Best Bulldog Poems | Poetry
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LOVING BILL BULLDOG
by Gilmour, Ann
The Bulldog Has Become A Mom
by Masonis, William
All Mothers Must Sing - A Song for the Bulldog
by Masonis, William
The Bulldog Chomped The Boogeyman
by Crisci, Andrew
The Bulldog Gets Married
by Masonis, William
It's Hard To Keep A Bulldog Down
by Fritts, Vaughn
Up From Alabama - The Young Professional Bulldog Visits
by Masonis, William
The Bulldog And The Poodle
by Toran, Milton
A Bulldog Looked At Me
by bauer, ilene
The Bulldog Returns From College
by Masonis, William
View all new Bulldog Poems
The Best Bulldog Poems
Somewhere in Brussels, March 2019,
Poor Theresa’d not slept since about Halloween,
But at last it was ready! The dream Brexit treaty,
Which pleased every spluttering zealot so sweetly!
So ready to sign it, she tried not to squeal...
Until Boris* burst in and cried “NO BLOODY DEAL!”
Theresa yelled “shut it, you haystack-haired chancer!”
But Europe said “sorry, we’ll take your first answer!”
Then Macron and Barnier*, Merkel and Juncker*,
Cried “See ya, Theresa, we’re off to the bunker!”
Theresa gave chase; Boris stuck out a toe,
The Jimmy Choos buckled, and down she did go!
The bunker shut! Pawing the intercom button
And licking the speaker, she heard them all tutting,
Then Merkel said “Vile vee regret ze estrangement,
Zey cannot exist vizout formal arrangement!”
Theresa was screaming “JUST LET ME IN NOW!”
But she could have sworn Barnier cried out “KA-POW!”
Then she felt a great shake like the boom of a bomb -
And her satellite glasses showed... Britain was gone!
Well, after some hours of wailing and gnashing,
They found little Britain complaining and splashing
and shivering up by the cold Arctic Circle...
“Best wrap up vorm!” tittered Angela Merkel.
We last saw Theresa all sun-kissed and blustery,
Hiking the warm Euro hillsides of Tuscany,
Boris was found (well was dug up in parts),
With a hot Belgian waffle stuck right up his ****...
As for Britain - it’s time in the cold had begun,
The crops slowly died in the thin arctic sun,
Til a hobbit named Corbyn* cried “Right! Who needs feeding?!”
And was hailed as a God with his frost-hardy seedlings.
And somewhere in Dudley, a “leaver” called Norris,
Polished his gold-plated statue of Boris,
And petting his bulldog (with hands somewhat frozen),
He gave a wry smile, and said, “that bloody showed ‘em.”
*The cast (for the benefit of the lucky people who don’t have to hear about this nonsense every day!)
Boris Johnson: tousle-headed lying twonkweasel who helped get us in the ridiculous position in the first place.
Michael Barnier: The EU’s chief Brexit negotiator. Has self-righteous manner of schoolmaster dealing with a tiresome child.
Jean-Claude Juncker: President of the European Commission
A hobbit named Corbyn: Just a hobbit obviously. But coincidentally shares his name with the leader of Her Majesty’s Opposition, whose hobbies are beards, nationalisation and seeds.
With apologies to all Germans (sorry, Agnes) for Merkel’s comedy accent.
27 July 2018
Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018
It was not long ago
By the reck'ning of things
You were yet a wee one
Yet under our wing-
But now you have grown up
Like snow follows Spring -
Now you're a Mother,
And all Mothers must sing.
All Mothers must sing,
Though not always with voice;
'Tis a matter of Truth,
Not a question of Choice.
They sing with their hearts
And they sing with their souls
They sing while they're young,
And they sing when they're old.
All Mothers, all Mothers, all Mothers
Some sing but a whisper,
Some make the walls ring.
They know that they hold
The most Precious of things;
So all Mothers, all Mothers, all Mothers
They sing with their smiles
And their hearts and their sighs,
They sing us to bed
And they sing as we rise;
They sing in response
To our smallest of cries
And all with the brilliance of love in their eyes.
So from now to the time
You are grey just like me
Darling, sing to your babes
As I sang to thee;
They shall grow to be kind,
To be honest and true;
They shall grow to be Wonderful,
Just like you.
All Mothers must sing
All Mothers must sing
All Mothers, all Mothers, all Mothers
Some sing but a whisper,
Some make the walls ring;
They know that they hold
The most Precious of things;
So all Mothers, all Mothers, all Mothers
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2016
Grandpa had a bulldog whose name was Tige.
They were close – as close as honey and bees.
If Grandpa felt a cold comin’ on –
Well Ol’ Tige was the one who would sneeze
Grandpa was noted for his wealth and generosity.
His love for me was demonstrated when he paid my college fees.
The love he held for Tige was almost the same for me.
And ol’ Tige was always with Grandpa wherever he might be.
College life was different then, separation was the norm.
And years at Alma Mater meant years far from the farm.
Students have it difficult and allowances soon shrink
So, short of money there, I soon began to think.
Grandpa, bless his giving heart, quickly came to mind
That bulldog owned his generous heart – if somehow I could find
Some way to convince my grandpa to increase the money sent --
I came upon a devious plan – and this is how it went.
I wrote and told my grandpa, “There’s things you ought to know.
The things they’re doin’ here at school will set your heart aglow.”
“They’re takin’ all these sorts of dogs – it came as quite a shock
Grandpa, you won’t believe me, they’re teachin’ dogs to talk.”
Now grandpa loved ol’ Tige so much it didn’t take him long
To ask how much would it take to send ol’ Tige along?
Well, when I gave a figure, Grandpa was satisfied
If this crazy scheme was figured out, there’s no place I could hide.
I kept feeding grandpa all sorts of good reports
How Tige was a star pupil and mascot of all sports
Two years passed and soon there came the time to take Tige home
Grandpa was so excited -- Tige was never more to roam.
Grandpa came runnin’ when I stepped down off the train.
His eager eyes were searching for what he’d never see again.
“Where’s ol’ Tige?” he asked, as we began to walk.
“He’s not comin’.” I replied, “C’mon we need to talk.”
This morning I was shaving in the bathroom by the sink
And Tige was justa talkin’ when he looked at me and winked.
“Ya know’ he said, “I’ll be so glad to be back home at last.”
There are some things I’ve thought about that went on in the past.”
“I was standin’ at the mirror with my razor in my hand
Ol’ Tige was talkin’ ‘bout some things he couldn’t understand.
I could not believe the lies he told – things he’d seen first hand
Like the times he saw you wrestlin’ with that female hired hand.”
His words just lit a fire with the pictures that he painted
I almost couldn’t help myself – Grandpa, I nearly fainted.
It seems that I lost it some and when I finally woke,
I’d grabbed him by the backa his neck and cut his lyin’ throat.
I know grandpa was shaken, I saw it in his eyes.
A look of consternation he could not disguise
He seemed to be relieved, as he looked at me and said,
“Now, Son, I really need to know, are you sure ol’ Tige is dead?”
Years have hidden the truth of this deception that I wrought.
I’m the one who wove deceptive tales that everybody bought.
But when the truth is told at last and no more lies are found
You’ll gladly find an ending that surely will astound.
Grandpa? -- He now lives with Jesus, and me? -- I’m headed there.
Tige? – I know he’s still around though I shouldn’t tell you where.
We made a pact some years ago when things went awfully bad.
For years he’s been the best darn mascot my school ever had.
Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2012
No challenge stops her
stance is set
She needs no reassurance
no protective arm
What she wants
is what she wills
she harbors no illusions
No man will tell her
what to do
She has lain out
her own way
and swept it clean
No distraction is allowed
Her goals are set
and bannered, waiting
for distant days
She will claim them all
in triumph, never doubting
Small of stature
great of heart
she turns to face the wind
Gentle as a running stream
Unyielding as a diamond
then passes through
No lie accepted
no truth denied
She scans the road ahead
weighs its options
gaze sure and steady
Fears are felt
She does not move back
she sets her grip upon
each thing she wants
Her goals must surrender
to her determination
A child in years
an elder's wisdom
sits upon her brow
Discouragements will bring no change
a mountain of resolve
she sees it through
The end in sight
stays in sight
within my child
Her father frets for her
but can never fear
This is my little bulldog
holding the world
by its pantleg
Naught that she needs escapes her
what kind of fool would try
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2007
She's been gone for 16 years now
but her memory lingers on.
It seems like only yesterday,
I still can't believe she's gone!
From the first day that I met her,
there was never any doubt.
She's the one who taught me,
what love was all about.
Whenever I came home from work,
she met me at the door!
She was always glad to see me,
we had such great rapport.
In the evening while I watched TV,
she would snuggle in real tight.
Then when bedtime rolled around,
she would sleep with me all night.
We loved each others company
it coud not be denied.
For 14 years, my faithfull friend,
was right there by my side.
Her breed was, Boston Bulldog,
but she was gentle as could be.
Her coat was mostly brown and white,
but was a true-blue friend to me!
I've had happy times throughout my life,
of that, there is no doubt!
But "Goldilocks", my canine friend,
showed what love was all about!
Contest: The Secondhand Emotion
By: Ralph Taylor
Copyright © RALPH TAYLOR | Year Posted 2012
[He says]Never say ?I can't?
Why on Earth not meet defeat
admit you're seldom right
Saying you CAN is vanity
and looking for a fight.
[He says] Don'?t look back on failure ...
Dwell on failure is what I say
thank failure with a smile!
A learning tool is what it is
to shorten your next mile.
Good results are scant [He says]
Oh goodness, where are you looking?
You breathe the air where roses bloom
and eat your wife's fine cooking.
Taste the gift of life; don't focus on doom.
[He says] But, praise is less than complaint!
Enjoy the ACTION she says, not the "at a boy!'
you decide, what you value
and whose judgments to deploy
Your opinion of self is what you should pursue.
Embrace the TRUTH with stoic composure. [He says]
The truth...which truth is that?
Laugh, I say, in the face of those
who would oppose you, tip your hat.
Revealations comes to those who grow!
[He says]Be rawhide tough and BULLDOG mean.
Oh God, what men don't do?
Be sweet, be soft be kind I say
and like will return to you
for your soul you've not betrayed.
Defeat [He says] has no place in our repertoire ...
Now here she says, it's not defeat to wish upon a star.
He says: Charles Henderson, She says: Debbie Guzzi
Copyright © Charles Henderson | Year Posted 2012
Martha was rudely awaken on Monday morning
With the phone call we all dread
“Mrs Palmer we regret to inform you
That your husband Edward is dead”
She thought that it was tactless
The way she had been told
Couldn’t they have said ‘passed away'?
Instead of being so bold
She dressed in her Sunday best
It took her ages to get ready
But she wanted to make an effort
For her dear, departed Eddie
When she arrived at the hospital
She was taken to the ward
Attached to the bed on a bulldog clip
Was Edward Palmer’s medical record
Edward was lying in the bed
He just looked like he was asleep
Martha took his hand in hers
And she began to weep
The patients in adjoining beds
Said staff had had to disinfect
Because Edward had taken short
Had they no respect?
Martha sat at the bedside and said
“My husband has passed away”
The patients resumed watching TV
And didn’t know what to say
A nurse arrived and said
“It’s a shame that you weren’t here
When he was asking for you
It’s a pity you don't live near
Don’t worry though cos I was here
He didn’t die alone
Whenever we tried to phone you
All we got was an engaged tone”
Martha suddenly remembered
The umpteenth pointless phone calls
To the lazy ‘cowboy builders'
Meant to be pointing her garden walls
Every time she phoned them
It wasn’t any use
Sometimes her complaints would be met
By an endless torrent of abuse
The nurse jolted Martha from her daydream
By tapping her on the shoulder
She glanced down at Edward
And noticed he suddenly looked years older
Martha said “I’ll be lost without him”
And the nurse gave her a wry smile
Then said “Some people will be coming for Edward
In just a little while
He’ll have to be moved
Because we really need the bed”
Martha recalled the other day
A pillow still bearing the shape of a deceased patients head
Martha said “I feel so lost
I don’t know what to do”
The nurse put her hand on Martha’s shoulder and said
“The receptionist has something for you”
Martha kissed Edward's forehead
And said “My darling I must go
I just hope you knew
How much I loved you so”
She wanted to remember Edward
When he was full of life
Now she was a widow
No longer someone's wife
She waited in reception
Listening to the constant chatter
She wondered how long she'd be waiting
Though now time didn’t matter
The receptionist slid the glass aside
And placed a plastic bag in Martha’s hand
She could see it contained Edward's spectacles and dentures
And in one corner his gold wedding band
Martha returned to an empty house
And received not a single phone call
Of condolence or sympathy
Just one from the builders about pointing the wall
Copyright © Jenny Linsel | Year Posted 2017
My love for you is a creature, a solid breathing
Entity, a mangled creation of shadow-black flesh
And the thread-like interwoven muscles of my
The paltry reasons I put up with your countless
Slights, insults, depravities, are its backbone,
The eyes are mere sockets, the hollowed out orbs
Where my intuition has failed…
My love for you stalks at my feet, its hot breath
Warming my Achilles heel, the weakness that lets you in…
I cannot escape you…I cannot fool myself into hatred,
Though it’s just a thin line away,
I cannot shake off this damnable love, no matter how much
It hurts, no matter the knives of white-hot agony that stab
My heart, no matter how you choke me with your ropes
Of lies and deceit…and you, how you repay me,
You pick up the shards of my shattered dreams, so much crushed glass,
And grind them into my weeping wounds, you spit on
My flailing hopes as they flap on the ground like crows
With tattered dragging wings…you murder me with a smile…
And all the while my love for you clings to my hem, bulldog determined,
Digging deeper and deeper into my melting soul, penetrating the bone,
Burning brands of linked sixes in my marrow
Soon I fear it will bite so deep it will sever me in two, and leave me,
A mangled maimed malcontent dying slowly in a pool
Of my own pathetic longing…my own self destructive love
Copyright © Amy Van de Casteele | Year Posted 2009
The Bulldog Gets Married
The day is perfect:
The skies smile down upon us
And the silence rings with joy.
She too, stands perfect:
Her Beauty pure
Her dress like snow
Swirls about her flawless youth;
The quiet music starts.
Together we walk
Hand in hand,
Stone by stone
Her future waits before us,
Shining in the sun.
She who won my heart
Rules his today;
There he stands,
Ablaze with love and honor
Watching our approach.
The final end of Childhood comes
As with one kiss
All is sealed
With public vows and rings
All who witness much approve.
And the photographs
Are duly taken
And the friends all laugh in love
As my daughter rules her Day
With not the slightest show of effort
And the Past enfolds the Present
As we lift each glass and toast
And we all accept our Futures
As the sun smiles on us all,
Enfolding us in light
Shared memories fill
The festive air
The dying Summer
Yet stretches out in languid Peace
And makes this Day Eternal
Yet even Eternities end,
Making way for others;
The Forever light of Childhood
Yields to Infinite Adulthood, and that to Age,
And on into the starry Night approaching with the shadows...
Pair by Pair
The guests depart
The Couple leaves to start their Life.
The silent Wheel turns ever on,
Bearing us upon its rim.
So she who owns my heart
Leaves holding his
And All is as such things should Be.
A Summer dies, a Fall begins;
The Quiet rains around us.
A Forever Day, this Day;
A piece of What Will Ever Be:
Love and Laughter
Wrapped in gold and sapphire,
In a Silence that rings with Joy.
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2014
Face flush with the cold,
She comes, with the wind laughing at her back
Across our threshold once more,
And in moments it is as though she'd never left.
Every room brightens invisibly with her prescence
As she moves here and there in her easy ways,
Dispelling discontents with artless word and act
As drops of clear oil will still a pond disturbed by wind.
She is fully unconcious of her gifts,
And so they radiate from her with undiminished power.
And now, exhausted from relentless work and scholarship
She lies asprawl on her old bed,
Dear old cat cradled in one arm,
Cooing softly in her sleep like a dove,
Just as she did when small,
An eternal yesterday ago.
And what can I do with that,
Save retire to my own room and glow?
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2010
She and vehicles,
No quarter given
And none asked on either side.
The metal beasts smell money,
Wound themselves to devour it.
It doesn't matter
How she tries to hide her cash -
Spitefully they sniff it out
And die gleefully,
Knowing she must resurrect
Their thankless, thieving thick hides.
O you willful ones,
You steelclad dromedaries,
Do you think you can defeat
The Mighty Bulldog?
She never wants Will - just Ways.
Once found - you're dispensible.
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2009
MARVIN BENET BLACKMON, JR.
Yesterday, as you remember, was just another day.
You played like a boy could with no worries in place.
Today you sing the gospel and your soul is fulfilled.
Benet, you are anointed to excel.
The stories of a Prophet who knew his way.
Oiled as a baby to be a champion.
Your grandmother was a great crusader of the cause.
You are a Mississippi State Bulldog.
Your substance will go far.
Marvin, you are your own self-worth.
VIBRANT, AND ALIVE
INFORMED BY PRICINPALITY
NECTAR WITH YOUR TRUMPET FLUID.
BEAUTIFULLY CULTURIZED TO CULTIVATE...
NEVERLAND IS YOUR SPIRIT.
EFFORTLESS YOU PLAY AS YOUR
BLACK AS JAZZ
LOOKS BEYOND THE CLOUDS.
ASPIRE TO CARVE YOUR OWN STYLE -
CASTE YOUR SPELL.
KEEP YOUR IDEAS TO DIVVY.
ONE LIFE YOU HAVE TO LIVE
NINE TIMES PLUS TEN.
JUST AND DEFINED HEREIN.
REMEMBER ALL THINGS POSSIBLE CAN BE ACHIEVED.
Penned April 21, 2015!
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015
In late on a late night from a long journey,
Barely in the door
And she's telling funny stories
Of her own misfortunes
The comedy of errors that harried her homewards.
The young woman who will always be our child
Has the lot of us laughing
When we should all be asleep
At things that would've driven others
To fury or despair;
But those have no hold on her,
Because bulldogs don't give up -
They just hold on.
So now she's holding on again -
A new grownup
In a too grownup world.
Now the lessons come of living.
- But that's all right,
Because biting down and holding fast
Is what she does,
And she's gonna chew this bone too,
The tough white bone of adulthood,
Down to a pile of disregardable dust
And make it all her own
The while she works it.
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2012
Jack has a bulldog. Boy can he fart
Phooey, they do not come from the heart
Don’t ever feed him beans
Or the odor gets mean
Never needs a battery to start
Tickle me pinck contest Oct 31
Copyright © Erich Goller | Year Posted 2012
Listen to poem:
Here we are fans this fine summer day,
to watch Trash Can Cats, versus Downtown Stray.
The field is grand in this deep wooded glen,
pitchers are warming up in the bull pen.
Pitching for the Cats is Crazy Legs Lynx,
his pitching fast and usually sinks.
Throwing for Strays is lefty Greyhound,
he’s tall and lanky but throws very sound.
Dogs take the field, Manx cat at the plate,
the balls streaking by, he’s swinging too late.
Three strikes he’s out, Greyhound’s having a day,
the Bobtail cat will be next up to play.
First pitch is low, ump calls it a ball,
the next one’s inside, a very close call.
Greyhound next pitches a ball with great speed,
Bobtail cat swings, bat up to the deed.
High into the air the baseball did soar,
Rocky Retriever swift ran to the chore.
Over the fence it finally had spun,
Cats have the early lead zero to one.
Sam Siamese next hit to first base,
Billy Beagle was right in his place.
Tagged Sam Siamese, out by a snout,
going to be a tough game without a doubt.
Black Bombay was next to at bat,
this was a dangerous black batting cat.
Greyhound threw three balls, speed lighting fast,
Black Bombay cat was not long to last.
Ok fans, Trash Can Cats take the field,
Downtown Stray, the bat skillfully to wield.
First up at bat will be Pauly the Pug,
he’s a bit short but oh boy can he slug.
Crazy Legs Lynx lets a ball go,
Pauly Pug drew back but was a bit slow.
The next ball was placed for Pauly just grand,
Pauly bunted, on first base he did land.
Freddy Fox Hound will next take at bat,
eyeing the pitcher he’ll cream that fast cat,
The next pitch did come blazing toward him,
curving left to right his chances were slim.
The crack of the bat and off the ball went,
into left field the ball, quickly, was sent.
Left fielder Maine **** cat ran for the ball,
Pauly Pug on first base never did stall.
Pug rounded the bases, a cloud of dust,
running for home plate, as he knew he must.
Russian Blue cat was catching home plate,
Maine **** cats throw just a bit late.
Pauly Pug crossed the plate, the score was tied,
Freddy Fox Hound gave that ball quite a ride.
The next two Stray batters went down in smoke,
an epic baseball game, this is no joke.
The afternoon wore on, battle royal,
both teams competing with highest moral.
Pitchers dueling in highest degree,
all of their skill for everyone to see.
We come at last to the bottom of nine,
Trash Can Cats now weren’t doing so fine.
The score in the ninth still tied one to one,
if Downtown dogs scored the game would be done.
Springer Spaniel up to take his turn,
three times passed Spaniel that fast ball would burn.
Dan Dachshund followed, next in the order,
three pitches all strikes, right on the border.
Bulldog next up, last hold out of hopes,
with slow confidence, to the plate he lopes.
Bulldog practices a swing, thunderous might,
set not to go home a loser tonight.
Stepped to the plate, gave the pitcher a glare,
planning a hit with no mercy to spare.
The first pitch a blur no chance for a swing,
went so fast, he didn’t see the darn thing.
Next pitch was low and they called it a ball,
he stepped off the plate, the pitcher to stall.
Here came a pitch it curved to inside,
Bulldog took a big swing, losing his pride.
Then two more balls were to follow that day,
three balls two strikes on the count they would say.
Next pitch coming, he could see the darn thing,
he reared back and gave his most vicious swing.
The crack of the bat shocked even him,
the Trash Can Cats future now looked dim.
Howe Himalayan cat ran at top speed,
so hoping to catch this game winning deed.
The crowd were all standing, waiting to see,
the out come this blast from Bulldog would be.
The ball flew so high, then began to fall,
finally landed way over the wall.
The crowd gave a cheer and shouted as one,
the Downtown Stray had successfully won.
Both teams met in the middle of the field,
shaking of hands, their friendship was sealed.
Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
Copyright © Robert Stoner Jr | Year Posted 2016
Sunday Morning blues
RIO DE JANEIRO all nights or LAS VEGAS nightlife
After two-three glasses of Twisted Ice Lemon
Or was it an Alabama Slammer? You mustn’t trust!
My days and nights felt like a Freight train ride
And that no lie!
Then I remember the Cuban Bulldog who bite me
Three years ago, in Kissimmee; I think
which left me more than a little weak
in the knees those feisty drinks
Or was it that wicked, wacky Long Island Ice coffee
Which almost has done me in?
after watching a news clips of Momar Kadafi
or was it an episode of Friends
Luckily, for me I met my sweet Marlin Brando
And it was hallelujah and Amen in Key Largo
So many bartenders, so many smokes filled rooms
So, once again here I am nursing
Another Sunday mornings blues.
Copyright © Annie Lander | Year Posted 2012
Never Ending Love
Born in a cold basement on Valentine’s Day,
She grew up on newspaper and constant radio play.
She was the runt of the litter and very poorly fed,
When I first laid eyes on her, she looked to be half dead.
But I saw a bright spark, a twinkle in her eye,
She was perfectly imperfect, I could not deny.
Her pure white face with the odd brown polka dot,
Her overbite and broad chest, I loved her on the spot.
At first I felt I had to save this precious little thing,
Later I would realize, it was her who made my heart sing.
She greets every visitor with enthusiasm and glee,
Her kind and gentle nature is so evident to see.
I had planned to get a dog to take on a daily walk,
But exercise is something she has a tendency to balk.
She will play real hard pulling a rope for a minute or two,
Then flop down on the floor to sleep, as if right on cue.
She walks rather slow so I have nick-named her Doodle,
But she outshines any dog from a Great dane to a poodle,
Her innocence is reflected in her stoic face so sad,
She never changes her look, even when she has been bad.
Frankie my English bulldog has been my constant friend,
She supported me unconditionally when my job was at its end,
Then I lost my Mom and my daughter moved away,
Frankie gave me love and at my side she would stay.
I am so grateful that I found this most precious gift,
For that little twinkle in her eye has given me a true lift
Oh I love Frankie my English Bulldog she is the greatest pet,
Her never ending love is the most that one could ever get.
Contest: Pick A Pet Contest
Date: July 3, 2011
Won Honourable Mention
Copyright © Lee Ramage | Year Posted 2011
The talent of this England team
Will overcome the rest
Because the players on display
Are simply the best.
James our keeper will save every shot
He's experienced and so cool
Glen Johnson and Ashley Cole
The defence they both will rule.
John Terry solid as a rock
With King at his side
While Lennon and Joe Cole
Control the play out wide.
The creative skill of Lampard
And captain Gerrard too
Will create a hole in any defence
No matter what they do.
Peter Crouch up front is so tall
He reminds me of a Giraffe
When he scores and does that dance
He really makes me laugh.
Wayne Rooney wow what can I say
The best of the best
He's like a little bulldog
With three lions on his chest.
Our manager Fabio Capello
A master of the game
If we don't bring back the cup
We're only ourselves to blame.
Copyright © LEON WILSON | Year Posted 2010
I tell u what shell b the first to tell you
Tim is crazy he aint even jealous of the devil
he gots propellas on the metal
Rest aside those doubts about me
weapons of destruction I don;t even trust in
Whitesqualls Rise up & swallow yall
Im taking chances riskzs and consequences
and im calling that,,, sacrificed chrome polished brass
and im calling chris competition demolished
Im on a baja in a Hallor
Working hard for the heart of her daughter
Sheep for the slaughter dont even bother me
Yes im a legend your just thinking like a protégé
Well geuss what ? my son is my predecessor
I say " Que paso Senior to her step farther"
And me & her brother did a little dirt together
Yes i was like a pirate that burried Treasure
Then i came back as a Survivor On a Glider like Mcgivor
I'll take you to the cliff if u think ur stiffer
I sniffed her then she pist on my terrietory
Your a Teratorous Im the Astroid headed for u
Im a Hailey Im a ****ing comet
You’re like the Red Foe I’ll put cleats on and crush you
Well Im despondant when you stutter when you comment
Eminem dont u ****in call me
Theres a slim chance that u could ever understand a standard
Well u antsy u better go read the ****in manual
Or what about the instructions, chrome never made me stronger
And you think u lucky go ahead and trust it
Gods the only thing i ever trusted in
as i slide in the night in a maroon mustang
i shine like emeralds dipped in crushed diamonds
I had her heart the whol;e time good luck in try in to find it
shes ****in mad cuz i play and splash in the light years
well Im not sorry for GOD being my Guidence
Smaller stars dye for the brighter star Rising
We are Warriors your women in the village crying
AS we stole your pony
Feel the power of a Stallion chasing the scent of heat in a Filley
Hoofprints pounding in the earth and you mistake them for the sound of thunder
Im picking a fight Im talking calling you out to box me
With no weapons in my hand I fight face to face like a man does
Your English Bulldog Im American Pit, I’m like George Washington and Congress
When they signed The Decloration of Independence, The pen is mightier than the sword
It took the pen to entice yall, yall brought ships and thaught yall was goin faught us
Im like my Fore Fathers I still piss on the title of you ****in LandLords
Copyright © Timothy Jacks | Year Posted 2012
On an early April afternoon, nearly three decades ago
I waited to meet my firstborn, but time moved so slow
Upon her delivery I heard the lusty sound of her cries
It was in that moment, happy tears fell from my eyes
Perfect in every way; of course I counted her fingers and toes
What's a girl to do if she doesn't have the right number of those
A head full of dark ebony hair, rested upon the lass like a crown
In my first glimpse of her she'd traded crying for furrowed frown
A babe who never caused a stir. Were all babies that good?
When my next was born, five years later, then I understood
Emphatically not! No two children are ever quite the same
Each has their own personality that only he or she can claim
My little daughter thought she was also his doting mother
Teaching all the things she had learned to her baby brother
How quickly they grew between first steps and off to school
Each gave a scare with choking; swimming lessons at the pool
Mother's who brag on their children can be quite the bore
But both graduated from high school and college with honors galore
My daughter became a graphic designer, a manager for Triple A
Florida is home to her family. Far from me, but a plane ride away
She presented me with my only grandchild, a precious little boy
Eighteen months of loving him has been eighteen months of joy
My son will never leave New Orleans. His roots here run deep
He likes hanging with his Mom, and gives me hugs when I weep
Communications is his field of work and he's doing very well
Recently married, so his baby is a French Bulldog named Belle
Both took their time finding great jobs and marriage mates, how smart
My two children became four, then five. My grandson stole my heart
My happiness has grown through the years, watching them all thrive
I'm so proud to be their mother, and I humbly thank God for all five
February 10, 2016 My Lovely Children Contest by Laura Loo
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2016
I am going to write a funny poem
Why does life have tomorrow?
Because if it doesn't
Wouldn't you have it today?
How far is far
And how near is near?
Close enough to me
You are too close
What do you take one by?
By the hand?
I am nothing to you
By the arm?
Are you going to arrest me?
By the fingers?
What do you try to slip by me?
See who is going to sit next to ya
Jumping to the curve
It depends where you are jumping
If you talk about my curve
There'll be a problem
Who is talking about questions?
Why there is Mars?
And why there is Venus?
Doesn't Mars supersede Venus?
Doesn't Venus exceed Mars?
Who knows and who cares?
Doesn't one know anything?
Back to the solution manual
Does anyone look at that thing?
Almost everyone right?
Then why don't they have solution manual for everything?
It's going to be dry tomorrow
Temperatures are so lop-sided
I think there are more highs than lows
Does that mean I am lopsided?
And you too?
Me not you
Maybe you not me
Maybe all of us
Maybe none of us
Tomorrow is another day
Unless you are expecting something
Are you expecting anything?
Am I expecting anything?
Then tomorrow is another day
You want the same day?
No I want a special day
Yeah tomorrow is a special day
Unless it comes today
Then it's not special
'Cause I want it now
Okay you can have today as a special day
If you know that today is today
When did you become a counselor?
Hot to the heel
Hot to the collar
Are you hot?
I am burning hot
I am hot over heel
And I am hot under the collar
I am hot everywhere
Can't stand it
Gonna jump in the pool
Think I am going to be hot there too
Do you think you have what it takes?
I know I have what it takes
It takes me and it takes you
And it takes all of us
What is it anyway?
Until I can find a bulldog
Which I am not going to get
Because I already have a B.S.
Ha that doesn't count
Tell it to my bank account
That's where all my money goes
To my student loans
That is the biggest debt of anyone - who has brain - or not
Life time contributor
When am I one?
I am everyone
I am everywhere
I am every voice
I am every noise
If I stand up and be counted
I would fill up this life-sized stadium
Then when I not be counted?
Who is counting?
Okay you have enough jokes for the day
I am hooking you up
I am going to play
Copyright © Toquyen Harrell | Year Posted 2015
The bulldog said to the poodle...
"Wow!"..."What a fancy treat!"
"Today you ain't so lucky",
"I'm the king on this street!"
"Looks like you lost your way",
"Now ain't you clean and pretty!"
"You're 'bout to be a mangled mess",
"My oh my, what a pity!"
The little pooch shook with fear,
He found not the courage to talk;
The bulldog was suddenly whisked away,
As the poodle stood alone on the walk!
Nabbed by the local catcher,
The bulldog lost his might;
He could only sit in silence,
While the poodle shivered with fright!
The dog catcher said to the poodle...
"Today's your lucky day!"
"Judging by the tags on your collar",
"Home's just a block away!"
"Don't be afraid, little fella!"
"No more will you be alone!"
So off she sped with the poodle,
Returning him safely home!
The world's filled with bullies,
Whether it's wealth, power, or size;
The Lord sends His angels to protect us,
While our enemies lurk in disguise!
Copyright © Milton Toran | Year Posted 2012
OK another adventure in the mad poet’s life,
This occurred just before I met Jane, my imaginary wife.
Jane’s brother, Glen had set me up with a blind date
He said the girl was a stunner, I could not wait
So dressed in me stripe trouser with me chequer tank top vest
I oiled me baldhead and let the old spice do the rest
Off I went down town to meet Deglet Noor (that was her name)
Glen said, “If you see her lips you’ll want to kiss them more and more.”
Then I saw her, and dam what a blind date
She was lumpy like custard with an all eye seeing Rottweiler that made me fearfully
She looked like a bulldog chewing on a bee
And the Rotter was eyeing me leg as if it wanted to hump me
I thought to myself, give the girl a meal
Then we call it a day and that was the deal
She chose this uptown place where rich people dined
A French restaurant with snails and frogs legs, you know the funny kind
I had a steak, she had prawns and a lobster too
And she persuaded me by force to drink champagne form her trainer shoe
When she ate poor lobster it was a terrible gore
I wish she could have taken a tip from Sir Robert Hinshaw
When we finished the waiter brought the bill and waited for me to pay
£1500 bloody pounds, my bowels almost gave way
I said to him “We not finished yet. Could we have Ice cream and coffee?”
And I said “Oh and don’t forget the mint toffee”
Me credit card was on strike and would not handle that amount
It was time for me to exit time to get out
So when the waiter had gone I told her I was going to the loo
Said to her I needed to off load a number two
In a terrible panic I managed to squeeze through the window, hitting the deck
I punched the air shouting “Yes!” followed by an “Oh F-ck” and “What the Heck”
I had fallen into the kitchen and not outside you see
The head chef said “We built it this way to stop people like you stealing from me”
Five weeks on and 100000 dishes later,
If I stayed any longer I’m sure I would have been promoted to head waiter
Nevertheless, If you do come across Glen give me a shout
Tell him the mad poet is looking to blow his brains out
**For my sweet Delysia Hendricks who asked me to write this poem**
**Deglet Noor is a date that you eat if you didn't know**
Copyright © Sidney Hall Mad Poet | Year Posted 2011
You are way more than a pet
Ladybug you are my friend
You’re always more than willing
To offer your ear to lend
Just a little Chihuahua
Though you’re a bulldog inside
You are forever willing
Come on bug let’s take a ride
As I write out my poems
You must jump up on my lap
All though after awhile
You simply curl up and nap
Ladybug I sure love you
While on treatment for hep c
Toni thought I might need you
To give me some company
Bug you gave us your heart
You gave us your loyalty
That’s why you are now a part
A part of our family
Every other line rhyme's and each
line has a syllable count of 7.
Written for the "Pets" contest.
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2008
Mentors with the BeeTrees
come darkening winter
as newborn discontent
waiting to spring forth.
come summer's diastasis
climax of full-born wisdom,
contentment for and from all four directions
spread across sleeping hearts
of each nighttime regeneration.
From normalizing WestWind toward East colonializing
comes abundant fall in grace
from grace fulfilled in heartier summer,
for grace processing
through deep long winter winds
of (0)-souls abundantly newborning.
From EastWind springs
good news as Easter strawberries,
born of flint and saplings
full and blood-red regenesis
well ahead of co-redeeming dreams
for other berries to come after white lillies lead
around green connifers
promising full summer's heat
by learned lighttime
on this first day
of all gratitude
Yet to rebirth
come leaders of berries
and baby bodhisattvas
of all four winds,
each with their season,
rational Tao gratitudes
and irrational Confusion platitudes
of sacred yet secular ecology.
winter water darkens
future seasons of gratitude
with summer's fullblown positive attitude.
As I awake this morning
I remember a song I taught my more oppositionally disposed daughter:
I love you
and you might love me
even if I couldn't
re-align my four B's,
these four aligned
If you do
then I will too.
It is part of a dream
as I awake this morning
I remember EarthTribe
no longer the same population
living within that song
as when I went to bed
A few of us have died.
A few have been new born.
And so it goes each morning
since I was that new born
overwhelmed by all concerted Four-B wisdom
of older dreams
awakening each morning
to discover a few more have joined us,
coming along behind,
and a few more ahead
are now beyond any further potential
for re-aligning leadership
or even long-lived Fractal-B hums
of silent listening.
And so I will go that last night
now leading those who listen
for a swelling population of EarthTribe Crystal-B Voices
greeting each new born pioneer
conjoining us for this Earth training
Vocation for wiser co-aligning Elders
as just normal-aptic naptime for others
just now begun
for whom we join our minds as one
in and with and for and of
I wonder if our purist unity as EarthTribe
is only RightBrain known and felt in dreams
where reptiles and mammals and amphibeans
like beans and corn and squash
all process more alike than separate,
more interdependently than empty of relationship,
without distinctions arising sexism,
without separations co-arising racism,
without asseverated appositions causing self-righteous violence
unless we know these as unruly nightmares
begging to restore mercy
and thereby less necessity for retributive harsh justice,
patriarchal vengeance is ours!
As EarthTribe slowly shape-shifts repopulation
between each daily-nightly evolving frame
roundly rolling along spacetime's polypathic avenues
becoming not exactly who we were yesterday,
as there is not sufficient time to quite grasp it all so much
in one timeless time,
just as, in RealTime,
unlike Common DreamTime,
we cannot quite get back
to (0)Sum original habitat
of spacetime's full-blown diastatic revolution,
still home, disappointed yet again.
maybe tomorrow night
this resonant resolution
may yet come to last
for tomorrow's recast EarthTribe,
yet perpetually interdependent underdogs,
no anonymous underdog mutt identities
undemocratically meant to be
unpolitical correctly excluded)
Underdogs depending on your preferred bulldog or b-word identity
of protagonizing ecojustice dreams
where Paradise Lost
looks more same than different
throughout today's reborn
Then through this timeless multi-speciating dream,
more double-binding than simplistic (0)Sum LoseLose
degeneration with regeneration
for no one wakes up tomorrow
not to re-create gratitude for dawn's newborn delight
in FourB eco-alignments
more interdependently flying together
than degeneratively coming apart.
Up from NorthWinds
comes darkening winter water
as newborn discontent of Advent
waiting to spring forth.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017