Best Bulldogs Poems
We played hide and seek
Running around the park.
And a game called british bulldogs,
It really was a lark.
Then there was scrumping apples
And getting chased off by the man.
How we loved knock and run,
Oh, how fast we ran.
Of course there was footie
Sometimes fifteen a side.
On tv we watched the flintstones,
And laughed until we cried.
The sweetshop sold gobstoppers
Or maybe a sherbet dab,
A shiny stick of liquorice
Or an exciting lucky bag.
Our parents couldn't get us in,
How we loved to play.
There just never seemed to be
Enough hours in the day.
But our kids are technophobes,
They think we're dinosaurs.
Scoffing at our 'good old days'
Thinking we were bores.
I despair at the internet,
Technology, at a cost
Children glued to ipads,
A proper childhood lost.
I can imagine in the future
There's a point our kids will reach,
All contact will be online,
They'll have lost the power of speech.
Fresh air, and playing out
Will seem a relic from the past.
I fear there's no going back,
For the techno die is cast.
Entry for It's The End Of The Forms Series - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Broken Wings
5/10/2017
In late on a late night from a long journey,
Barely in the door
She's telling funny stories of her own misfortunes.
A 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 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.
Schooltime over;
Lessons now born from living.
- But that's all right,
Because biting down, holding fast
Is what she does -
She's gonna chew this bone too,
The tough white bone of adulthood,
Down to a pile of fine, digestible dust
She'll make it all her own
The while she works it.
It's strange how life reminds me of papa's old beetle.
Well taken care of, beautifully washed,
And treated with respect,
Only to reward him with a box and silence.
We run about, dodging the men in shorts,
For the looks in their eyes know not remorse,
For the powder give them power,
And they extends their lovely hand of death,
So we can dance in peace.
I wonder why mama cried when papa was brought back.
He had gone home to rest,
But I felt sad for her hair which she pulled,
Her wrapper which she gave a continental design,
And the ground which she toyed with,
Like a two year old.
It was a sight to behold, a woman mourning her husband,
Sent home by the predators.
One was manageable, but two was disaster.
A home filled with laughter, reeked of sadness,
A confusing feeling in my mind, filled with images.
I run to the backyard to see mama pounding yam as always,
But I see nothing, and hear nothing.
She lay in front of me,
Smothered and dressed in blood, like her husband.
She finally got her wish, she ended up with him.
The troops are closing in,
We lost our allies and fight like bulldogs,
But with teeth as sharp as uncle's lost wooden ruler.
Defeat is near, and I have long chopped my thoughts,
Better than the chef I saw on television at Ene's house.
The beetle smashed an armour tank.
The flag was cast down,
Dreams were shredded,
The promise of a nation was destroyed,
Where do we start from?
Football brought shivers to folks in Three Rivers
With slivers of Fall in the air
And the crowd was excited but not so delighted
By weather more cloudy than fair
A player named Paul was the proudest of all
And he played for a team that was great
Yes he played for a team and the sake of a dream
To be known as the best in the State
The Bulldogs were bruisers more often than losers
And Paul's game was proving his worth
He was better each year with a dad who was clear
That his son was the finest on Earth
They were planning to squash all the boys from Mud Wash
A team that was zero and nine
But all of their scorn was like buckets of corn
To the 'Hogs who refused to be swine
The Mudhogs, in fact, we're not willing to act
Like a team that is tepid and weak
For the rain and the mud were the life and the blood
Of the boys when they played at their peak
With pride on the line and a reason to shine
All the Mudhogs were ready at last
But the half-time arrived and the 'Hogs that survived
Were dismayed by the two-quarters past
Now the Bulldogs who led by just three points ahead
Were convinced that the Mudhogs were done
But the ‘Hogs made it clear they had nothing to fear
From a team that was ranked number one
For the MudHogs to win they would have to begin
To disprove what the Bulldogs had said
So they fought with a strength that was better at length
By the way they came back from the dead
The fourth quarter came and the score was to blame
When the fans said the game was a dud
But a storm cloud appeared and the Mudhogs were cheered
By the downpour of rain and the mud
The Bulldogs were floored by the 'Hogs when they scored
And the latter were leading by four
But the Bulldogs were glad by the weather they had
When the grey sky turned sunny once more
Well the call went to Paul who was sure of it all
On a play that was first down and goal
And he knew they would win by the size of his grin
And the play of a team on a roll
The fans and their team were so ready to scream
With a second or two left to score
But Paul and his pass were reduced by the grass
That was fed by a 'Hog to a bore.
I grew up in Bath in the nineteen nineties
wearing short shorts over tighty whities,
while Bath were champions of English Rugby,
a beautiful city farfetched from ugly.
We played on Stilts and had Yo-Yo's,
skateboards with logo's,
Tamagotchi's, Slinkys and Pogo Sticks,
a string tied to sticks for Diablo tricks.
A lot wobbled, we played Wall Ball,
Smarties packets caused trouble.
Political Correctness didn't exist yet,
we wore Reebok, Fila or Hi-Tec.
We had Roller Skates, later Roller Blades,
out on the concrete in the streets we played,
as there were always lots of parking spaces,
space we used for running races.
We played Bulldogs Charge on repeat,
never stopping for the rain or sleet.
We played Wembley, or Heads, Volleys and Beats,
playing in the street our daily treat.
We played Kirby because kirbs were free,
40 40 in, also called Alien,
front gardens were a great WWF ring,
or we'd hit tennis balls tied to string.
Jumpers for goalposts,
or one and a lamppost,
cheated as we'd peek
playing Hide And Seek.
We played Knock Knock Ginger with its hiding,
or we'd get out our bikes and go riding.
We went Garden Hopping, never stopping,
played in the dark after the suns dropping.
We had Master Systems, Mega Drives or Nintendo's,
but were not reliant on technology inside,
we built Lego stadiums, played Subbuteo,
we collected sticker books, Pog's and trading cards with pride.
There was a fuzziness to Radio and TV,
we'd always sneak a peek at Page 3,
we watched films on VHS, played Cassettes or CD's,
or Conkers when they dropped from trees.
We only had four television channels to be flicking,
Saturday mornings were for Live and Kicking.
Bodger and Badger, The Chuckle Brothers, Rosie and Jim,
but you couldn't beata, bit of Blue Peter,
to Neighbours and Home and Away we tuned in.
When home alone emptied living rooms,
played football inside, 2-a-side,
cleaned up damage with brooms,
when parents got home we lied.
I'm proud I grew up in the nineties in Bath,
we had so much fun, so many laughs.
From no other time and place I'd rather be,
so here's to the nineties in the West Country.
love the S.E.C.
gators,bulldogs and gamecocks
rebels,crimson tide
Football brought shivers to folks in Three Rivers,
With slivers of Fall in the air,
And the crowd was excited but not so delighted,
By weather more cloudy than fair.
A player named Paul was the hottest of all,
And he played for a team that was great,
He played for a team and the sake of a dream,
To be known as the best in the State.
The Bulldogs were bruisers more often than losers,
And Paul's game was proving his worth,
He was better each year with a dad who was clear,
That his son was the finest on earth.
The Dogs meant to squash all the boys from Mud Wash,
A team that was zero and nine,
But all of their scorn was like buckets of corn,
To the Hogs who refused to be swine.
The Mudhogs, in fact, were not willing to act,
Like a team that was tepid and weak,
For the rain and the mud were the life and the blood,
Of the Hogs when they played at their peak.
With pride on the line and a reason to shine,
All the Mudhogs were ready at last,
But the half-time arrived and the Hogs that survived,
Were dismayed by the two-quarters past.
The Bulldogs who led by just three points ahead,
Were convinced that the Mudhogs were done,
But the Hogs made it clear they had nothing to fear,
From a team that was ranked number one.
For the Mudhogs to win they would have to begin,
To disprove what the Bulldogs had said,
So they fought with a strength that was better at length,
By the way they came back from the dead.
The fourth quarter came and the score was to blame,
When the fans said the game was a dud,
But a storm cloud appeared and the Mudhogs were cheered,
By the downpour of rain and the mud.
The Bulldogs were floored by the Hogs when they scored,
And the latter were leading by four,
But the Bulldogs were glad by the weather they had,
When the darkness turned sunny once more.
The game's final call was decided by Paul,
On a play that was fourth down and goal,
And he knew they would win by the size of his grin,
And the play of a team on a roll.
The fans of the team were already to scream,
With a second or two left to score,
But the boy and his pass were reduced by the grass,
That was fed by a Hog to a bore.
Will he ever stop his whining,
Will he wear his battery out
An ongoing headache circle
Nice would be his voice going out
He has the will of a 1000 bulldogs
Grouchy from short of sleep
Forever finding something new
To start to pester me
It seems his mission is successful
Changing but the same
The battlegrounds are busy,
Here’s hoping life gets easier-
When he is no longer three
barnum would have been proud
bulldogs in too twos
embraces for show
disks and dark booths
raw raws
scaffolding on saxophones
Scotland-yards of curtains
damp mermen
virginia sweet william
and dollar bills in
the greatest broken worth
REFLECTION IMPERFECTION
Harvest moon’s reflection
Exposing earth’s imperfection
NEWBORN INNOCENCE
Innocent newborn arrives
Pray innocence survives
LONELINESS
People all around
My loneliness abounds
OUCH
Loving my bulldogs
Unlike prickly hedgehogs
NIRVANA
Harry and Meghan
In seventh heaven
FLOWERS
Cutting blooming flowers
Only lasting hours
Contest Brian's Choice 5
Sponsor Brian Strand
3rd Place
Are you a football fan?
Are you into BIG TIME college football, where my
home town, Georgia Bulldogs are defending, two-time
national champions? Their season began last week
or maybe you’re an NFL fan (they start playing this week).
Ivy league college football starts next week and if you're
not excited about it, maybe you don’t understand it.
Before games there are parties with pizza and chicken wings.
Do NOT go to a frat house on a game day - just don’t.
If you’re going to throw a college football game
you’ll need two teams of players in safety uniforms
and at least one football (that’s what they fight over).
You need a crowd - two crowds really - and a stadium
where everyone could, in theory, sit. There should be
flags, banners, hats and jerseys in riotous team colors.
You’ll need two marching bands and school mascots.
A bulldog will do (Yale), or if you can’t afford that, you could
dress someone up as a huge-headed pilgrim (Harvard).
Of course, as with any big sporting event you’ll need skimpily
dressed girls to toss in the air and assorted food and drink to sell.
There will be lots and lots of cars, and police and ambulances
standing by in case it’s all too much or someone gets hurt.
Cheerleaders are there to whip the crowd into a vocal frenzy,
soon everyone’s yelling things like “DE-fense,” “push em back,”
“Harvard sucks” and “No, really, Harvard sucks.”
The ideal game should include a bitter rivalry like Yale vs Harvard.
While everyone knows Yale is better academically, there’s a small
chance that Harvard could win the game - which makes it scary.
We won last year and we’ll play them again this year, in November.
Anyway, whatever flavor of football you like:
It’s football season people!
.
.
I'm NOT a cheerleader. We knew where they practice, and a girl was nice enough to let me use her pompoms for some snaps.
Planning requires grit and devotion to succeed,
Does triumph make you shiver down your spine?
Propelling, freed
accomplishment
I fought with more pertinacity than bulldogs.
I cannot help but look at the success,
Does insufficiency make you shiver?
Stigma does not end with lateness or quiver.
Would night demise throw by a droop
Of the early morning shimmer?
Dad geese the goal
setting the path
(Fragmented Verse)
02/25/21
All The Little Pieces Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
ake me back to the 80s,
with top gun all the rage.
with me VHS and Betamax,
and Ceefax holiday page.
Keith had is hand up Orville,
the Rubix cube was fun.
Samantha had her baps out,
on the third page of the sun.
body-popping was a passing phase,
perms had become the norm.
Adams ants had their makeup on,
as they took the charts by storm.
space invaders and Pacman too,
adventures up the park.
British bulldogs on the front,
we stayed out till it was dark.
when people passed the time of day,
with a chit chat at the shops.
no mobile phones or internet,
just a weekly top of the pops.
when we had to close the curtains,
so the neighbors couldn't see,
grange hill and Roland rat
on the black and white tv.
shell suits and hi-top shoes.
woodchip on the walls.
Sierra Cosworth on the drive,
man that had some balls.
October brought us tatties.
in fields, we bloody well slogged.
with hawkeye watching over us,
and his one-eyed collie dog.
take me back to the 80s,
when money was more than tight.
we fed our meters ten bob bits,
to keep the house in lights.
when pubs closed their doors at eleven.
the last orders bell rang out.
off we went to the takeaway,
but the children then get nowt.
the fish shop guy was our best friend.
he paid us well with scraps.
in return for yesterdays papers,
salt n vinegar we did lash
When Lady Gaga's French bulldogs
Stoked half-a-million squealing hogs
The canine corps
Knocked on her door
With countless tails like pollywogs . . . .
Pups followed her home from this place and that.
She had bulldogs, basset hounds, and puppies so fat.
They followed her inside and lay down on her bed.
The mattress was cozy underneath each little head.
Her almost suiters were astounded to see the scene.
They said, “This is ridiculous!” One sounded quite mean.
You do not understand, she said. Here, I am the queen.
And my love for dogs and puppies is immensely keen.