Best Poodles Poems
Italian restaurant; pasta and wine - red, like the eyes of a bat,
Screeching from a cave, dark as the eyes of a snowman,
Coal plucked from a bucket, the mop was deposed -
By the broom, new sovereign of all instruments
Resound with the trumpet on Everest’s peak
High as a clown doused with vodka,
Watery eyes drip deep to the void.
Abyss without meaning that threatens to consume all life -
In an Italian restaurant.
Makeup: lonely face and painted smile
Dark hole: crying into nothing
Hell exists after all. It claws towards me,
Dragging me down and holding me tight.
Then I am lifted, eyes flashing.
It is my turn at the abyss….
Another stares down to me as I reach up with spindly hands.
Seaweed turtle abyss
Smoke, Poodles! Mystic Weed.
Touching on my friends tweed.
Baloomp he goes as his red nose falls off.
Falling to the ground forever like a knife at my throat.
Help me the glassy shine remains, slicing through the endless vacuum of time.
Below may be aliens, enemies, frenemies, or even God? But all I know is the megladown stops me from reaching thee in the black hole below and above- an abyss of loss an abyss of soul an abyss of time has made me its fool. Baloomp he says to me. Awakened I see nothing. Nothing. Nothing and me.
28 February 2020
Written for "Clown at the Abyss" contest, sponsored by Kai Michael Neumann
Categories:
poodles, allegory, conflict, confusion, corruption,
Form:
Free verse
I just found out two poodles that I bought
were ferrets! Ay caramba! And guess what?
To make each one resemble less a rat,
they gave them steroids, making them both fat!
They also fluffed their pretty fur just so
around their heads. So how was I to know?
Each one looked so much like a toy poodle
they had me fooled - whole kit and caboodle!
Our veterinarian has verified
the facts for me. Those poodle dealers lied.
And folks now say I should have realized
the truth, which stared at me with beady eyes!
Those ferrets sure run fast; I think I’ll buy
two tiny leashes, or else I could try. . .
to sucker someone stupider than me.
Hey, buy one poodle; get the other free!
For Janice Canerdy's Rhyming Couplets Poetry Contest
* I wrote this April 22, 2013 after hearing a news story about a guy who actually believed he had bought a poodle when it was a ferret on steroids! See above for the link to the news footage!
Categories:
poodles, humor, pets,
Form:
Couplet
Stubbing my toeses and whiskers on women
Stepping on nettles and by a swarm of bees bitten
Bounded like hostages tied up with strings
These are a few of my suckiest things
White collared phonies and bills piled in oodles
Bad smells and poop felled from schnauzers and poodles
Old geezers who cry when the old swooner sings
These are a few of my suckiest things
News from the presses with more stock value slashes
Cornflakes that grow soggy when in the milk splashes
Little wood splinters that felt like a sting
These are a few of my suckiest things
When the moon lights
When the glee sings
When I’m feeling glad
I stumble upon one of my suckiest things
And everything turns bad
>
Categories:
poodles, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
A crisp, cold morning in Hyde Park,
and he is waiting for his date.
As joggers jog and poodles bark,
the girl's unconscionably late.
He paces London's crocused heart,
as traffic booms in Piccadilly:
he's practicing that English art
of seeming calm, while feeling silly.
One final tryst beside the lake,
in front of the Eternal Boy:
a parting kiss, for old times' sake ...
she's stood him up? Or playing coy?
The hotel clerk purrs sympathy
when summoned on the mobile phone.
By now, she'll be in Duty Free.
Well, there it is. This Bird Has Flown.
He tries to feign the jaunty airs
of a striped suit on a sandwich sortie,
but doing drily debonaire's
not easy when you're fat and forty.
He tramps the lonely, flat green mile
to Green Park Tube's unlovely portal,
but perks up with a cheeky smile -
well, for a week he was immortal!
Categories:
poodles, romantic,
Form:
Quatrain
I chanced upon Polly Wolly
Walking one day after school
Clearly without her doodle
Something she thought she'd never lose
She told me she had sat it down
As it was out of tune
And when doodles sound more like poodles
What else is there to do
So I took a hold of Polly
And led her by the hand
Downtown to the lost and found
Where all that's lost is left
She went on and on about her doodle
Like a long lost friend
She asked the lass behind the desk
If she'd ever see her doodle again
The lass asked the doodles color scheme
And how large it was in size
Seems people lose their doodles often
If not most all the time
When they handed her her doodle back
There really wasn't much to say
As Polly Wolly and her doodle
Waddled arm in arm merrily away
Categories:
poodles, children, fun, nursery rhyme,
Form:
Rhyme
Do you know the tale about the guy who thought
two small, cute, fluffy poodles he had bought?
But they were not two poodles, for in fact,
the DNA of any dog they lacked.
Do you know what really those “dogs” were?
They were critters with perms put in their fur!
The buyer’s vet then had it verified.
The seller of the “poodles” had lied!
The buyer of them must have have felt so silly.
What were those two beady-eyed things really?
It turns out in fact they were ferrets. What??
Two ferrets given steroids the fool had bought.
Categories:
poodles, animal,
Form:
Rhyme
Day one out of the womb – had a full crop of hair,
black like my daddy’s (it later went more fair).
Early childhood – Mom kept my brown hair short
because I’d twist it into knots. What a silly sport.
Peanut butter and some gum in my hair might stick.
Never a long hair style could I ever pick.
Pre-teen years – at last I saw my dark hair grow.
Pony tails and pig tails were ways my hair might show.
Junior High, late 60’s, hair piled high like a hive.
A wonder that no bumble bees were seen in there alive.
My hair was also parted always on one side.
I’d wear curlers in a store. Did I have no pride?
High school days – hair longer. In boring math at school,
I sat there pulling off split ends. Must have looked a fool!
College days – used a cheap product from the store.
“Sun-In” gave me reddish-blonde. I used it four times more.
The 80’s – got a perm. The curls were tight. Had oodles.
Now I can have sympathy for cockapoos and poodles.
90’s – used extensions. A lot of folks I fooled.
Strawberry blonde seemed to be the color then that ruled.
New century. New color. My hair was very blonde.
There were two guys in a tram in Rio that I conned.
My friend who looked American knew every word they stated.
About my natural color those guys in Portugese debated.
They finally decided my blonde was natural.
I got a kick out of those young fellows’ folderol.
Later on, my hair got over-bleached. I showered, and
lots of strands of it crumbled right into my hand.
After that, while growing out dark roots about two years,
I wore a wig until uncolored hair went past my ears.
A co-worker , not knowing I wore a wig at school,
told me that my hair had never looked so cool!
By 2010, my hair was in a rut.
Only one side of it grew, so I’d always get it cut.
Turned 60 and got cancer. Ate better to be stronger.
Miraculously my hair AND nails grew a whole lot longer.
Since then till now, my daughter’s been my dear beautician.
She keeps the gray away and my hair in good condition.
Were my hair not dyed, salt and pepper it would be.
I love my gold-like hair, thick, and long and wavy.
Some people think a woman of my age should wear a shorter “do.”
Decades it took to get this look, so NO (and I’ll keep my cute bangs too!)
Categories:
poodles, growth, hair,
Form:
Other
Reminisce of Southern streets honey suckle vines, Magnolia air
strolling my Pepe down old streets , flowers wild growing everywhere ~
What was in that carriage as I walked proudly down a sidewalk ?
My poodle Pepe, a blue bonnet tied, Pepe sat up faithfully, bonnet on his head .
spectators driving by with smiles , the girl with a baby poodle was the talk ~
On a old plantation porch calling Pepe ? Pepe come home ? I patiently await .
Where was my furry lamb with silk black curls ? My puppy needed his walk .
Told by my parents after several cries many weeks straight ~
~ For they knew of my Poodles Fate ~
"Come inside , Pepe will come back ." He would not come home , Winter cold.
Parents hearing tireless cries , the truth was reveled , In a shed Pepe died.
My Mother told me what no Parent wants to share with a child of five years old ~
My Poodle had been in a shed with my brother and Dad , curiosity he always had.
A ladder had fallen on him , taking him away . Calling for Pepe the same day ...
We buried my Pepe , wrapped in blanket with his bonnet, in the back yard.
~ A cross made of branches , brick inscribed " here lies Pepe " bouquet by side. ~
I can not explain this love that left my heart broken , tireless nights I cried.
Categories:
poodles, childhood, cry, death of
Form:
Elegy
Unquotable quotes – V
Constant dipping wears out the hardest bone.
Out of sight, out of bind.
Too many cooks spoil the school books.
Be a cuckoo and lay your eggs at the cuckold’s next door.
When lightning strikes, the fire-brigade rides.
Don’t cry over spilt tears on a tilted table.
Give a dope a long rope to escape prison and hang yourself.
Till the cows come home lone and married.
Do not teach a dog how not to bark.
A shark’s « fin » is the end of the film.
A rhinoceros’s horn makes the infidel a born again thorn.
Early to bed, early to rise makes the wife stealthy, squelchy
and clock-wise.
A lawyer is a liar/Who rides a bicycle on a live wire/Smokes a
salmon in her office oven/Slurps noodles with poor
poodles/Makes fudges out of judges/Ends up selling
divorced wives/On the internet stock archives.
A two-timing two makes fools of fours on all fours.
Go fly a kite when you’re tight out of sight.
When the garden warbler trills on oblivious, the magpies
ensemble grumble.
Patients can undo all the good doctors do.
Even cars can become chronically ill.
Children need not be seen so long as the noise they make
reminds us of them.
Authority always provides cover for cruelty.
The nation is always worthy of the most scurrilous crimes.
Religious service serves only the ritual’s hollow promise.
He serves God best who serves all creatures first.
God cannot be in need of help. Nor does He need adulation.
Is religion an attempt to bribe God ?
© T. Wignesan –Paris, 2016
Categories:
poodles, art, giggle, humor, humorous,
Form:
Epigram
We sat watching the little water droplets
wetting our window pane
on a slushy wet rainy day,
The rain was calling us outside to play
So, out we went,
donned with our raincoats and boots,
and our colourful umbrellas,
Me, my brother and our ever faithful, Snowy,
We danced with our open umbrellas,
Three naughty fellas,
Lapping up the rain,
water pouring down our eager little faces,
Who could enjoy the rain more than us?
With our hands widespread and a smile on our faces,
we jumped, splashed and created our own little poodles,
We ran up and down the empty street,
The rain called out to us,
and we seized the only chance we had,
of enjoying the lovely rainy day,
Rain, rain, don't go away.
09/30/18
Photo #2
Categories:
poodles, children, happy, rain,
Form:
Carpe Diem
Acrobats in the center ring
Ballerina bears on balls and bicycles
Cavalcades of clowns with calliopes
Dancing damsels in glittery corsets and tulle skirts
Elephants parade in wrinkled suits
Fire eaters flourish flames
Giants on stilts wave ribbons and flags
High wire artists risk their necks to amuse us
Impressive strongmen pull rocks on sledges
Jugglers toss rings and pins and torches and make improbable catches
Knife throwers thrill us with speed and accuracy
Lion tamers in tights tease lions and tigers
Mimes in masks mimic monkeys
Nets cover the aviary of exotic birds
Ostriches with riders race in the far ring
Pink poodles in tutus ride on a tiny Ferris wheel
Quick stepping ponies prance through their paces
Ringmaster Robert in his red velvet frock coat and top hat looking debonair
Slack rope walkers dance and do splits on a swaying rope
Trapeze artists twirl in spangled leotards high above the crowds
Unicyclists on unicycles tall and short and zigzag form fancy formations
Velvet vixen contortionists fit inside tiny trunks and magic boxes
Winged women do a wild dance in the air
Xylophones play for the circus parade
Yellow silks hang high above while leggy aerialists dangle and spin on the web
Zebras perform in unison; feathered headdresses bobbing on their heads
Categories:
poodles, children, dance, children, happiness,
Form:
Abecedarian
Why do people talk to babies as though they were stupid?
Isn’t he lovely? the old woman said
And doesn’t he look the spit of his Dad
Is he on solids, how long does he sleep
And how many other kids have you had?
Who does he look like? the young woman said
I’m not really sure if he’s anyone’s kid
I feed him on burgers, he doesn’t sleep much
And I’ve had one for each of the blokes that I did
Not quite the answers the old woman sought
The one about blokes pretty much struck her dumb
The young woman giggled, she’d made it all up
And what’s more she wasn’t even 'his' Mum
But what fun to be had as she walked around town
To the ‘ooohs’ and the ‘aaahs’ and the helium cries
Oh, the amusement of dressing a girl
In an outfit as blue as conventional skies
His name’s Rupert, she’d say, (sometimes Nobby or Fred)
Depending on who was that nosey that day
He’s got rickets, or measles, whatever disease
Occurred to her, and that seemed funny to say
It entertained baby, she really was bright
And sick of inane inappropriate chat
And of people who leaned far too near to her face
Who were nosey and smelly and frequently spat
She was in on the joke, and well up for the crack
For the stuff folk came out with was simply absurd
She was practising swearwords at night in her cot
To prepare for the day she could utter a word
And then she would show ‘em, she’d show ‘em alright
Not to treat her as though she was some kind of fool
It’s my business how many nappies I fill
Such personal questions, completely uncool
In the meantime, she’s watching, she’s mentally noting
How humans make speech in particular forms
Who is good, who is bad, who speaks some kind of sense
And who is averse to conventional norms
Oh, babies are little and can’t answer back
But don’t think for a moment they’re not on the ball
They’re not poodles, or Martians, or mentally ill
So speak to them nicely, or don’t speak at all
by Gail
Categories:
poodles, baby, child, growing up,
Form:
Rhyme
They come in many different sizes
Different colors, different cuts
All purebred from Poodle planet
No mixing of Martian mutts
Innocently enough we let them into our homes
Now with too many it is to little to late
We've been taken captive without even knowing
By Poodles from Outer Space
Soon, very soon to take over it all
Ruling the world of common man
Getting us to do their bidding at every call
Has all along been their dastardly plan
Leading us to believe that we are the Masters
But what is really behind the bark
And what's up with all the tail wagging
Just waiting it out while playing their cards
And the crazed frenzy in all of the yapping
That they do while roaming in packs
Is just giving away their location
So the Mother Ship knows where they are at
As it continues to circle our planet
In the unassuming shape of a Milk-Bone
The Alien Poodles are in cahoots with Purina
Google it, you'll see I'm not wrong
Years ago they first landed in France
Where quickly they blended in
From there is where they ventured out
Into all the major Continents
Now in every corner of the world
In all of its crooks and crannies
Saying hello to those in the know wherever they go
By their Planet's greeting...the sniffing of fanny
Yes, they are Poodles from Outer Space
So toss that dog a bone
If you ever wonder who is in charge
And who it is that's owned...
I have 3 Poodles that own me...
I swear they're Aliens...
Categories:
poodles, funny, humor,
Form:
Light Verse
Painting a picture of porcupines playing
Pincushions parked in the field
Purple and pink for this playful perception
Plans of their purpose revealed
Painful endeavors of pacified pranksters
Preparing a pie at their place
Pecan or pumpkin, pickle, pineapple
Pieces are smeared on their face
Putting the paint on some powder puff paper
Pleasure in each stroke is plied
Pausing to peer at some porpoises playing
Prancing in pansies they hide
Puzzling problems with pretzels and peanuts
Posturing people to prove
Pistachio perfume in prime presentation
Preaches that peaches will move
Polishing pastels on pre-printed pages
Prized the possessions we seek
Paisley the plumes of a peacocks posterior
Portraits now come take a peek
Pampering pelicans play the piano
Pure as a piccolos prayer
Picking a parcel of plum flavored pudding
Poetic prose fills the air
Pleats in my pants shout in proud proclamation
Puddle my pores that perspire
Poodles on playgrounds prevent prosecution
Plotting my hearts pure desire
Passion precedes every past tense of parting
Piled with a presence so true
Painting a picture while purposely dreaming
Promising my love to you
Categories:
poodles, love, nonsense,
Form:
Alliteration
Grace Harbour
First into Grace Harbour
Me in classic sailboat
At anchor alone
In Desolation Sound
Where silence reveals the place
And the world is bigger
Because I can hear its’ vastness
It’s Bioacoustic diversity
Seals surface, gulls dive, water ripples.
A breeze in a cedar whispers
The buzz of a bumblebee.
The distant whistle of an eagle trembles in air
And falling droplets of rain taste of spruce.
The very place sparkles in silent sound and my soul is still
No need to block out
The combat zone of flashing messages.
From CNN and Fox.
But stillness of silence
Is reflected in blue water
and framed by oyster encrusted rocks,
While green and orange algae talk
Tidal pools and purple sea stars walk
And I can hear the world as music.
--------------------------------------------
War, bombs and shrapnel.
Roaring yachts arrive like Hummers or tanks from Kandahar
Stacked high with gadgets, guns hanged,
Travelling as a pack of waking house-mobiles
To conquer wilderness with bars, showers, propane barbecues
Gas generators, deep freezers, and boom-boxes
All sorts of folks; models in bikinis with pedigree dogs.
Fashion ladies in silk that launch revving zodiacs
To carry standard poodles for an urgent pee.
Then ‘A Tea Cup Yorkshire terrier’ yelps
At a Jack Russell that barks at a Chihuahua
As a Dachshund and Afghan Hound take offense
In frenzied jealousy.
Big hipped humans scream ashore in tenders.
Acoustic awareness numbed
The get-away-from-it-allers that bring it all always, partied.
As night fell they turned the generators off
“I haven’t seen any wildlife”, said one,
“There was more to feed at the zoo”
Said the other boomer
“Yea, where’s the loon.”
Fixed ideas of progress consume.
Then our mother moon
In full dress exposed an array of limpets
Of many sizes and shapes all clinging to obvious rocks
Exchanging freedom for the security
Of a defensive shell of fixed ideas
And automated reflexes.
It is useless to talk kindly to a limpet
One must detach it by main force.
Categories:
poodles, adventure, beauty, boat, environment,
Form:
Blank verse