Long French bulldog Poems

This piece has a fairly tricky rhyme scheme =  a-a-B /c-c-B


If All of the Weird Ones Were Cropped


I was sittin’ alone in a booth in a deli in Cody, Wyoming one day, 
When a...

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On an early April afternoon, nearly three decades ago
I waited to meet my firstborn, but time moved so slow

Upon her delivery I heard the lusty sound of her cries
It was in that moment, happy tears...

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He drew the drapes, nothing caught his eye
it seemed that yesterday had replicated itself,
only today it had chosen a deeper of gray tint.

On balance, it could have been
the color of stale puke, for the night
had...

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A creative process
disguised as a French Bulldog
has pooped in my mind-pot,
where I was complacently
growing small obscure weeds.

Muse me, or abuse me you poetry bug,
if you are a stinkbug, I will take it,
fake it until…

The Frenchie...

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