Best Lapdog Poems
Winged, winking devils dance
on onyx tinted wings entice
burnt appendages so broken inside rib cage
Unable to fly out of this hell hole
a shadow lifted nevermore
a touch as cold as night lures steel cuts
knees buckle, locked down
nowhere to run from
Rusted chains tighten
each new link pierces,
digs deep the heart's flesh
not enough mercy to shred apart
desire kept it beating just
....this must be what love is
bound in arms
blinded souls cannot escape
Tormented visions
a dark cloud silhouette
spinning around the sun
ravished by chaos
an ancient evil curse arises
within shadows suffering
darkness inside embers burning
with hot pain buried inside ashes
Deeply rooted demonic forces spawn
an evil eye turns
evolving in bad deeds
capturing the innocence of the human
sacrifice
one beast of an unclean spirit
possessing love charms of a snake
coils with lust
putting a heart in chains
attacking with wickedness
Fallen angel filled up inside
hate and pride
cunningly from out of the ashes
remains a demonic lapdog
violating innocence
Soul of impurities
a shadow grows darker
in every love that is taken
unpure vessel when the eyes open
to the dawning light
A collaboration by Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler
I look at the deputies,
On the benches of the assembly,
They work for the nation,
But they haven’t, that’s for sure
Only honey in the head,
I listen to journalists,
They like champagne,
They like good words,
But they haven’t, that’s for sure
Only honey in the head,
The baker is very busy
through its chocolate croissants,
His butter croissants,
But he didn’t, that’s for sure
Only honey in the head,
The retiree in his car,
The doctor, in his office,
The delivery people are in a hurry,
But they haven’t, that’s for sure
Only honey in the head,
The spectators are happy
When the game starts,
They support players,
But they haven’t, that’s for sure
Only honey in the head,
Manet and Picasso, Monet,
Matisse and his friends, Lully
Are great artists,
But they haven’t, that’s for sure
Only honey in the head,
It’s better to love Gérard Philippe,
Simone Signoret and Gainsbourg,
Philippe Noiret and Belmondo,
But they haven’t, that’s for sure
Only honey in the head,
Sébastien, knows how to manage a cinema,
He is the king of Spain,
Of France and Navarre,
But he didn’t, that’s for sure
Only honey in the head,
The neighbor of Melou Street,
Walks her lapdog,
He mows his lawn often,
But he didn’t, that’s for sure
Only honey in the head,
It’s better to know humans,
Garage owners or farmers,
Pharmacist, or Bookseller,
Journalists on France TV 2
Teenagers or guardians of peace,
They are on the lookout for your faults.
BICHON FRISE
Bichon frise or is it curly lapdog you prefer?
Pray, do make it known
Descendant of a water spaniel originating in ancient times
In the Mediterranean area
Used as barter by sailors
Your solid white coat is silky profuse
Not silky confuse
I get it now
You are prized for your lively intelligence
And is usually groomed and trimmed
To give a “powder puff” appearance.
I once lived in a notebook but now I live in your head with your dreams.
And I scheme.
He was warmed to the truth by tea and intoxicatologigated by me
I see!
I am right round the corner from him.You might say,we are at right angled cross purposes
Is there a cross surplus?.
As all set out,storms set in,then we all fell out if you see what I dream.
I am mean
You are as truthful as as a chorus of wrongs in rites of the Church choir
Don't leave me in the lurch.I'm a liar.
He’s as tense as a mournful frog in a bog in Ireland in wintery discontentll
It's all meant
As far as the wife can throw,I flew.
I shall sue Sue.
I was flooded as a whole.My emotions welled up and ran all over me like faries’ hands..
Like elastic bands
I am honest as the day is wrong.
Give me a song
He was torn in three by tomcats with balls of steel
They will appeal
I have lost a whole stone and still no moss will grow on me.It grew on the stone!
Now I feel so alone
As Gluck would have it, music is heavenly singing by invisible choirs of cats.
He was bats
I sought him here,I sought him there.I sought him with angelic flair.
But noone catches Tony Blair.
I am as snug as a lapdog in a bog with a brick on its head
Can I sleep on your bed?
She was as tender as an apple tart is round.
and quite sound
As the crow flew,I had to fly as well to avoid it escaping me..I leave no crow alone
They usually get stoned
Crumbling I say our country is crumbling
A president that don't have self confidence
we ain't want that at all
A so call vice president with no dignity
Pulling the strings like a puppet master
While being another mans lapdog
We ain't want that at all
A ministry of sport more like a ministry of pushing dope
Criminals and crooked personnel
Sitting at the top of the food chain
Eating they belly full while the poor struggle
We ain't want that at all
Cruel words leak from your
Mouth like tears – I lick them up
Like a good lapdog
6/28/11
Received 10th place in "Pseudo-haiku-cuckoo-cuckhosis!" contest
Chained
Winged, winking devils dance
on onyx tinted wings entice
burnt appendages so broken inside rib cage
Unable to fly out of this hell hole
a shadow lifted nevermore
a touch as cold as night lures steel cuts
knees buckle, locked down
nowhere to run from
Rusted chains tighten
each new link pierces,
digs deep the heart's flesh
not enough mercy to shred apart
desire kept it beating just
....this must be what love is
bound in arms
blinded souls cannot escape
Tormented visions
a dark cloud silhouette
spinning around the sun
ravished by chaos
an ancient evil curse arises
within shadows suffering
darkness inside embers burning
with hot pain buried inside ashes
Deeply rooted demonic forces spawn
an evil eye turns
evolving in bad deeds
capturing the innocence of the human
sacrifice
one beast of an unclean spirit
possessing love charms of a snake
coils with lust
putting a heart in chains
attacking with wickedness
Fallen angel filled up inside
hate and pride
cunningly from out of the ashes
remains a demonic lapdog
violating innocence
Soul of impurities
a shadow grows darker
in every love that is taken
unpure vessel when the eyes open
to the dawning light
A collaboration by Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler
Sassy the Assassinator
Sassy is a lapdog, not a large bird-dog
She likes to chase hopping bullfrogs or a hiding hedgehog.
She is a friend to a cat, but not to a groundhog
But she thinks she’s a big bad watchdog!
For years little Sassy has chased away every stray.
No matter how huge the intruder, night or day,
With tails tucked between their legs, dogs ran away.
Sassy yapping at his heels all the way.
Every dog was sent away; Sassy would not play.
Teeth and barks were her fierce display.
She once terminated forty-two baby chicks.
(In five minutes) Her owners are city-hicks.
Even though she killed chicks and gave a baby bear a fright.
Her humans know that her bark is usually worse than her bite.
She has cornered opossums, and fought with hens.
Bi-polar? Cute and mean is where the story begins.
But one day Sassy went for a ride in the car.
The visit to relatives was not very far.
When we arrived, she was ready to get outside.
And she did so proudly, her nose high with pride.
Their big dog trolloped over toward little Sassy,
He was as big as a St. Bernard and she was angry.
Yap! Yap! Yap! She barked in her usual way.
Suddenly, she looked up; he did not run away.
She tucked her tail and whimpered, which was strange.
That big dog that drooled on her head, wrought a change.
He did not bark, grumble, or growl; he just looked down.
Then, "Sassy the Assassinator", for the fist time, played around.
© August 30, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Drove past your old house, slowin' just because..
perhaps just to return to scene of the crime.
Kinda sad to find nothing left as once was,
proof your lapdog better comfort than I.
Came to settle all old grievances,
finish what once so well begun, though breaking.
My mistake in guess, you shined in happiness,
and the whole world was yours for the taking.
I know feet weren't meant to trample a heart,
and finer hands never meant my soul undone.
Maybe there's hope for us, a chance at new start,
can't hold my breath waitin' that day will come.
I touched your citrus seed, tasted tender skin.,
though forgot to quench thirst from sweet juice within.
The Heinz dog and the Silky and that Precious Papillion,
A Terrier and Chihauhau-are a few that I have known.
Not all at once, of course, but a few throughout the years,
They delegate their tails to tell-and this 'person' volunteers.
SL Jackson knows that there are things that dogs can't really do,
"They cannot make a sandwich, wipe their butt, or talk to you."
So, as their 'person' speaking here, for pooches big and small,
We're charged to love our faulty dogs, and love them one and all.
You had to love that Heinz dog found sitting at my door,
Should I call the local shelter, and keep him here no more?
Should I keep him in the family safe, and pay his every bill?
The people who love dogs relate...they know he stayed until!
One might even love that Silky from that posh exclusive store,
He proved that he was stunted..NO Pet Stores! No, no more.
He disappeared one evening in his backyard...it was dark.
Found him hiding in our shed next day-too weird to even bark.
The Papillion was precious. But her mental state..not there,
She'd been caged and used for breeding. Her existance wasn't fair.
She'd never been a fun-filled dog from the time she was a pup.
The breeder didn't love her and...she'd simply used her up.
Our Terrier was helpless, when it thundered she would hide,
She broke away into a moving car. It hit her and she died.
It wasn't beauty killed the beast as we all have heard that story,
It was fear of thunder took our pup, and sent her on to glory.
And now comes that Chihauhau, with legs up to her ears.
She is that other 'heartbeat' in a lonely lady's years.
She is another rescue, and yes, a lapdog tried and true,
Forever home and doing, what lapdogs love to do
Canine person all believe that their pets are special creatures,
And endowed with certain wisdom that far exceed their features.
I'll save those claims for other times..there is a tail that's wagging,
Wait! I didn't make that sandwich. Dare I think my dog is bragging?
I dubbed a first year my room mate
Upon arrival into our teacher training college
To baptize him. His pride in quick order I did decimate
Taking him at high celerity on a binge
Initiating him into traditional beer
In a nearby shanty compound
Where I got his head into God’s fear
Whereby upon returning the greenhorn couldn’t push anyone around
The special welcome made him the follower
I desired
Having diminished his self-concept and self-esteem lower
Than he aspired but higher than he perspired
I proceeded to indoctrinate him into elocution parlance
As best as I could
Ensuring he possessed a college etiquette lance
That would
Not upstage Special
Whom he soon began to emulate
With artificial
Manners to dissimulate
The nascent confidence he feared might offend me
If he grew overconfident
More than I could agree
If he became less diffident
But he played the good boy
Obedient like a lapdog
Happy to enjoy a bone for a new toy
Like a contented warthog
When my training petered out
Satisfaction smiled
In my bosom without any shadow of doubt that my clout
Tamed the greenhorn who wouldn’t succeed in getting me riled.
In perilous instances of contemplation
the support of survival gets blended
in shredding machines of chatter
until meaning gets lost in the background
with spinning logos taunting the mind,
polished by the hand holding the leash.
A slap awaits any who question why
people get born every second with a
cost of debt upon their heads like a trap
primed to be sprung by lapdog campaigns
hoarding tyrant gains hidden from sight.
Our journey through night shall be guided
by the swirling stars until our fiery orb
lights up the sky once again to bask us
in the warmth of truth despite the loss of
human dignity in the name of science
predicted by computer models with goals
to keep the masses obsessed with gases when
nucleotide reactions shape the vitality and the
change with their esoteric exchange offering
the sun as a savior and a curse until our plight
is made worse by paranoid ancient wealth.
The attic is creaky and full of dust,
but, I just pretend it is my stardust;
I love playing tea party with my pets,
they sit as I recite my alphabets !
At the table is Willy a huge dog,
black and white fur such a gentle lapdog;
and a pretty tabby cat named Annie,
and one cat called Smarty owned by Granny !
Licking her tea is my fat cat Happy,
a tabby cat who can be quite snappy;
and last sitting on a chair is Teddy,
oh, my teddy bear is always ready !
Sometimes, I bring my dolls but not today,
I told them that on the bed they must stay;
love how light from a window likes to shine,
making the specks of dust drift so divine !
I tell my guests about all the great stuff,
in old trunks that I would find soon enough;
dresses and jewelry to play dress up,
oh, Teddy did I forget your teacup !
_________________________
November 1, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/Tea Party in the Attic
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1403-056-01
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Rhyme Me A Poem 2
sponsor, Eve Roper, Image inspiration #4
First Place
Not easy following you,
picking up the pieces
my, how you
wreck with a vengeance.
Not talking just this life,
so many others, no choice
still as mine (the choice), take heed!
come back to me,
'cause, I still follow,
still care, still love.
And I may be the reason
you hate pickles
and mayonnaise..
mixed metaphors,
euwph!
But oh, I bequeathed you my best
the dance of clouds,
icicles..
twizzlers
come back to me,
by choice, all yours
as you release me now.
Been watching over
you,
for sometime..
like a lapdog
ever at your feet
by your side
as you winked.
Until we meet again
m'yeah, just so you know,
as you nod,
I always.., well..
your welcome.
The oak desk is a polished surface
holding-up nothing, reflecting nothing
not even a base of anything.
Once it was an upheaval of random displacements
of elbows and eyes.
E-mails wriggled like worms in wet ground.
Fragments tap danced on hurried fingertips.
The desk grew paper towers
some spoke, others were silent monoliths.
Coffee splashed over keys that opened up
a world no one ever saw from any window.
A lapdog now chatters between belly and knees,
it wags words, pulls them out of muddy puddles
bedraggled and yelping.
The desk needs a vase, maybe a rose in a tulip glass,
what it actually has
is a lot of bundled-up ghosts polished into invisibility.