Israel,
the lapdog
of America
and the West.
You are not
a country.
You have become
a symbol
of terror.
Fascism,
rooted in violence
and racial hatred,
has rejected
liberal democracy.
Yet America
and the Western hypocrites
still use you
to perpetuate
their wickedness.
Israel,
you have denied
others
their individual rights,
while embracing
the power
of domination.
Causing chaos
around the world
has become
your daily bread.
Some say,
what you do today,
was once done
in Europe,
until Europe
grew weary
and sent you
to the Middle East.
Now,
the East
is on fire.
But Israel,
remember this—
history
repeats itself.
What came upon you
in the past
may one day
come upon you
again.
Israel,
the love
the world
once had for you
is slowly
fading away.
And those
who defend you today,
may tomorrow
become
your enemies.
For power
cannot purchase
the conscience
of humanity.
And no nation,
however strong,
can escape
the judgment
of history.
I wish I could shape shift into a dog.
With you, I would daily jog.
I would wag my tail and be your lapdog.
I would tilt my head and pout,
Run around with my wet snout,
Lie down, and roll over on my back and snub,
For no bubble scrub in the tub.
I would bark and say it is time to play;
Gayfully run to the doorway.
You would throw the ball halfway;
I would race and chase,
Catch, bring it back, and place
Dropping it at your feet, a treat. I am fed.
You would pat the top of my head
And scratch behind my ear and be led.
I would kiss your face and turn you bead red.
You let me sleep beside you as you read.
My big droopy eyes and waggy tail tell you,
No one can love you
As much as I do.
A keyboard lays across my knees
like a sleeping lapdog,
The B and the K are sticky keys
that cannot bark
or pronounce their own function.
The keys are unstuck by pure alt control,
I have also trained them with a dog whistle.
Behind the plasma screen
Bach is barking
out of the mouth of a cello.
I wonder if I should wake up
the lapdog,
maybe
with a duet in B minus
for a K9 listener?
Preaching ‘constructive dialog’
Rule-breakers mock her
Minouche Shafik is in whole-hog
Puppet of Progressives ~ the left’s lapdog
__________________
Minouche Shafik is the current President
of Columbia University, in New York City
__________________
a glass magnifies
small lapdog
butterfly
landing perfectly
on a flat nose
the glass pushes detail
into a wide eye
the picture is a thumbnail
maximum enlargement
knocks over it digital frame
the butterfly
is mottled yellow and brown
a stand-out contrast to
the black nose
a background
is a female hand in mid-flight
we are all caught
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.
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
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.
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
The lapdog is our friend
The laptop is our mend
There’s no end
We are trapped in a pen
Maybe this is a trend
We don’t need to spend
However, we need to pretend
We enjoy our weekend
Although it’s only a bitter end
When we’re at a loose end
Nobody wants to understand
Because they only care about the stock dividends
They are our internet's friends
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.
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.
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
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.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.