Long poem by
Mary Oliver Rotman | Details |
Randomling 1: Matthew Macfadyen
I believe I'm in love with Matthew Macfadyen
He inspires in me a terribly bad yen
But as poetry goes
His name 'spires woes
Cause nothing rhymes with "Macfadyen”.
Randomling 2: Birthday Wishes
For my birthday, I would like a man.
I wonder---can you get one from a can?
Or maybe from a catalog?
Maybe I'll just get a dog.
Randomling 3: Yet Another Cat Poem
toddlers in fur
senior citizens with retractable claws
lions in their own minds
lunch in the minds of dogs.
Randomling 4: Desert Woes
A sage river in a field of sand:
so flows hope in a barren land;
the crippled heart in prosthetic steel,
hacked and scarred, a vulture’s meal.
Randomling 5: Dark Poetry
Follow poetry to its source;
There find heartbreak and remorse.
Follow poetry to the bitter end,
And there find death, its bosom friend.
Randomling 6: Ode to Bananas
an underappreciated fruit
sentenced to banananality
because yellow is their long suit.
Randomling 7: Untitled
this heart is closed to deposits.
There's no more room for pain.
Randomling 8: Untitled
My heart is sealed in a cold steel vault,
and I’ve lost the combination.
Randomling 9: Joyce Kilmer 2015
I think that I shall never see
A man as useful as a tree.
One has uses by the score;
The other one is apt to snore.
Randomling 10: Bedtime Prayers
Now I lay me down to sleep,
A leaden heart is mine to keep.
If I should die before I wake--
Now there’s an offer I’d gladly take.
Randomling 11: The Devil Wind
Fury with a smoky tail
Eddies of destruction
Deceitful beauty, enchanting danger
Death sporting a makeover
DON'T READ #12 IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR ME TALK TO MY SON ABOUT CERTAIN ASPECTS OF THE BIRDS AND BEES_________________________
Randomling 12: A Boy's Best Friend
Your penis—it is not a toy
I told my little son.
O yes it is, he parried me
It's quite my favorite one.
Randomling 13: Fault Lines
I have a bathroom mirror
that's grown faulty over time.
My reflection is no longer true;
it's developed little lines!
Randomling 14: Shakespeare 101
“To be or not to be. That is the question.”
--Whaddya mean, THE question?
Randomling 15: Christmas?
Peace on earth to men of good credit
Who give the gift of corporate profit
in the holy name of commercialism.
Randomling 16: Musical Believer
Though my conscience sleeps,
wrapped in the Valium of
agnosticism, it awakens to
the music of Mozart--
once more knowing God
by the sound of His voice.
Randomling 17: Vacuum
I didn't write a poem when you died.
The words would not come.
Perhaps I felt too deeply,
perhaps not enough;
maybe I died too. 10/06/01
Randomling 18: Insanity
Insanity is underrated
Its drawbacks,much overstated.
How else to do what you darn well please
And accomplish it with so much ease?
Randomling 19: Dog Day Afternoon
WATER! BALL! CHASE!
salt, waves, undertow
I don't know what's going
on here, but I'm HAPPY!
Randomling 20: Opposites Attract
i am matter---love, antimatter
never to meet save to explode
i am space, love is time
parallel dimensions never to meet
Randomling 21: Puppy Love
I ride a leaky newspaper raft
Adrift on the linoleum
Anxiously awaiting an
An attack of smelly
covered in fuzz:
Randomling 22: Newton's Poultice
Apple falls from tree
Newton (ouch!) takes notice
Comes up with law of gravity
while wearing a poultice
on the solstice
Randomling 23: Ticking
And the clock on the wall kept on ticking
while my life fell apart all around me.
Sweet memories faded to shadow
as my heart fell to pieces inside me.
And the clock on the wall kept on ticking
Relentlessly ticking, ticking
While my life fell apart all around me.
Randomling 24: Untitled
a mosaic assembled from
tiles of delight and
black-glazed stones of despair
in seamless beauty
Randomling 25: Seasonal Lament
end at both end
as summer falls into the
arm of winter. arm
Randomling 26: Untitled
I didn't want
to love you.
Randomling 27: Pills
Depression is days and nights curled fetal-like
in a dark room, no interest in the world outside,
idly wondering if there are enough
pills in the bottle to kill you,
then thinking it's not worth the effort
to find out because you're dead inside already.
Randomling 28: Guilt By Association
Fresh morning light frames
the cat, surrounded by piles of
dirt and deceased plants,
Randomling 29: Bell the Cat
How do you give a cat a bath?
Maybe you can do the math.
All I know is she stinks to high heaven.
And of us there are only seven.
How many humans to bathe a cat?
Definitely more than where we're at!
Randomling 30: Muse
I want to write a poem
using the word gossamer.
Randomling 31: Ripples
Canoes rock gently
under the waxing moon.
Black water ripples,
painting a beautiful scene
under the scented pines.
Randomling 32: Sunshine Waterfall
I cleanse my face in a sunshine waterfall,
luxuriate in a sunshine shower.
Waterfall flow and warm me;
sprinkle lemon drops through my hair.
Randomling 33: Salon Treatment
Hurricanes scour everything
they touch, then rinse and blow
Randomling 34: My Window
Blue sky pokes its face
through the canopy of trees.
Heat wave is over!
Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Doug Vinson | Details |
Everything here is true
Just as stated
because it's already happened
or - it has yet to occur -
but it's very soon to occur
and I have such strong feeling
that the future will be as I see it
as you read this
that in the end I will be proven right.
You are that occurrence
you are happening
and I think you will understand.
Love is a dog
on a chain
in a muddy yard
on a cold day
in a silent town
where the land slopes
down to a river.
It's the end of autumn
or the beginning of winter
and the silence is tidal
and you know that things are not right
under the sky of hard iron
between all the old buildings
of red faded brick
that were made when labor and materials were cheap.
Big old buildings all squares and rectangles
tenements that saw many families
hotels of a prior age
offices where she used to work
where he ran the elevator
where they came and went
but now nobody is walking
no vehicles move on the streets
it was just me.
And the dog.
There is more about the place
it could have been in a movie
with the camera panning around
capturing aspects of vertigo and dread
a province of scary infirmity
that makes you think
you are dreaming
because you've had dreams before
and you've seen horror movies before
but you know there's no such escape
not a dream not a movie
and the dog is real.
Lonely. Thirsty. Hungry. Cold.
It wasn't always that way
not the dog
not the town.
Long ago the Continental Army
was headquartered here
in the American Revolution
and the city thrived
into the future
lots of transportation
through the 1800s
but then river traffic fell to almost nothing
railroads and trucks took over
companies and people moved south and overseas
and the town grew quiet.
Now it's the cold season
the silence of an endless cold season
almost monochromatic under that iron sky
all black and white or in-between
except for the fading red
of the bricks in those big old buildings.
This is where the owners
love the dog part of the time.
This is where a pigeon steps
on a little discarded plastic ring
from a jug of milk
and the ring stands up
above the ground
where a cold wind blows torn candy wrappers around your feet
near the chain link fences
the dirty concrete with moss growing in the cracks
where branches show against the sky
from dark tree trunks
by the wrought metal fence
that has caught a plastic bag
that was blown by the wind.
You feel the lack
the absence of bird calls
coming down in rivulets and chips of silver
showing they are alive.
It's not to be this day
the silence holds sway
life seems more of an echo.
Any faint smile
of the sun
shows false in the shadows.
The dog didn't make a sound either.
I'm tempted to end right here
we haven't really gotten to the love part yet.
Sure - maybe they loved the dog some
maybe the owner was sick or old
or just couldn't care for it much anymore
or they had grown up and moved away
while the dog remained.
Long ago there was the Telephone Company of New York
and through buyouts, governmentally enforced divestitures, and mergers
it later became Metropolitan Telephone and Telegraph Company
then American Bell Telephone Company
New York Telephone
and now we know it as Verizon.
The dog was real.
The town is Newburgh, New York, USA
and it does slope down to a river
the Hudson River
and the old buildings
I was there in the late 1990s
when it was called NYNEX and then Bell Atlantic.
The old telephone building still had the places
where the switchboard operators
would sit with earphones on
listening to call requests, or
they manually plugged in wires
to connect incoming calls
with house telephones
in the local exchange.
A light would glow
on the bottom row
of their array
and they'd connect a wire
from the plug-in hole by the light
to number 0313 for example
if that was the number in the exchange
that the caller wanted.
The materials were beautiful
all the hardwoods
fiber, metal and cloth
that hadn't been used since
the late 1960s.
The lattices were still there
the wire pairs
for each number
ten thousand at a time
i.e. 0000 to 9999
those wire pairs
had their brackets
from where they went all the way to people's houses
the hard wired connection.
You're with me now
there's nobody else
nobody from the telephone company
and I have the door code for the electronic lock.
We exit the building
and the dog is looking at us
from the lonely cold muddy yard
behind the next old rectangle of faded red bricks
there is something there
not real hope
but dark eyes upon us
some wonder some... something...
The dog never makes a sound.
You see one of the shames of my life.
I go over to my truck and drive away.
It wasn't that the dog just couldn't make a sound.
It didn't quickly raise its head
it didn't jump up or
come toward me
as far as the chain would let it
or at least tilt its head
as if I might present some hope.
There is love
but it was so far away from that dog
that all was silent
the most terrible silence.
So now I'm a 57 year old man
sitting here crying because I could have gotten that dog a good home
or I could have called somebody who would do that
you should see me crying
or I could have just called somebody
or I could have gotten that dog something good to eat
and some water
oh dog I'm sorry
I could have knocked on the door
and asked about the dog
and offered to help
you should see me crying I'm a mess
I could have gone over
and hugged the dog
and said oh dog
you're a good dog
Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Bob Quigley | Details |
He stood and aimlessly watched the parade of patrons and volunteers that wandered daily past his kennel. All so familiar, so ordinary. Just like every other day he mused. Nothing new. Nothing special.
Moving to the small crumpled blanket near the back of his cage, he turned several times and finally curled up, head on his paws, positioned so that he could watch the activity around him. But in reality, he was bored. It had been a long time since he had met each morning with anticipation. Too many days. Too much disappointment. He would leave all that barking and racing to the front of their cage to the younger pups who hadn’t figured out yet that the cute ones went first. It didn’t really make any difference what you did to attract attention if you weren’t young or cute, or both.
Too much time had gone by to participate in the charade. In reality, Walter had seen a lot of people that he would rather not spend a lot of time with. You know the type. Kind of hyper, bouncing from stray to stray, looking for a perfect dog. Kids poking their fingers through the kennel screen or banging on it. Some even making barking sounds. He didn’t need any of that and was glad when they were gone.
Walter was very picky. Set in his ways after so many years. He had had it good for a long time. An only dog in a household of two people that let him be himself. No tricks. No stunts. Just long naps and daily walks. A yard to himself to reflect on what was for dinner. He had been fond of his doggy bed in their bedroom. Each night he would help his owner walk through the house turning off the lights and checking the doors before they climbed the stairs together. And there was always one last good night pat before settling down.
But those days were gone now. First one had become ill and went to the hospital and never came back. The other one changed overnight, spending long days, sitting mostly. The walks became less frequent. Walter did what he could. He could see it in their eyes that they were hurting from their loss. He would make a point of laying his head in their lap, trying to let them know that he missed them too. At times like this, he instinctively knew that although it remained unsaid, they only had each other.
He remembers well the day that his owner snapped a leash on him and said, “well Walter, I’m afraid we have to say goodbye. I have to go to a place where they won’t let me keep you, so I am going to have to let you go.” Walter could see the tears in his eyes. He knew it would do him no good to whine or resist. It was obvious there were no alternatives. And besides, it would just make it harder on his owner. But he was going to miss him. It was not going to be easy to adjust.
But adjust he did. He had been here a long time now and had seen countless pups and dogs trot past his cage with light hearts and new owners, heading off with new found hopes and expectations. But it soon became obvious that there weren’t a lot of people that wanted an old yellow hound. Everyone wanted the young ones. So here he lay, dozing a bit, but still keeping an eye on those walking by, many giving him but a glance before moving on.
He heard them before the saw them. ”Honey” the voice said. ”That looks like Walter, old Mr. Whitney’s dog.” Walters ears perked up a little. ”Do I know them” he thought. ”They seem to know me”. I’d better go take a closer look” and with that, he stood and slowly ambled toward his kennel gate, giving a cautious wag of his tail.
“It is him” the man said. ”Walter, how you doing boy? Do you remember me?”
And upon closer inspection, Walter did remember him. He used to live right across the street. He would see him in his yard and if Walter were to ramble over, he usually had a dog treat in his pocket. With the recognition, Walter gave a little stronger wag and moved toward the fingers extended through the fencing. It was good to see an old friend.
“What do you say hon” the man said. ”How would you feel about bringing Walter home with us?”
Walter looked at the woman and saw her nod in agreement. ”You wait here and I’ll go find a volunteer.”
The man bent down and said “What do you think Walter? Would you like to go home with us?”
Actually, Walter decided, he could think of nothing he would like more. A chance to go back to the old neighborhood with people he already knew. What was there not to like.
Soon the woman returned and the gate opened. A leash was snapped on Walter and together they proceeded past the rows of dogs and puppies, all vying for their attention. Walter couldn't help but stand a little straighter, stepping a little more lightly, showing off. ”This is what going home looks like guys.” he thought. ”Good luck and goodbye”.
As they neared the car the man said “I can’t believe we found you Walter. There is someone I am going to take you to see. I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when you walk in his room>”
Walter, of course, knew exactly who he was talking about. And he couldn't wait to see the expression on his face either.
Copyright © Bob Quigley | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Andrea Dietrich | Details |
Narrator: I take you now inside the mind of a ten year old miniature Eskimo dog who
lives happily inside a Rambler house with a fenced back yard that serves as his special
area to periodically run freely when his “favorite person”(Love) puts him out, always
shouting “go pee!” to him. Strangely, Ollyver does not really seem to understand that
command. Perhaps to him it means “go play” since often he is later caught inside the
house in compromising positions, causing his owner to rush him again to the door to
the back yard!
Furthermore, new computer technology has enabled Ollyver’s owner (his “Love”)
to come up with a crude translation for Ollyver’s stream of thoughts. She knows his behavior the best, but still she must guess at a few things inside his brain due to his limited range of vocabulary and his typical doggy unconcern with that ! So now she has just let Ollyver out the back porch to go pee. . .
Ollyver: I go out! I go out! Run run run . . . Run here. . . Run there. . . Strange man
by fence. . . I can’t get to strange man. What you doing by my yard? Leave here leave here leave here. . . yip yip yip yip yip yip yip. . . . .
Owner’s voice from the porch: Go pee, Ollyver!!!
Ollyver: always “go pee” she say. . . Look look at me. . . I go pee . . . run here . . .
run there. . . (Ollyver continues running back and forth yelping at the stranger who
has since gotten past the fence as he walks along the canal road) I go pee I go pee. . .
Narrator: Ollyver runs back to the house, never having actually gone pee. He runs to
sit by his owner, whom he perceives as his favorite human. She is eating a bowl of ice
cream on the bed.
Ollyver: I go in. . . see yum-yum milk. . . I want I want I want
Narrator: Ollyver goes toward the bowl and gets pushed away, so he stares with big
anxious eyes going back and forth to Love and the bowl of yum-yum.
Ollyver: I want I want I want. . . Give me give me give me. . . Ohhhhh. . . Yum-yum
getting smaller and smaller. . . Ohhhhhhhhh
Narrator: Ollyver’s Love pats his head and lets him lick what remains at the bottom of the bowl. After he finishes, he snuggles by Love and beings to lick her hand and arm.
Ollyver: kiss kiss kiss kiss. . . Love Love Love
Narrator: Suddenly the door bell rings, and he dashes off the bed to the front door
with his Love following behind him, yelling: “No Ollyver!” He peers through the window and sees a stranger.
Ollyver: yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip go away strange lady go away strange lady
go away strange lady yip yip yip yip yip yip yip. . ..
Narrator: The door bell rings again and Ollyver runs to his favorite corner of the family
room, where he begins to do the very thing his owner had wanted him to do previously
when she let him out into the back yard. Her voice yells shrilly “No, Ollyver” and she
shoves him to the back door saying: “OUT here, Ollyver. Go pee out HERE.” Ollyver
then runs across the yard going back and forth, back and forth.
Ollyver: see see see, Love. . . I go pee I go pee
**For the contest of Just That Archaic Poet:This is my personification of Ollyver, the pet that gave me the greatest unconditional love of any pet I ever owned. Because we could never train him (I even hired a trainer to help us) and because of other complications, I had to give him up when he was around ten years old. I missed him so much. and even my cat, Razzmatazz cannot replace him for pure affection. I gave him to a place that promised a no-kill policy and to this day, I am hoping he had a great life until the end!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Jenny Linsel | Details |
Sam the dog and Pearl the cat
Were sitting on the wall
They do it every day
So it isn't strange at all
They have little conversations
Which only they can understand
They talk about their little quirks
And none of them are planned
Pearl goes first of course
And Sam lets her have her say
He knows better than to interrupt
He learnt his lesson the other day
“I scratch my scratching post
And I chase my clockwork mouse
I leave my loving mistress
Little gifts all around the house
I eat all of my food
Then I use my litter tray
Or sometimes one of her slippers
When she looks the other way
I sleep lots throughout the day
Until about half past seven
Then I think it’s playtime
Until well after eleven
Each day she fills my water bowl
But I don't use it for a drink
I prefer to use the kitchen tap
While balancing on the sink
I like to lodge my face in things
And my mistress gets fed up
The other day I got it stuck
Inside a paper cup
I've got a lovely padded bed
For when I need a sleep
But I sleep in the bathroom hand-basin
It’s nice and cool and deep
I love it on a Tuesday
My mistress gets her magazine
I sit my bottom on it
It’s pages sight unseen
One of my favourite pastimes
Is scratching on the door
I make her think I want to go out
Then I curl up on the floor
I put on my needy face
When I smell nice food
My mistress never shares with me
How can she be so rude?
I like to go upstairs
On the bed I like to lie down
Nestled in a furry ball
On a fluffy dressing gown
Sometimes I hide in cupboards
Then suddenly jump out
My mistress tells me off for startling her
You probably hear her shout
I sit on the laptop keyboard
While my owner tries to chat
To her human friends on Facebook
I soon put a stop to that”
Sam now has his say at last
And looks straight at Pearl, the cat
“You think you get into mischief,
Well I can better that
I love going into town
Though it isn’t very far
My favourite thing is the lovely breeze
On my head out of the window of the car
Sometimes my mistress brings me a doggy bag
From her favourite restaurant
It contains all of my favourite things
She knows exactly what I want
Last week she took me in the car
Allegedly to the park
It was really a trip to the vets for ‘the snip'
I was totally kept in the dark
I do a vanishing act at bath time
I always hide under the bed
So I get taken out to the garden
And end up getting hosed-down instead
Whenever my belly is scratched
No matter where we are
I lay on my back with my legs in the air
As if playing an air-guitar
I love rolling in smelly stuff
Much to my owner’s dismay
It's one of my favourite pastimes
I do it almost every day
I'm the master of the head-tilt
When I smell nice food on the table
I sometimes get some scraps
But not from greedy aunt Mabel
Odd times I chase my tail
I chase it round and round
Then I spin around a couple of times
Before exhaustedly lying down
I keep eating grass
When my tummy is upset
But sometimes I eat too much
And I end up at the vet”
It’s almost five ‘o’ clock
Both hear the rattling of a tin
That sound means it is dinner time
Time to be going in
Sam gently says to Pearl
“See you tomorrow, the same time”
Pearl preens her whiskers and purrs softly
Then over the wall she starts to climb
Sam spies a muddy patch
He'll save it for another day
Then he'll see his pal, Pearl the cat,
When she’s next out to play
Copyright © Jenny Linsel | Year Posted 2017
Long poem by
John Posey | Details |
Grandpa had a bulldog whose name was Tige.
They were close – as close as honey and bees.
If Grandpa felt a cold comin’ on –
Well Ol’ Tige was the one who would sneeze
Grandpa was noted for his wealth and generosity.
His love for me was demonstrated when he paid my college fees.
The love he held for Tige was almost the same for me.
And ol’ Tige was always with Grandpa wherever he might be.
College life was different then, separation was the norm.
And years at Alma Mater meant years far from the farm.
Students have it difficult and allowances soon shrink
So, short of money there, I soon began to think.
Grandpa, bless his giving heart, quickly came to mind
That bulldog owned his generous heart – if somehow I could find
Some way to convince my grandpa to increase the money sent --
I came upon a devious plan – and this is how it went.
I wrote and told my grandpa, “There’s things you ought to know.
The things they’re doin’ here at school will set your heart aglow.”
“They’re takin’ all these sorts of dogs – it came as quite a shock
Grandpa, you won’t believe me, they’re teachin’ dogs to talk.”
Now grandpa loved ol’ Tige so much it didn’t take him long
To ask how much would it take to send ol’ Tige along?
Well, when I gave a figure, Grandpa was satisfied
If this crazy scheme was figured out, there’s no place I could hide.
I kept feeding grandpa all sorts of good reports
How Tige was a star pupil and mascot of all sports
Two years passed and soon there came the time to take Tige home
Grandpa was so excited -- Tige was never more to roam.
Grandpa came runnin’ when I stepped down off the train.
His eager eyes were searching for what he’d never see again.
“Where’s ol’ Tige?” he asked, as we began to walk.
“He’s not comin’.” I replied, “C’mon we need to talk.”
This morning I was shaving in the bathroom by the sink
And Tige was justa talkin’ when he looked at me and winked.
“Ya know’ he said, “I’ll be so glad to be back home at last.”
There are some things I’ve thought about that went on in the past.”
“I was standin’ at the mirror with my razor in my hand
Ol’ Tige was talkin’ ‘bout some things he couldn’t understand.
I could not believe the lies he told – things he’d seen first hand
Like the times he saw you wrestlin’ with that female hired hand.”
His words just lit a fire with the pictures that he painted
I almost couldn’t help myself – Grandpa, I nearly fainted.
It seems that I lost it some and when I finally woke,
I’d grabbed him by the backa his neck and cut his lyin’ throat.
I know grandpa was shaken, I saw it in his eyes.
A look of consternation he could not disguise
He seemed to be relieved, as he looked at me and said,
“Now, Son, I really need to know, are you sure ol’ Tige is dead?”
Years have hidden the truth of this deception that I wrought.
I’m the one who wove deceptive tales that everybody bought.
But when the truth is told at last and no more lies are found
You’ll gladly find an ending that surely will astound.
Grandpa? -- He now lives with Jesus, and me? -- I’m headed there.
Tige? – I know he’s still around though I shouldn’t tell you where.
We made a pact some years ago when things went awfully bad.
For years he’s been the best darn mascot my school ever had.
Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details |
Such a nose had Ol’ Blue.
Best in south Missouri... everybody knew.
Could smell a pheasant across the plain.
Could point a covey in a hurricane.
That’s the way the legend goes.
Ol’ Blue had a “magic nose.”
As Blue got older, his master’s mind would drift away
To a place where he and young Blue used to play.
In the mornings, sitting over his coffee cup
He found it sad there were no pups.
He thought it would be such a shame
If the only memory was Ol’ Blue’s name.
So, Jim was compelled and full of pride;
He made a search, far and wide,
To find Ol’ Blue a suitable mate.
No doubt, his offspring would be great.
It seemed likely, he supposed,
At least one pup would have his “magic nose.”
She was a Champion Miss from New Orleans,
A beautiful “red” named Cajun Queen.
But Blue suddenly passed away, before the pups were born.
Jim was broken hearted. He and “Queenie” mourned.
Then came the litter, but there was only one.
Jim struggled for hope; after all, he was Ol’ Blue’s son.
Dappled and lanky, a handsome little cuss,
He looked just like Blue. Jim made such a fuss.
Naming this pup would require no ado.
It was obvious. Officially, he would be “Blue Two.”
Oh yes, these were mighty large tracks to fill.
“Can he?”, folks asked. Jim would say, “Heck yes he will!”
So his nickname became “Two” and he seemed to be smart.
Soon it was time for his training to start.
The basics went well, but Jim’s outlook grew very dim
When, instead of pointing, Two would wag and jump and bark at him.
Oh, Two seemed to be trying; but try as he might,
He just could not seem to ever get it right.
“Blue’s son or not, he’s got to go!”
Jim found Two a “pet home” far away, in Tupelo.
On his way back, he stopped in Texarkana.
Been too long a time since he’d seen his sister Hannah.
Six days and six pounds later, he was back on his way.
Work at the farm was callin’ and he’d be drivin’ all day.
He thought about Ol’ Blue and wondered if and when
He’d ever have a birddog as good as Blue again.
Oh, he knew another “magic nose” was just a far off dream;
After all, it wasn’t something any man could scheme.
A “magic nose” was a gift from God, only given to a few;
And he was proud and very lucky just to have known Ol’ Blue.
As he turned into his drive, he broke into a smile.
“Why… I can’t believe it! It…It must be 300 miles!”
Two was on the porch, thin and dirty; but he struck a handsome pose.
Jim ran and hugged Two hard. “How’d you get back? Lord only knows!”
Suddenly Jim realized; and struck with awe, he slowly rose.
A tear trickled to his smile. “Why Two… you have a “magic nose!”
Two and Jim are best of friends, together everywhere.
From milkin’ cows to bedtime, Two is always there.
Jim doesn’t hunt much anymore, now Two’s a rescue dog.
Just last month, he saved a little girl lost in Cooley’s Bog.
Jim struts and tells proud, heroic stories;
While Two wags and jumps and barks, and shares his glory.
Jim boasts, “Like father, like son!”, then speaks fondly of Blue;
But all know the largest tracks to fill are those of Two.
His deeds are known far and wide,
And fill Jim’s heart with love and pride.
For with every rescue, the legend grows;
About a dog named Two, and his “magic nose.”
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
Tadon Archer | Details |
People wonder why I’m so antisocial hardly talk or hang with anybody
They wonder why I stay to myself and just do me
They wonder why I’m always on top while others are still at the bottom
feeding on to me
Well if you ask me there are a lot of reasons why I’m antisocial
There are too many fake niggas to socialize with I see no human in them
They are like an artificial mannequin I can see right through them
They are nothing but cartoons I watch on TV
I can’t **** with everybody because everybody is different
Your close friends can be your enemies
so you gotta be on the look out
Because niggas now days are phony and they don’t give a **** about you
35So you’re a fool thinking that everybody is your friend or everybody is
down with you
Because your friends will turn on you in a minute
The only two people I trust is God and myself
I can’t trust my family because I don’t know what they be on
All they do is black mail me when I don’t do what they say
Or talk about me like a dog behind my back just like my enemies do me
And the only time they act nice to me or speak highly of me is when they
want something from me
Man what a damn shame but that’s how life is I can’t get mad the only
thing I can do is move on and do me
That’s why I’m so antisocial because people will dog you out and then turn
back around and be your friend again
And your dumbass is to dumb to realize that he or she is just using
Well for me it don’t work that way once you **** up with me I’m through
So ain’t no point of hitting my line or in boxing me on face book because I
will reply back **** you
And when I do try to socialize with people they act like they don’t
And when I tell the guys my view of women they look at me funny like
what the **** you’re talking about
But when they give their view of women its cool
But to me its wrong but who gives a **** I mean nobody won’t listen to
It’s like a midget talking to a giant that’s why I stay quiet and just be me
Because people are petty now days
And I’m afraid to talk to the girls because they are so rude
It don’t matter how you approach them they will still give you smart
They can careless about your feelings
So that’s why I stay antisocial I will just let them come to me
And I’m sometimes afraid to introduce myself to certain people
Because I don’t know how to approach them like I judge myself before
they can judge me
I wonder too much that sometimes I contradict my own damn self
I gotta stop thinking so hard people wonder why I’m so antisocial
And when they ask me you know what I tell them
37None of your ****ing business
Because all you want me to do is socialize with you so you can know my
entire God damn business
I hate noisy people that’s why I hang in a small circle and don’t **** with
no **** niggas I gotta stay in my own lane and stay focus
Because these niggas out here lurking waiting for you to slip up but not
Nigga so while you’re stocking me you need to just do you and let me be
Because you will never figure out what I’m going to be
I’m staying antisocial as long as I’m living
So if you don’t like it then don’t **** with me
Copyright © Tadon Archer | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details |
It seems like just the other day
Our pup, Shadrack, did pass away;
And altho’ they never seemed like friends,
My old cat, Jorg, knew Shad had met
his untimely end.
He mourned his loss every day
And looked for Shadrack everywhere.
He’d mew and moan as if to say,
“We were friends. I do care.”
Then one night, an eerie howl
Awoke me from my sleep.
He’d found Shad’s toys and left no doubt
That his feelings did run deep.
So our tedious search began
To find another likely pup;
But while my poor wife still grieved,
Could another measure up?
We went to Second Chance and Free to Live.
She just could not make up her mind.
She loved them all; but, if she picked just one,
The rest would have to stay behind.
Then, quite by chance, there was a “pound pup”
Who’d been picked up from the streets.
He was a mutt, a “schnauza-pug”;
But he was awfully sweet.
He jumped up and kissed her frantically.
He seemed aware of his “iffy” situation.
He made the best of his opportunity.
Tears of joy told her elation.
“This is the one”, she smiled through tears,
As she held him... oh, so tight.
“I’m sure that Jorg will like him too.
Everything will be alright”.
And so it was, until one day
When old Jorg did pass away…
There was no hesitation on this sad occasion;
Come Saturday morning, we went straight
to the pound,
Open minded and hoping to be “saviors”,
Surely a nice cat was to be found.
“Sadly”, the lady said,” three kitties have only today.
There’s Andre and Panda and another one too”.
My wife smiled and said, “Jorg was your boy. You pick.
They’re both beautiful cats. It’s up to you”.
As I pondered this commitment
Another cat, a young one, caught my eye.
Like Jorg, he was a common gray tabby.
Fond memories were stirred. I almost cried.
On closer look, his name was Boris;
And, strangely, he was number three.
There was a small sign on his crate,
“I don’t like other cats and other cats don’t like me”.
But there was character in his eyes and he was cute.
He was rolling and purring and stretching.
He seemed to look deep into my heart
And did his best to be quite fetching.
But because he was just a common gray tabby,
And because of the little sign,
His chances were slim, his future quite dim
And one day is precious little time.
For a moment I was lost in his eyes
And I heard his desperate plea,
“I’m a swell cat and litter box trained.
Take me. Please, take me”.
“Well”, my wife urged, “is it Andre or Panda”?
“One of us will take the other kitty.”, two older ladies chimed.
“You can each have one ladies”, I said with a smile.
I want Boris and he wants to be mine”.
In just hours he was romping and rolling with Pepper,
Who had happily welcomed his new friend.
Boris was a perfect fit, an affirmation;
The Circle of Life never ends.
Much more Joy than Sadness in this Circle,
And there should never be regrets.
Honor their memories and all the love they share,
Never break the Circle, never be without a Pet.
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
Laura Loo | Details |
TO MY FAVORITE GOLDEN RETRIEVER BO
Poem I Written September 26, 2015
You're beautiful golden hair,
with a splash of gray on your face.
And so what if your fur,
is all over the damn place.
If you gave me your coat,
I'd make it into a blanket.
I'd stay warm all night,
without you I couldn't make it.
When your first mommy died,
you had crazy distractions.
For you lost your soul mate,
and you needed a connection.
So I swept you in my arms,
and gave you a warm bed.
We welcomed you with hugs,
as I slowly rubbed your head.
So my little family of four,
turned to five overnight.
Oh how I prayed you'd love us,
and take away your fright.
Yesterday the vet came,
your body is full of cancer.
It was all so very sudden,
I had questions needing answers.
So tonight you're here in my arms,
as I gently rub your ear,
and I think about you leaving me,
as I gently wipe a tear.
How will I know,
when it's the right time?
Time to make that terrible decision,
for you to close your eyes.
Your beautiful golden hair,
with a splash of gray on your face-
My love for you soars,
right through time and space.
Poem II Written October 9, 2016
My sweet boy, I’ll miss you but I know you’ll be loved-
For you will be with Karen resting peacefully above.
When you came into our family our hearts grew ten times-
And even til’ this day I can’t believe you were mine.
My sweet boy, with all that grey covering your face-
Funny how I’ll miss your fur all over the place.
That annoying vacuum will cry for the loss of you-
He will be quite bored with nothing else to do.
My sweet boy, you kissed away so many of my tears-
We have made so many memories the last six years.
If Karen hadn’t died I would have never seen your soul-
One day my heart so empty, the next completely full.
My sweet boy, who loved to follow me everywhere I’d go-
Who would’ve thought how much your spoiled belly would grow!
When the cancer came my whole world was torn apart-
How was I to live with only half of my bleeding heart?
Your fate was to be loved by not just one family, but two-
So many people and animals have fallen in love with you.
Tomorrow will be one of the hardest days I may ever know-
But into Karen’s loving arms, my sweet boy, you’ll quickly go.
Dedicated to my sweet boy, Bo who I will put to rest tomorrow at noon. My sister Karen died in 2010, and my family of four turned into five overnight. We welcomed him into our arms with love and compassion for all he had been through losing his mumma. I wrote the first poem after I found out he had cancer in 2015. A year later it's time to say goodbye. He will be missed so much, and I don't know how I can live without him to be honest. This is the hardest decision I have ever had to make.
March 24, 2005-October 10, 2016
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016