Best Kennels Poems
The Scots, by God,
They drove them out,
With a single Yorkie
At their heels a' yappin'
The Hobyahs tried to fly
Their arms they were a flappin'
Some managed to take to sea
And landed in Hamptonshire,
Yes-serieee!!!
But the British Navy would have none of this,
Big battleships they did send
The Hobyahs saw their doom,
Their plans they did amend
They sailed on to American,
Landed at the New Jersey coast,
The hobyahs could find no better host!
They ate their way from Newark
All the way up to Camden
Avoiding kennels and dog warning signs
There was always people on their roast
Now, much of America
Might applaud this you see,
For most of Jersey's citizens
Were as useless as a rubber tree
Then the Jerseyites came up
With a plan,
They bribed the Hobyahs with
16 barges overfilled with McDonalds
Quarter-Pounders with Cheese-
With big sign saying-
"This Way!!"
"Free PeopleBurgers"!!!!
And Infant Limb Fries!!!!"
Now this was not within
the Hobyah's realm of understanding,
But it sure sounded good....
So on the barges they climbed,
Till each and every one of these fiends
Took to sea, gorging themselves
On what they thought was fast human food
Once out in the bay, the barges were sunk
by remote control
On shore, a Mexican Beach Police Patrolman
was heard to ask Humphery Bogart,
for his beachcomber permit...
Humphrey barked back, "What?- Don't you see the history being made here?
If you're the beach police, let's see your badges!!"
The cop sneered, "Barges?....Barges?????.....We Don't Need No Sinking
Barges!!!!"
(See "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre")
With the kind permission of Marnie Memis (Oh, I Love that name!)
We should teach the chimpanzees to read
the names of certain things. Objects like tools
for instance
then label the tools: hammer, saw, axe,
screwdriver etcetera, then screws and nails.
Teach them just enough words to know
a pickaxe from a pencil…just a few practical words
for practical applications, not too many,
otherwise they might turn into poets,
and god-knows we don’t need anymore of that.
The chimps could build dog kennels for dogs,
shelves for their tools. Park benches for
other more elderly chimps.
They will, of course have no use for words
like romance, religion and politics.
If they wanted to fight among themselves
(as chimps often do),
they could simply go back to grunting,
screaming and throwing sticks at each other,
as we used to.
I might have made a miscalculation,
maybe tools for low-tech apes
eventually leads to holocausts and Hiroshima.
Perhaps after all,
we will just teach them how to write poetry
for those who prefer their muse
to scream and grunt a bit.
Then maybe we can start on the dogs and cats;
force them to play the piano for a living.
Many people in this world love their animals.
From cats, dogs, birds, all imprisoned in kennels.
To own one they pay for shots, and adopt.
The pay for licenses, fees, finally they are bought.
Now we as animal lovers care immensely for them.
Making them part of the family, like next of kin.
Sadly they care only for pets, not humans.
Plenty of children need adoption, left alone among men.
People all over the world are starving and dying.
Little children go hungry, many are weak and crying.
Did you ever have to go to bed sick or hungry?
Wondering where your next meal will be, it’s not funny.
In Africa, Libya, Sudan, Ethiopia, children are suffering.
Many nations try to help; many don’t try, not caring.
The Lord says “let the children come to me.”
His children are important, he wants them spiritually.
Children go hungry, one in five in the USA.
Inner City, our Cities, feel the crunch everyday.
As parents, desperation and panic set in.
So crime rates soar, as they try to feed their children.
Something is sadly wrong when pets are fed and children suffer.
Caring for animals, while children go hungry, Sisters and Brothers.
Desperately they turn to crime, drugs, robbery, is an epidemic.
Animals over humans, something is definitely wrong;
While humans suffer pandemics.
A new world, with Jesus at the helm.
Will bring an end to suffering, we will overcome.
A new thought “Love” will appear on earth.
It’s been promised by God what before our birth.
-- Just a bit of silliness --
"Baissez le rideau, la farce est jouee..."
---- Daumier
39 & 1/2 days had passed;
the rain had lessened.
Noah, grungy and grumpy,
paced the wet deck
like a caged Lion of Judah.
Reading the Odyssey by blubber-light,
Jonah, a free-thinker, cruised
in his whale below; he marveled,
captainishly, carefully pronouncing
the unfamiliar Greek, an uninvented
tongue he couldn't speak.
Ham, an adherent to all the dietary
restrictions, was relieved
at the journey's almost-close.
Consultation of the Holy Books
had proved he wasn't kosher
and, therefore, could not be served.
Still, Shem and Japhet eyed him oddly.
They had a lean and hungry look.
The wives, sensible lot,
cleaned the kennels, did the chores
and tried to keep an even keel
in the anachronistic mess.
They drifted onward,
tired of fishing fruitless waters,
doubtful now of being made
fishers of men.
All things considered, it was
a perfectly normal situation:
men were mystics
and women staid and sturdy workers.
And yet, Ararat, still beneath the waters,
may not have been the only futuristic
structure in this grey, flat
seascape.
The Respect You Deserve
Standing Rock Reservation
Proud Warrior Nation!
In the spirit of Crazy Horse
Against a militant force.
You shine for all the world to see,
Bringing pride to your ancestry.
And in the name of all that's just,
The sacred you reconstruct,
Water is life you teach...
Protect it you beseech.
You sacrifice your very lives...
So the next generation survives
And how are you paid for this service,
From the politicians you make nervous?
Beaten and upon your arms stamped,
Dog kennels in concentration camps.
And still yet, you continue to pray;
Even for those that treated you this way.
Standing Rock where peoples rise ,
Unite together as environmental allies
We hear your voice loud and clear,
Echo cross the waters and biosphere.
We hold you up to Wakan Tanka ....
Wopila....Mitakuye Oyasin
Dog Master
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
Fifty dogs all different in size and shape
Impossible to tell the type of breed, mate
All the dogs have a discriptive and unique name
Irene, knows them all, for none are the same
…
Only Irene can handle and work this team of dogs
They trust and respect her in the paddock, bush and bogs
Their home in the bush a stone throw from the house
Made of tin, steel and hollow logs free of louse
…
Heading, gathering or pushing in the paddocks
In the yard, on the sheep's back, the dogs are no hicks
Commands yelled out amid the noisy barking
The dog master Irene gets the job done, she is king
…
The hounds on the hill get excited and start baying
The rousers stretch their leads in the air they spring
The horse all saddled, the men go forth with guns
Time for a Kangaroo hunt down by the creek run
…
The dogs search for sheep on the plains and hills
They gather, they drive never fearing the terrain or spills
In weather of heat, snow, cold winds or driving rain
They push the mob towards their master, Irene
…
The sheep yard-ed the dogs job is done
Head for home, horse, rider and dogs as one
All the dogs patted when the chains done up
Given a feed of kangaroo and water to warm-up
…
Snug in their kennels, worn out and asleep
Oblivious to the howling wind, cold and sleet
The dogs resting for their work is never done
As their master, Irene heads home on the run
The foolish dogs, wag their tails for the fiend,
They lick the fiend, from head to toe,
The foolish dogs, coil like snails, at the site of the enemy.
The foolish dogs, bark and do not bite,
They bark at the fiend, and never chase when he runs,
The foolish dogs, coil like snails, waiting the enemy to strike.
The foolish dogs, are the master’s pride,
They are petted like delicate glassed golden dolls,
The foolish dogs, die in their kennels, when the enemy returns.
The foolish dogs, have a plausible sense of smell,
They can smell saucers a kilometer away,
But not the blood lust of the enemy’s breath to their nosetrills,
The foolish dogs, that bark and never bite,
Always chase after the enemy has gone,
The foolish dogs, die in their kennels, when the enemy strikes.
Sunday evening, suburban New York,
we ate at the corner Chinese restaurant,
its fish tank hypnotic, the smiling
welcome from the Chinese woman
caressing menus to her chest,
who led us to the booth which stuck
to my legs as I slid across to my
designated spot. Dad promised
me a fortune cookie on the way out,
which I took from the bowl by the door.
We ate spareribs, licked our fingers
and laughed, trying to pick kennels of rice
and long noodles with splintered
chopsticks. We praised the food,
but wondered why we often left hungry
for both food and fortune, after extracting
mine from the smashed cookie, reading then
putting the crumbled paper in my pocket,
to be found weeks later, hoping somehow
the words would have changed
and the little paper whispered
truths about my own future,
rather than just giving dad the
numbers for his weekly lottery.
My uncle said he’d seen a dog,
Come down his path one day.
But not aware who’s dog this was,
He shouted, “Go Away!”
The dog looked up at him, then left,
It ‘faded’ out of sight.
He then knew who his guest had been,
This dog was black as night.
This was the dog that visits us,
At times when death is near.
To help guide those who leave this life,
The ones that we hold dear.
While walking down her garden path,
My auntie died next day.
The warning that my uncle had,
He’d tried to turn away.
An operation had gone wrong,
Our daughter was in pain.
Nothing that the doctors knew,
Could make her well again.
Then when we visited one night,
We shuddered when she said.
A big black dog was also there,
And playing ‘round her bed.
But she seemed a little stronger,
Though we knew whom she had seen.
We thought he’d told of someone else,
And wondered why he’d been.
Alas, it wasn’t meant that way,
That week our daughter died.
I know within my heart of hearts,
Our dog would be her guide.
For many years he’d not been seen
Though others close have died.
Maybe, he only comes to those,
Who need him by their side.
When sitting in a meeting room,
A stranger came to me,
And said he had a message,
About something he could see.
Two dogs he said, were by my side,
Both looked as black as night.
Although the little one looked old,
His fur was tinged with white.
Again I shrugged this message off,
I didn’t think at all.
But while we were on holiday,
We got that dreadful call.
Our ‘Lucky’ had just had a stroke,
Our son was going ‘round.
But when he reached the kennels,
Just his earthly shell he found.
Three times within our memory,
Our spirit dog’s appeared,
To warn us of the saddest things,
That we have ever feared.
But though he is an omen,
That we’ll lose someone we love,
It comforts us to truly know,
He’ll guide their path above.
This dog had been my grandma’s dog,
I knew till I was five.
But now she’s living proof to us,
That all our souls survive.
Ivor G Davies
A Gardener with saintly vision,
Planted a garden making its division,
Into the zones two.
Fed he each plant and tree,
With the pure blood of his hopes;
And soon each nook and corner,
Began to flourish and blossom too.
Before they bore the mellow fruit,
And fragrant flowers with shades,
Light, deep and dark;
And enjoyed he the days of solace,
Death made him depart to the world next.
How sooner the garden changed;
Into a forest teeming with wild animals,
The hogs, the wolves, the snakes, the rats,
Came out of the kennels, hovels and holes,
Move they freely, with liberty, unafraid.
Their avaricious bellies are possessed,
With ever enhancing increasing appetite,
And each victual adds fuel to flames,
No laws, no scruples, no morals they obey.
The seats where cuckoos and nightingales,
Were to build up nests for the descendants,
Are usurped, snatched by crows and owls,
Their voices irritate the more indwellers.
From morn to eve they serve but themselves,
Feeding upon the leaves, flowers and fruit,
They even gnaw crust hard around the stems,
Yet night comes with the healing air and dew.
The eyes amaze at the miraculous game,
When on the morn next it appears unharmed,
For it was planted by a saintly man,
The eaters are to pass away,
The garden is to behind remain.
MORNING OF OPTIMISM
A blue pigment covers the heavens
hope spreading like a giant reed mat to infinite ends
Day ahead promising something new
like Indian merchant ships of 1570
The atmosphere is dense with optimism
Morning metallurgy separating our fears from hope
The morning is good.
Saints wake up kneeling besides the bed offering sacred prayers
Still waters become misty waters on which prayers of the day waver on
Workers make haste in bodies covered with blue work suits
CEOs pat their bellies and thicken their voices in preparation for meetings to come
Children of the streets stand barefoot perceiving the chocolates that are to come home in the evening
Dogs pop their heads out of their kennels trying to get a glimpse of hope
The sun smiles while rising like the flag in 1980
The wind sings a joyful song of hope
The street poet takes a celestial gaze at the streets
the sweet scent of morning
telling stories of optimism
STREETPO3TRY
in the kennels of the mind - dogmas of rationality
Teach them just enough words to know
a pickaxe from a pencil…just a few practical words
for practical applications, not too many,
The chimps could build dog kennels for dogs,
shelves for their tools. Park benches for
other more elderly chimps.
Humans on the other hand could
curtail much language education,
perhaps needing only enough words
to tell chimps what to do,
leaving them more time
to shout incoherently into cellphones
while communicating
almost entirely in emojis
even more than they do now.
He is out to spread his tentacles
In the face, of combative obstacles,
And dying to end through a tackle
Any unacceptable spectacle
Between The Rickety and The Ramshackle:
Busy roads he’d started their channels,
Hateful robbers sealing off their tunnels,
Corrupt judges replacing with panels,
Supported subsidy showing with funnels,
Filling stations without towels obliging flannels
Bottled water for user of runnels
His love for dogs at their kennels...
Determinedly spreading his tentacles,
All the wrongly jailed breaking their shackles!
Peace by in your 10 am rise
and your imaginary X1 soccer team
let you breathe by the trees
make oxygen for all
Let it be in your Sunday picnic
and kisses by mother
who you miss
On thrashed fields see the wheat kennels wither way
Peace be in your trust
and in your lost white bicycle
or for your friend that moved away
up North