Best Mongrel Poems
They said, "his bark is much worse than his bite"
So, I opened the gate, without fright
But the beast would outwit me !
In the keister, he bit me!!
He will feast on my trousers tonight !
.................................
5/4/15 For John Freeman's Contest : Dumb and Dumber Quotations
(Never trust someone who says "his bark is much worse than his bite".... !! LOL !)
Mongrel mongeese can fly at very high altitudes but dome headed calves cannot as they must wait until they are 672 years old. Fly fly flight then. Oh great. See how the waving whales chanting circulating wisdom in a foam. And bathing basking. The hypothesis of a 5minute triangle is a good idea for a specific dialect to be spoken. The noises of a parsnip parsonage swell. Ingest not a seabird sandwich. Opening in a cave a smugglers' house. Housekeeping in a coven. Hahahaha dripped fondling fig figurehead fantastic fakery. Hahahaha and a mealworm singing opera to a friend of a prawn cocktail. Weary wearing weather. Washing. Xxxx gastronomically z z c y g z
Jesus was from A Mongrel Race
He is not to be trusted, he is mixed;
the purity of his divine grace
muddied by the nasty, lazy, dark,
humans
he may have been a child of love
but where is love in those hateful, fearful,
Earth dwelling,
parasites
God should have stayed with his own kind
should have mated with a divine female
not polluted his blood with the virus
of ignorance and these slovenly savages
now is the beginning of the curse:
more Nehalem, more Herculean half - Gods
and misfit half-breeds
what made him think that these lowly creatures
are worth anything?
runt of the litter
shows challenging behaviour
craves to be top dog
Rumble, rumble, rumble, goes the packed cart
Tumble, tumble, tumble, goes the boy's heart
And despite my fear of his dirt and size
There was something more in him we despised
Some reflection of self we did not know
Ego and superego in turmoil contending
For a better throne, a better history to know
Than this broken man behind the rumbling cart
His ice cargo melted by the sun before he starts.
But we could not tell, for we did not know
If it was his station menial, low
Pedigree and task so trivial: He
Had nothing for all his days pushing hard
At other people's load; his misery
Was us, treating him like the soiled discard
Of human pity. We would not melt
Daily across his hot desert of grief
Our childish pranks did not cease,
Frozen in colonial ways that brought non relief.
His tyre shoes swoosh the street
His temper like a missile chasing us
"Mikeena de mongrel!" we jeered, the dust
From my eyes and heart now I would delete.
And give him again his peace in the street
For we at the bottom of the stack
Kept the pressure of class on his back
For here was a man, the evidence of our past
Before we flew the Union Jack half mast.
Mongrel Dreams
by Michael R. Burch
for Thomas Raine Crowe
...These nights bring dreams of Cherokee shamans
whose names are bright verbs and impacted dark nouns,
whose memories are indictments of my pallid flesh...
and I hear, as from a great distance,
the cries tortured from their guileless lips, proclaiming
the nature of my mutation.
NOTE: My "mutation" is that my family appears to contain English, Scottish, German and Cherokee blood, meaning that my ancestors were probably at war with each other. Did my English ancestors force my Cherokee ancestors to walk the Trail of Tears? Keywords/Tags: Cherokee, Native American, America, Racism, Discrimination, Blood, Shame, Shaman, Shamans, Flesh, Genes, DNA, Genesis, Mute, Mutation, Night, Dream, Dreams, Vision, Visions, Vision Quest, Visionary
Here is cross-eyed Eagle Stripe Dog Mongrel
Luckily he cannot see his own donkey like face
consternation galore when he is afoot
nonsensical war paints make other braves snicker
squaws consider him a smoking warm bird roost
ceremonial nightmare when he enters the sweat lodge
no one shames him, for he is son of the chief
a steady excruciating embarrassment to his tribe
laughing stock of reservation until he learns English.
The only Wallawalla who can bring his nation
The steady conniving lies of the paleskins.
He shows them treaty after treaty
But of course the paleskins keep none of them
for there is no honor there.
I'm a sad mongrel
with a broken heart
sitting alone
in the back of a car
looking through the window
at the night in the stars
not knowing where to go
not knowing where to start.
Jessica