie, a cockapoo, Mom got
when the family moved to Texas.
I only saw her on holidays and such
as I stayed in Canada. She lived
long and was with the folks when they
retired to British Columbia and was
into her teens before they put her down.
Third Sadie, 3/4 Newfie - 1/4 Bernese,
a big black dog, with a big appetite
for apples from a special tree and
the socks our daughter, a toddler
cast off around the house.
I still chuckle remembering
the scattered remnants lining
the farm lane that spring.
She was over ten, and in pain
when we put her down.
Her ashes remain in an urn in the garage.
Fourth Rizzo, a fencejump cross of
Gordon Setter and Belgian Shepherd,
my wife and daughter got him from
a friend, while I was off on a canoe trip.
A headstrong dog who would take off after
a scent or car to return when he pleased.
On leash, he'd almost pull you off your feet.
With age, he grew territorial and
after the third biting incident, I took
him to the vet to be put down.
But she gave him to an older lady
with a fenced yard who put thirty
pounds on him and he lived to
fourteen or fifteen.
Fifth Hailey, who was five when
we got her from the shelter.
A Border Collie - Shepherd cross
and definitely our daughter's dog.
She'd bounce foxlike through the fields
and on evening beach walks, loved
to fetch sticks we'd toss into the waves.
She was over fifteen and failing when
we put her down, days before
our daughter's wedding.
No urn this time.
Sixth Xena, a Shepherd-Collie cross
and beyond doubt a princess
but more sweetheart than warrior.
She has the canine equivalent
of ADD and a bark first policy
when something new appears
and will retrieve sticks or balls
until your arm falls off .
At over eight, she's running strong.
Seventh, Sam, a mostly Shepherd mix,
she's our most 'rescue' rescue dog,
smart, loyal and obedient
a wantobe lap dog with a feral streak.
She responds in kind to aggressive
dogs and we muzzle her on walks.
Now five she'll be with us for a
good while to continue the tally.
Dismal clouds, a steel gray sky
lay heavy, on a wrangler's eye
And the ice upon the time-worn world
of trodden hills, and where sheep have grazed
have glazed the trail, along the way
To flee from the sting of winter's keep
stray sheep seek shelter among the trees
A border collie, takes command
and herds the flock to form a band
Wild geese form arrows sharp and clean
As instinct guides, and trust is keen
While northeast winds so white with sleet
Bury plains, once gleaned of wheat
With the weight of burdens never done
the lone man works without a sun
entrenched in white beneath his feet
wearing overalls, boots soaked in peat
and fleece upon his heart of toil
His back is bent with glistened soil
His lone companions know the way
Two steadfast horses, have earned their hay
A border collie, never strays
Wearily waiting till the master is done
He labors on, as the evening falls
To a distant light, where his hunger calls
Too cold to wipe his dampened brow
His limped hat... it glistens now
With cheeks of red, he steels his breath
Like forefathers did, until the death
Humble pride, a job to bear, another day that he will wear
__________________________________________________________
Based on the Painting by Richard Beavis.... Highlander Driving the Sheep
For Contest sponsored by Isaiah Zerbst
That is what I call
her, my little Brandy girl,
love you baby, such a good
little dog, my best friend
in the world, my beautiful
little companion of mine
each night of the week
can find you resting so
deep in sleep by
my bed, during the
night your barking
awakes me, such a good
watch dog you are,
I get up, to find nothing there
but air in the wind or a falling
branch, but at times you have
barked at something that I saw.
Each morning I wake and there you are,
sleeping so soundly by my bed.
Feeling so good having you as my dog,
will enjoy these moments as long as I can
my dear Brandy girl.
written 4-24-11
about my dog Brandy a sweet Chow- Border Collie mix.
who i have had since 2004.
My Dog Paxton
Where cedars rust the road
And maples mat the margin
I walk with dogs.
Pluto, Sasha and, old Paxton,
Dead the last and he the lead
Wherever we go by trails of scent.
Bossy he, the border collie cross.
Faces the wind that rustles the leaves
Paces reflections that ripple the puddles
Black and white, there be no cuddles
For him, the alpha dog of sturdy jaw
No scratching of his head, that’s his law.
He will mouth the arm firmly of he who tries.
He is a dead dog that never lies.
Pluto and Sasha seek attention
Look to me, to give direction
Always begging for affection.
Paxton has no demands but to leave him alone
He offers me the friendship of a crystal gazing stone
Where I can sometimes see myself.
He always keeps his sovereignty,
He never stoops to become my servant.
The friendship and mystery of a full moon
With a reserved intimacy
And no exaggerations:
He licks neither my knees nor hand
And chooses which words to understand.
He never invades my clothes with his snout
Or rolls into bed like the others
His confident eyes show a sweet caring for me
A loyalty reserved only for a friend,
In a silent life never demanding.
When he died I planted a cedar tree over his bones
And from that tree we start our walks
Even now, where the cedars rust the road.
My second dog Molly
Is a beautiful border collie
She’s submissive
Quick to give
Ahhh so many kisses!
You’ll never believe.
I know it’s innocent
But does she have to
Lick my face
As well as chook poo?
I wish she knew that
It’s disgusting
Even the crap of the cat
Just give me warning!
She’s nearly ten
She will never learn
Guess I’ll have to
Put up with it then :(
Shep the pup was working the sheep;
He had to work hard to earn his keep.
Away, come bye, walk in; but never a scold,
Because he always did what he was told.
Keeping all the sheep safe from harm,
Watching the sheep from dusk til’ dawn,
When he did something good, he always knew
Because the master always said: “That’ll do”
The farmer’s wife made him special treats,
Biscuits and gravy; even better than sweets!
When one day a new pup came home and stayed,
Shep helped the young lad, and taught him the trade.
He taught how to move the sheep with just one try,
To balance and shed, but mainly to use the eye.
The master was so very impressed,
For the new pup learned fast, who would have guessed?
“The new pup is grand!” he would tell his wife,
He learns with ease, without trouble or strife.
Shep and the young pup fly,
Stayed together as man years went by.
You may hear people talk of the great Border collie,
Just know the best of all, was Shep and the puppy.
The Bichon Frise
The Bichon in chiffon looks so frou
That the crowd duly wowed has to coo
‘Til the dog starts to droop
And its owner to scoop
Some acutely embarrassing doo
The Border Collie
It was not Albert Einstein who dared
To think E = mc2
But rather a Border
Who brought cosmic order
One morning while out with his laird
The Bulldog
My Bulldog won’t frolic or fetch
His face may cause others to kvetch
But he’s gentle and sweet
With the kids on the street
And the ladies all think I’m a ketch
The Cairn Terrier
Cairns have been bred to hunt vermin
Be it Spanish, Australian, or German
Its body is wee
Though as tough as a tree
And as ruthless as General Sherman
The Chihuahua and Great Dane
Chihuahuas and Danes one surmises
Are extremes when it comes to their sizes
The one is so small
It is nothing at all
While the other is big and wins prizes
The Chinese Crested
I passed one of these down on Lincoln
For a moment I thought I’d been drinkin’
He looked so bizarre
That I stopped in a bar
To keep my poor eyeballs from shrinkin’
The Collie
To many a Collie means Lassie
The wonderdog faithful and classy
But on re-run TV
(Or is it just me?)
Do her eyes look a little bit glassy?
The Corgi
The Corgi is not one to hurry
Much preferring a stroll to a flurry
If you happen by chance
To invite one to dance
He’ll say, “Hey, I am not Arthur Murray!”
The Dachshund
The Dachshund’s a marvel on skis
Little legs that stop short of its knees
It can schuss like a pro
Making furrows in snow
(Though its privates are given to freeze)
The Dalmatian
Dalmatians are doomed to be stuck
In the seat of a fireman’s truck
When they’d much rather cruise
In a Jag that’s chartreuse
On a track that’s for testing your luck
It's party time again, my furry friends!
Come see the pretty table set for you!
With cups and saucers, teapot- my call sends
an invitation- now come all, please do!
Quick came two Tabbies, one Tuxedo cat,
and our sweet Border Collie, I call Sam-
along with Teddy, who so quickly sat
and growled, "Yes, I am furry too- I am!"
They pay attention to the tales I tell-
to entertain while we all sit and drink.
I know they like my stories very well-
they look at me with happy eyes that wink!
Oh, I'm so very happy when we meet-
enjoy our teatime fun, just them and me.
Our cozy gatherings are such a treat!
I share my love with them- not just my tea!
Just bought a border collie pup, she acts like Jeckyl and Hyde
I locked her in the bathroom but she cried n cried n cried
So I let her in the bedroom where she weed and left her staining
Its not the perfect start for a border collie,s training
I threw a ball for her to fetch, the beginning to her craft
She just sat there and store at me, like I was flipping daft
So I thought a game of “tug o war” would bring it out of her
But the daft thing look was fired again, she would not even stir
She is only nine weeks old right now, so she has time to shine
Now stop ripping all my socks, I know my rights, their mine