Best Neutered Poems
Once there was dingo, rabidly mad as he could be
who thought he was a Bruce of a man by how he spoke
But no man would call him their 'mate,' for you see...
he was a mongrel dog who pretended to be a bloke
The dingo who called himself 'Keefer,' was all talk-no bite
got caught chasing a galah (chicken) for want of a feast.
But ol' Keef got clawed by the rooster night after night
He was a drongo (fool) who thought he was a beast.
"Crikey!" I heard real men screaming from inside a bar
when they laughed at Keef wearing daks (male trousers)
He tucked his tail and ran from feathering with hot tar
"Get out, ya Hoon (hooligan)! We scorn rabble-rousers!
Keef was a loud mouth when he was blotto (inebriated)
Downing snag (sausages) and guzzling frothy (beer).
Tried to mate with a sheila (girl) but he'd been castrated.
Fair dinkum (that's true). He was neutered last year.
Some say he likes wearing female clothes, they swear.
He's such a hostile dingo, telling them to 'Rack OFF!'
But there's pictures of him in knickers (ladie's underwear).
and some of him before his little stub was sawed off.
I guess sometimes he gets to feeling clucky (maternal)
cuz he uses phrases like 'mother this and mother that.'
Looks like he'll end up some place heated and infernal
Dingo Keef's punishment for hurling all those brickbats.
A rabid dingo, that fool proved to be a fizzer (fizzled out)
His rants and threats to beat guys up were just a joke,
who was well-known as a bogan (hick) and a social lout
who accepted the truth. Ol' Keefer is now socially 'woke.'
Last I heard of him, he'd taken up with a mate called, Roo.
Another misfit creature roaming around in the outback
He played for hours each night, blowing into his digeridoo
because he couldn't stand Keef's braggin' and talkin' smack.
Roo felt relieved when the dingo, kinky Keefer disappeared
The one who'd been called 'the blunder from down under.
He'd mumbled for days about Milton Creek and Roo feared
that dingbat dingo would try to tear that town asunder.
FOOTLES FOR THE BIRDS AND THE BEASTS -
Bad-ass old bear:
Grizzly
Grizzly
Dachshund making critical life choices:
Eenie
Weenie...
Cougar from Arizona:
Yuma
Puma
Cowardly Cock-a-Doodle-Doer:
Chicken
Chicken
Slave Driving Beaver:
Dam it
Damn it!
Aptly named female feathered friend:
Robin
Robin
Alaska poacher gets mauled by a:
Polar's
Molars
Overweight Terrier:
Porky
Yorkie
Scavenger Mores:
Vulture
Culture
After sex, bears often share a:
Yogi
Stogie
Neutered Tomcat:
Benign
Feline
Wolf in Sheep’s clothing:
Mutton
Glutton
Proportionally, male Dachshunds have:
Teenie
Weenies
(But size isn't everything)
.........................................
RANDOM AND RATHER REDICULOUS FOOTLES -
Overweight law enforcement official:
Whopper
Copper
Overweight Janitor:
Whopper
Mopper
Spaced-out church officer:
Freekin’
Deacon
Church officer forced to depend on Depends:
Leakin'
Deacon
Unhappy restaurant client:
Diner
Whiner
Cosa Nostra restaurant special:
Mobster
Lobster
Yep, you guessed it. A criminal Crustacean:
Lobster
Mobster
Why did she slap me? All I did was:
Toot her
Hooter
Careless Urologist:
Pecker
Wrecker
Of all fond thoughts held deep within the heart
Like strings lightly strummed fly with agile wings
Take flight yet never from my mind depart
Soar as wandering clouds where angels sing
Thrilling depths unknown and conscious thriving
Meant for few who’ve neutered malice thinking
Free of hate and void of carnal striving
Loosed from the pull of gravity’s sinking
Launched to heights reserved near omnipotence
God is there, since love is His personage
Displayed, arrayed in great magnificence
Building a home of divine parsonage
Forever to reign in heaven’s glory
Love is the wind and might of the story
Take heed, poet friends, you too, may be taken from your house.
Your money, your children, your lives maybe by our current
government be sought.
Oh, those chilling words, “Your children are ours”
You must fight….your lives nor theirs, cannot be bought”
This is time to awake, fight back now, you are not the
Federal government’s mouse!
Control and fear, these are their narratives, carried by fake
news.
A new viral disease is always en route!
Vaccines administered by sources.
Commanded by elected, killer ,jackboots!
The American flag, unbelievably, gets little or
no respect.
We are being neutered, too and killing the unborn
is out right?
Of course, since so many lost their souls, they chant,
murder for those who cannot fight!
This poetess prays for us all, that none of our lives
be taken.
And that God sees that no country, under His care,
be ever forsaken.
8/20/2022
~2~
perhappenchance
How a dog feels when his neutered
And the vet is undisputed
And the Shiela’s cut you dead
with icy glaze
Coventry uninviting
Really not exciting
Hard eyes are a biting
Should I say
Quick as lightning’s frosty feelings
Inside her head is wheeling
Thoughts of hate now revealing
Petty jealousy
this sunny day
Computer talks and rattles
And the flirting tale a tattles
And it’s not me he prattles
Never never, can I say
I’m only a computer
I’m not the bloody suitor
So switch me off an leave me
Keyboard’s stricken to obey
But time will maybe soften
My sweet comes back to me
As I try to push the misery away
To dodge the loathsome glance
Get a smile perchance
get my sweetie back
Some other bloody way……perhappenchance?
Don Johnson 18-may-11
So, what would you have me write?
Dulcet words of limply lurid metaphor
stuttering staccato of acceptable alliteration
preposterously impersonal personification
drab and dreary diluted imagery
innocently innocuous innuendo
insouciantly inane sonnets
neutered non-rapier wit
squishy, soft white bread limericks
fettered faint hearted free verse
sanctimoniously soft spoken rants
devoid of do’s and don’ts, can’s and can’ts
all to fit in a box
with invisible locks
displayed on a Common
of “creative” stocks
John G. Lawless
©6/30/2018
"Taking away my cell phone would be as painful as being neutered."
~ by poet
Twenty years ago, no one would have predicted
that to cell phones, the world would become addicted.
We text instead of calling, though we have the choice.
I barely remember the sound of my child's voice!
Often, I forget where I've left my darn phone.
Without a text notification, I feel very much alone.
It's part of my anatomy that I should have neutered,
a simple surgical procedure that should be tutored.
Remove it from my hand with a scapel or a knife.
Can I survive without it? It's instrumental to my life!
Cutting it off would be an act of painful castration.
Maybe a lobotomy instead of neutering amputation?
I won't promise that if it's done, it would be a cure.
If it's no longer attached to me, how will I endure
not being able to keep in touch with my best friend,
and how long does it take for neutered scars to mend?
"Novitiate"
Wading through
turgid mainstream
Novitiate makes her
way to the bottom rungs
of the Clean Team
Where dreams are
captured a.m. p.m. .
on the run with
weeping neutered minds
zero sublime
same old, same old
Asks herself,
“Where’s the substance?
Am I gormless too?”
rewards are Molasses,
Sugar Plums and
Glory, if that's you
It’s like dipping your spoon
in Alphabet Soup
re-arranging letters.
Shirley Temples with
no flaming
Bombe Alaska clue
pour the brandy,
light the flame.
Ignite something,
heart, mind or soul
covert intelligence
wonderful electric
minds pollinating
intellectual beehives,
"where's all the dripping
honey?"
Novitiate dreams
Go punch a hole in the sky
block all emotional rissoles
it’s not a question of
do or die
the Game is called
take-the-ride, at all times
avoid blood-sucking Vampires
Strict insects in an
ultra strict machine
watching their wings
flutter pretty, all beat
in time bang against
a silent wall
koutou three times
It aint about numbers baby
nor who’s who in the Zoo
it’s about writing your story
lock, stock and smoking barrel
keeping it true
Cover all mirrors
old is dead
born is new
Mornings rise with Sun
Fold your cards,
Hearts are trumps
Win-Win
what's done is done
time to de-robe and run, run, run
You're a novitiate skating
daily in your black
Nun's habit, it's way way
tragique, it's all a bit,
"La députée a raconté
une histoire très tragique",
find a new Boo.
Passports,
TRANSIT LOUNGE
Airport
Escape the Zoo.
Time to Do-the-Do
Novitiate throw
off your Black habit
Perfume
Rouge lipstick
New shoes
Yeah, put on your
Kavorka
New You
Double Deluxe Choc Chip
take the double cream
and cherry too.
Escaping the Zoo
True Romance.
OUR STORY
Me and You
(Lovejoy-Burton/2018 Jan)
"Temple of Love"/Johnny Hollow
https://youtu.be/p64wbdRBzjk
. *DOGGY STYLE*
Tonight! Tonight! I must display.
About my man's doggy style way.
Once he comes home he acts like I'm his "DOGGY BAG."
"It’s DOGGING ME!" The way he starts to nag.
He came from the bar with his "DOG BREATH!"
Calling me by the name of Beth.
When he settles down he starts acting like he's the "TOP DOG!"
"DOGGONE IT!" doesn't he know I'm adding this bone to my blog.
Now he's drunk acting "MEAN LIKE a JUNK YARD DOG!"
I taunt him by calling him a pig and a hog.
We "FIGHT LIKE CATS and DOGS," this really must be love?
"It's a DOG eat DOG WORLD" when push comes to shove!
Once again he will sleep "IN THE DOG HOUSE!"
This time for ripping my favorite blouse.
It's too bad "YOU CAN'T TEACH an OLD DOG NEW TRICKS!"
I wish he was a real dog, he needs to be neutered and fixed.
I think I will laugh and kiss him good night.
Anyways "HIS BARK is WORSE THAN HIS BITE!"
By morning he will be "SICK AS A DOG" and scary like a mouse.
I'm still waiting to be "Happy as a FLEA in a DOG HOUSE!"
"HE IS NOTHING BUT A HOUND DOG" thinking it's doggy style all the time!
In his rabies case his desires keeps getting worse than slobber and slime.
.Should I tell my man that his actions are what I call humans love torch?
With the reaction "IF you can’t run with the BIG DOG's PUPPY, STAY on the porch!"
By; smiles
I've had many pets in my life.
Right now two cats and I abide
In my small house the size for us,
But I can't let this pair outside.
They're feral cats that I rescued
When wild coyotes invaded nests.
Wild coyotes on our rich farm land
Have become real cat-nab pests.
A neutered tom and spayed kitty
Have the full range of my loved home.
Their antics keep me entertained
And none of us now care to roam.
They run and play amicably
And gladly share their lives me.
11/16/2014
When I was just seven, so small
My best friend Jacob, outdid us all
He had a pet Cobra, cool as could be
He forgot to feed it for a whole week you see
So I killed him
When I was fourteen, I went to the zoo
So many animals, all lounging around
Some seemed starved and some seemed week
One poor zebra died right on its feet
So I killed a Zookeeper
When I was twenty one I met a young blonde
We dated and loved and times where great
Her pet Collie so youthful with such playful traits
She left him in the car, the heat at one hundred and eight
So I killed my girlfriend
I am older now, a full mature twenty eight
My neighbor Miss Jennings has a cat we call him Mate
He loves all the felines all over the town
Till Miss Jennings had him neutered the Mate is down
So I killed Miss Jennings
Now I am thirty five and working so hard
At the animal shelter as the night guard
They bring in the wounded, the week and defenseless
All these humans who treat pets with out any senses
So I killed few strangers who mistreated pets
I am forty-two and work for the park
Where they come every day walking their pets after dark
In leashes so tight and bound round the neck
How is the good? Oh what the heck
So I killed all of them too
Now I am forty nine and in county jail
For some serial crimes they accuse me of committing
All I did was love animals, who are they kidding?
I am the hero in this story you all must see?
So I escaped and killed the jailor and now I am free
I have read the local papers; I am on the front page
They want to put me in a prison cage
Oh and there is PETA, who claim me as Saint
I am so proud why I might almost faint
But I kill myself as my final act
To be with the animals I loved till the last
To Tiger, With Love (A True Story)
"My pen drips of sorrow and on this paper, I write each tear"
~gone without a worldly trace,
I’m left alone, the world to face…
with one went my wholeness grace,
my treasure laid up in heavenly place…
~O my feline friend, my wholeness grace,
I’m left alone in the world to face…
many days I yearned and did pace,
missing your playful moods and face…
~one year ago said Love, my grace,
very soon your absence I would face…
with one, was laid up wholeness grace.
My Love said that morning to my face…
“with your return Tiger will be gone,
do not be alarmed, I do him no harm…
with your friend, there shall be not end,
wholesome grace is laid up for one in friend.”
~I kissed the nature face of wholesome grace,
he meowed goodbye, later I would cry…
as the dawn of grace later was to be faced,
in sorrow, the human man would soon pace…
~I remember the morning as yesterday,
and the many ways we used to play…
my neutered Manx possessed many pranks,
to him, I dedicate my wholesome thanks…
~unique, you were wholesome, meek,
your life to me was wholesome Love’s peak…
I hear his meow in wholesome ethereal Spirit,
beckoning…beckoning… my soul bonds ever close to it.
My Manx cat ‘Tiger’ is heavenly stored! This is a true story, believe it or not.
My inner conscience said to me the morning of the 19 of July this year before
I left to go into town, that Tiger would not be there at home when I returned
for he would be taken and with him, my treasures would be stored in heaven.
I said my goodbyes only half believing my sacred precept voice. Sure enough,
when I returned, my Tiger was gone without a trace. Sure, the concept of
the human mind could explain this paranormal phenomenon away.
But this was my eight year cat’s first and only leave from home,
whom I had raised from a kitten.
Treks of Tracks of the past, current and future, we make
Treks of Tracks of a noted past:
Made mostly in our childhood days
This upon playing childhood games
and implicated in innocent playground escapades
Treks of Tracks of the past, current and future, we make:
Treks of Tracks of a notable past:
These made mostly in our long ago childhood days
This upon playing childhood games
and implicated in innocent playground escapades
Treks of Tracks left on dusty baseball diamond fields
and behind schoolyard scenes
This like those of our first fresh young puppy love endeavor
Then, a graduation to be a high-school novice, neophyte, newcomer, neutered
Treks of Tracks, present:
These present paths are made by repeated foot-falls
that are made one ahead of the other
These are a dusty foot print shown
A Trek of Tracks, that are of good and bad
These are filled with a composite collection, of people,
friends, lovers, comrades hugged, faced, embraced or chased
Treks of Tracks, made and left walking or driving on long roads
Tracks of Tracks, left and placed on many white sandy beaches
Tracks, made frolicking on wet rainy days
Tracks, made in the snow and racing home
Treks of Tracks, of our achievements put out on
full top trophy display
Treks of Tracks, on pen and paper revealing our soul
Treks of Tracks of imprints of events we are making every day
Treks of Tracks, future:
These are to ponder and contemplate then commence
Yet, Treks of Tracks, of our future are already hidden in place:
These are given paths to choose, as a Yes or a No
That it is to take or not to take, this is our future fate
This all eventually will happen with no prolong debate
"These are the Trek of Tracks we make"
(for Jon Accomando)
mine was the last generation to be spanked. sensuous and real, w/ corporal punishment— at
least you felt something.
sadly, it too has been corrupted.
in the new violence no one raises a hand— eyebrows and whispers, an errant son reclaimed?
“fr yr own good. for your own.”
i am somebody’s son.
no.
i am in the living room, barely. the remote in johnny’s hand, an extension? new american
phallus, contoured to fit your palm.
push the button. change the channel. roll over and fall asleep. it’s all been said, done.
it’s the weight of history that crushes us. maybe a.d.d. will cure us of our inertia. maybe.
maybe is democracy in ashes.
no.
the cat is sleeping, quietly by the fire. i remember envying him once; a quiet life, pins
and needles— i was born for.
the cat is neutered. he spends more time licking himself now, and he’s grown fat.
we’re not so different really.
i am willing the embers from the fire in his direction.
i asked johnny once, “if you could make the world anew, shinny and perfect...”
his face lights up in anticipation. a million abstractions, he’s been waiting all his life.
“what would you keep the same?”
he doesn’t know.
“Television. I would keep Television.”
my face is gently bashed in.
oh, mild america...
one day, when the oil runs out and the apartment buildings reach the sky things will
change, they have to.
where there was silence—whispers. a fast talker now a lisper. whisper down the cities.
shudder down the buildings.
man’s love, man’s work- is made worthless. we’ve been pissing and moaning so long that
it’s coming out screams and yawns.
no.
blessed! we are blessed!
w/ suffering and desire.
w/ big macs and rubbing thighs.
w/ quiet eyes and shaky hands.
w/ heartache and lone.
w/ genitals in my coffee.
w/ 10,000 thoughts in my pockets.
the simulacra of the ‘good life’ is a pacifier. i’ve had enough.
no.
no. no. no. no. no.
in the living room i am empowered. i have willed an ember from the fire onto the cat.
kindly he remains asleep.
i told johnny “the cat is on fire.”
johnny nodded.
the cat continued to burn.
This the truth will always be –
amity between Sam and Abdalla;
finding Bigfoot,
gathering the ocean’s blue; a perfect wedlock;
Hollywood; Fox News; Joel Osteen.
There is no place where freedom is not
sacrificed for dreams, reality for sugared words,
a black man to Limbaugh’s tongue –
the brutal but softer tone of the Coliseum.
Our dream is fractional happiness,
a day with dark ending. Our light is a fast
exodus to the open sepulchers,
so far from youthful minds,
but within walking distance of our bodies,
breathless. Our fad is for the open eyes,
our eyes, a minute to see.
How fleeting are the seconds, and years.
When the old Ampad man came to town,
we went backward like a cult baptism,
there was this smell that walked like stupid,
along the Ohio River, the sound of tomorrow’s children
crying the cries their parents left them.
Smith was never pleased
with Jesus’ work, so they took him to America,
and execute the first 9\11, like Waco.
We strip barks from the neutered trees,
the rabid yelps in the Bushes.
We’ve witnessed Barbara giving birth to Judas,
an effort to fulfill the selling of the woman at sea.
We were terrified, but God never let it be so;
we will not go now,
the sky will dressed in black to moan our pending death.
We are dogs on a lease –
I can’t believe the things the wind told my ears.
Remember George, how we gave him Samantha,
then request that the black man give her back to us,
saying, let us take our Sammy from the cotton picker’s son;
he’s blind; he cannot see Russia from his house,
his name is a message from the camel people.
How can he rest his graying head,
against a pillow made with thorns?
How can he sleep,
with all that stupid ringing in his ears?