Long Brindle Poems
Long Brindle Poems. Below are the most popular long Brindle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brindle poems by poem length and keyword.
Bill Bulldog we had named him
with his brindle coloured coat
He had the most amazing face
too many wrinkles for one so young
mischievous, cuddly and full of fun
At first the only sounds he made
that first night all alone
heartbreaking cries
he missed his Mum
He’ll settle soon in his new home
That wonderful scent of puppy
Reminiscent of a newborn babe
His coat so soft just newly grown
I watched in wonder as he slept
A Mum in love with her new pet
His face so handsome like no other
a face that could only be loved by his Mother
so many expressions you would not believe
defiant, pathetic, look at me, can we play
melting my heart each and every day
He always knew when I was down
his insight was spot on
Sitting close, head on my knees
so full of sensitivity
Sending his love into my soul
I slowly emerged from the deepest hole
The traits of a Bulldog are fairly surprising
when you first take a look at his face
So don’t be alarmed even though he looks fierce
as a bad bone would be, so very hard to trace
Only sweetness and light
for my Bill would not bite
though he’d lick you to death that’s for sure
Even welcome a stranger into his domain
but would want him to stay there forevermore
For a Bulldog really loves company
he hates to be alone
but once you are there
he will climb on your chair
licking your face as he welcomes you home
These words they describe him right down to a tee
gentle - loves children - snores loudly like me
can be stubborn, aloof and suffers from flatulence
Some foods requiring total abstinence
My darling British Bulldog Bill
such happy times together
such funny little ways you had
remembering them forever
A ritual witnessed every morn
on waking at the crack of dawn
Rolling over on his back
his four legs held aloft
Bill gently rocked from side to side
as if to say, ‘I’m still alive’
Though sadly now he’s not...
Written 2018 in memory of our darling Bill Bulldog
Contest My companion and friend who never complains
Sponsor Eve Roper
1st Place
Contest Strand Select Q
Sponsor Brian Strand
3rd Place
These two old pups are near and dear;
I’ve kept them both throughout the years.
Lyra’s brindle, still cheetah-fast;
Lemony’s best years, in the past.
The thought of losing brings a tear.
When daughter schooled quite far from here
and had them crated, it was clear
they could not last, were much harassed,
these two old pups,
so I kept Lyra for a year.
Then, there’s the time Lem’ disappeared;
she got away from us quite fast,
a week in snow, did somehow last,
and then like magic, reappeared!
These two old pups…
—————
For Your Favorite Theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh
Written on 04/15/2022
Why can't my blind spot see?
it’s shadowing me in the eye's periphery
edgily creeping sideways like a crab,
watching me, it’s stalking me,
deceiving me with popped eyes
propped up on stilts, curling away when I look.
You live within my every gaze, yet evade my searching blaze.
Why my dear spot do you hide and blind me in so many ways?
Is your evasive spot futile, furtive, or a fugitive in the clear?
Are you black, white, brindle or transparently clear.
Do you suck, poke, protrude, grind
or cut, with a laser sear to blind.
Why can't I see you,
my blind spot hole?
I know you’re there
unseen on the edge!
I’ll shut my eyes now
and hope that you’ll
will be gone when
I awake and stare
to see you clearly there with me,
scene sharing two-eyed
In binocular vision.
Ballooner, blink in the hot air.
Wink, O noonday sun.
On the brink, is life unfair?
Drink and be as one!
Supreme being, I imbibe!
Above god and man!
Dervish, deus, diatribe!
Lengthen, every span!
Grim-faced, O my spectres?
Well, that's the way it goes.
Singulars and hectares!
Core cone, thy carrion crows!
Trammell the enameling?
O nightingale, sing sweet.
O sky above, thy paneling!
O lion, at thy feet!
Yellow priestess, ritual.
Of this what knoweth ye?
Barrel out the brazen bull!
Fling out, fancy-free!
Rhyme and riddle, rill on roll.
Drums, thy wargods beat.
Goddess of the asherah pole!
Chosen to complete!
Tyrant of tomorrow?
An image wrought in spark.
Brindle, bindle, broken bow!
Gold, fluoresce in dark!
Hone thy skill, O warrior!
Dare not to drop thy tools!
Skyscraper, art free and sure?
Toss away thy rules...
and in my dream fantasy ...
I find my beloved Chimera horse
he is quite beautiful, magical and wild
with great feathery wings breathtaking
his mane is a flowing river when he runs
his coat striking brownish shades of brindle
we leap and fly in my dreamy dream ...
~ over forests lush in hues of green
and valleys deep ... dark with mystery
my own hair a golden river streaking in the night
oh, my heart swells with love for Chimera
as the moon sails across the sky
Chimera and I drink
in the night and stars ...
he knows my emotions like when I am sad
and gives me kisses and nudges his affection
sometimes we lay on the cool grass
my head on his body looking up at the twinkling above
and he feels so real to me
not a figment and not an illusion
but a real breathing lovely horse
he just happens ... to have wings ...
~ he found me in a dream years ago
and comes to me unbidden to soothe
my weather-stained soul and broken heart
oh, moon, your light is failing ...
... and Chimera must fade away
___________________
April 2, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/Chimera
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1343-524-02
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, This And That, Vol 1
sponsor, Edward Ibeh, Judged 04/10/2021
Fifth Place
Dear Griffin,
I clearly remember the first time we met. Jim had brought you at all of
four months of age to my families summer reunion. You were shy with
those striking bi-eyes and those massive white paws accentuated by
your thick brindle coating. Jim had purchased you from a local pet store,
not long after you had been flown to Maryland from a midwestern Indian
reservation where you were born. Those white paws were wobbly still as
they touched the unfamiliar grass and were overwhelmed by all the people
attention while your senses soaked in the great outdoors.
I was still in mourning for Tobin, my Australian shepherd dog but as each
day passed I grew more and more amused by your puppy antics as you
warmed your way into my life.
I also remember the day when Jim and I went to Rockville in the snow with
you to find a dog companion and were fortunate enough to find Izzie, a
ridgeback and your soul mate. From that first day, the two of you rough housed tirelessly and were inseparable for many years to come.
Griffin, I must admit that you presented a bit of a challenge to train after
Tobin who would have died in the stay command. Jim and I went to numerous trainings before you were molded into the obedient dog you became.
I was always in awe of your gentle nature and innate connection to
other wildlife. I remember the time a cow licked you thru the fence at the
Department of Agriculture and also how a deer sat down near you once in your dog paddock.
It's really hard to say good bye after fourteen years to such an integral member of our family. You have carved a special place in our hearts forever.
Until we meet again dear friend at the Rainbow bridge.
Rest in peace, Nancy
I don't see how it matters
Should we be brindle, black, or white
After all our colour
Is governed by our sight
So in a world of darkness
We would be all the same
How can there be a difference
Our eyesight is to blame
So how about we take a look
See what goes on inside
So judge people by their character
And use no other guide
When I was young and friends of mine
Had different coloured skin
We never ever cared about
Which friend was out or in
Was just as we got older
We found this thing called race
We could not understand it
They said it was God's grace
Well I'm still of the old school
The colour of your skin
Does not colour our relationship
In mind you are my twin
A massive, arch-shaped hearth of stone,
old shiplap walls of weathered oak,
warm, woolen rugs of corded make,
ancient rocker, it creaks a lot.
Fire consumes thick maple logs,
perched low on a wrought iron gate,
cast shadows flicker on the wall,
on the dog snoozing by the chair.
All his fur must be decorative
since he always hogs the fire,
a brindle-mutt with gray muzzle,
might just lick intruders to death.
Round window reveals falling snow,
and frosted pasture beyond it,
safe within this homely cottage,
hear the sounds of owls at night.
Such a place I will imagine,
sanctuary, my escape,
but deep down know, if I had it
I’d be bored within two hours.
…I guess some aren’t meant for peace.
The rosa blanda embroidering your face
will become the veins in my tongue reaching to clog my throat
go past the tonsils and vocal chords and windpipe
down and down still, burrowing into the esophagus
relentless in its pursuit, just, just, just to lay seeds in my chest
tumor a pea, peanut, grape, walnut, lime, matilija, peach, grapefruit
straining muscle surprising itself with the ability to withstand the stretch
craving asphyxiation, those lungs may covet paroxysm
but grieve not the fulfillment of a destiny
this ache, this devastation was meant to be
no, they won’t be careful of what they wish for
you’ll become the air I swallow, and the organ that inhales and exhales it both
viciously lush beauty anywhere and everywhere
so when you see the body that used to be mine,
you’ll gasp in horror or awe or both: which one? I’ll never know
the garden you planted nurses no speech, nor soil, nor hope of infertility
just a promise of bloom and perpetual harvest
a pretty letter from dainty lips, viscous honey quenching its thirst
a giddy blush warming embryos out of stout cases
a brush of apple-sun cheeks dawning moonlight-budding leaves
just a gaze and my heart will melt,
sand that brazenly melds into laminated glass
gifted to strong hands smothered in peppermint lotion
who will keep it safe in their loops, whorls, and arches
brindle cedar irises roots to this infatuation
their existence cruel to a poet who only knows
words mere facets unworthy of describing
fields of cosmoses a cosmos itself
choking on fantasies and tears of scarlet drupes,
I retch out garlands born in guileless meadows
and as the last petal falls,
the sweetest rose hip takes branch
its only sin a love too big