Long Funnydog Poems
Long Funnydog Poems. Below are the most popular long Funnydog by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Funnydog poems by poem length and keyword.
Meat in my smokehouse a bit light,
With the weather about right,
One morning at first light,
I headed to buzzard roost hollow,
A leash on Brownie’s collar,
But Brownie went crazy as a goose,
When I turn him loose,
My worse fear, I could hear,
Him chasing a deer,
Out of pope county, was clear,
Anyhow, now, down in the pope county wild woods,
Seated on an Arkansas hollow log,
With my finger on a trigger, and my eye on a hog,
I pulled that trigger, and the bullet went zip,
I jumped on that hog, with all my grip,
Though I knew I had missed,
I couldn’t resist,
Now as my grip would slip.
The hog would rip,
Tusk 8 inches long,
Like ice tongs,
Would chomp and rip,
As the battle begin to tip,
Hog getting the best of a bad situation,
Sure wish my dog hadn’t taken, his deer vacation,
At about the time,
I thought it was, the end of the line,
I heard Brownie coming,
Man, that dog was running,
He had heard the fight,
Was coming back, to claim his right,
Old Johnny Cash, in the boy named Sue,
Ain’t shown my dog and me, nothing new,
Blood guts and hair, rose up in the air,
When ole Brownie took hold, this fight ain’t fair,
Didn’t take no hour,
Untill we were back in our own lair,
We were saying a prayer, within the hour,
I was seated in a chair,
At my kitchen table,
Razorback meat, the label,
Ole Brownie, proving himself to be, very able,
To sit under my table,
For he’s my mean hooooog,
DOG!!!
Dedication: "MoonBee Canady" An outstanding poet of light poetry, as far as I am concerned.
I certainly enjoy reading your light poetry, as well as the other types you write. You go girl,
I hope you like these poems! Godly love, Sincerely Moses
9-27-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com
The fat black cat was lazy.--but he was loved.
He had a favourite place to sleep--up above.
High up in the ganghut tree-- on a stump.
He would struggle up it daily-- he was plump.
He had several whiskers missing-- due to fights.
He always preferred darkness--never light.
His eyes they really sparkled-- they were green.
Often he"d go missing--never seen.
He always turned up early-- for his food.
He purred around your legs -- he was good.
His rough tounge lapping milk-- it was pink.
He never went near water-- except to drink.
He liked to lie on beds-- spread out flat.
He was very hard to lift-- he was fat.
He would stare out any window-- he was nosey.
He loved electric fires-- they were cosy.
His life was good and rich -- he was happy.
until the household bought a PUPPY!--it was Yappy.
It encroached upon his space--that he hated.
But what to do about it --he just waited.
He hatched a cunning plan-- he was clever.
To get rid of that silly dog-- once and forever.
He would tell him of a meeting-- get together.
That the dog would have to go there--oh what ever!
The silly dog went with him-- his tail wagging.
He did not take much persuading--no, no nagging.
Come and meet your fellow friends-- other hounds.
Fat cat promptly ditched him--in the dog pound.
There was uproar in the house-- wheres the dog?
But fat cat he just slept-- like a log.
He grew bigger in retirement-- rather large.
But he knew the house was his --i"m in charge!
ANIMAL ACTIVIST
Union activist actually – Animal Branch, dude.
My union buddies are thinking it‘s intolerably rude
To have penguin members thrown fish - an insult.
It should be politely offered, like to any human adult.
Our AFL-CIO sheep in an “overcrowded” flock
Must have minimum workers’ space needs; the stock
Needs two metres between each pair of sheep.
Some of our pigs are working in conditions so horribly cheap
As to be described as “a pig sty”.
But the most ridiculous waste of unionized labour in my
Opinion is cows, who‘ve got salt at one end of field
And water at other end: they gotta walk miles each day.
Seems obvious they could have salt and water together, say
At one end, and save a lot of walking for our brothers.
And what about racial slurs and implicit name-calling of others -
“Great Dane” suggests other nationalities of dog workers are worse.
Should be called “Danish” - all dogs are worth paying a fatter purse.
One of our brothers is a dog who’s a boxer:
Horrible, he’s one of the Marquis of Queensbury jocks…er…..
Oh…. and no more of that Old English Sheepdog stuff, I’m afraid.
It’s obvious age-ism in the trade.
Doggone it! Can't you believe it, it's happening again!
Somone call off them dogs, because it's about to be a murderous sin!
My fellow poets, Andrea Dietrich is a poet I admire.
But in case you didn't know it, P.D. is a dog-face liar!
A few poets soup mailed me and said, "Let sleeping dog's lie."
But I just wanted to "Collabo" on a "dark fantasy" and be a poetic samurai!
You lie down with dogs P. D., and you'll wake up with fleas.
She laughed at my poetry then got strung by my poetic bees!
I just wanted to end P.D.'s poetic career, not her death!
But something is seriously wrong I fear and I think it's her dog breath!
So Nathan Dilts steps in the mix, but his bark is worse than his bite.
You can't teach an old dog new tricks, you poetic parasite!
I told P.D. , "girl you like my doggy-style."
But then again, it would be a sin to sleep with a reptile!
Let me seal this with a kiss, so P. D. raise the write flag.
I'm throwing Sidney in the abyss and sealing up my doggy-bag!
*Wrote for the lovely Andrea Dietrich and her contest...The title will remain the same;)
Now I know you've heard the stories
About animals who are smart
But here's a tale of a dog named Jake
Who was a genius from the start
Now, this dog could do anything
He could even add and subtract
He even starred in a broadway play
And, man, that dog could act
Now, nobody ever had to feed him
For, he was even a gourmet chef
Did I mention he was a teacher?
He taught sign language to the deaf
Now Jake was not just an ordinary dog
He remembers everything he sees
He has a photographic memory
And he even knows the names of his fleas
He wouldn't just bring your slippers
He would put them on your feet
That dog would even remember to flush
And put down the toilet seat
Jake even took the children to school
And stayed with them, all day long
He heard every word the teacher said
And corrected her, when she was wrong
Now, you probably think I made this up
And, everything I've told you is fake
But I'll bet you'll be surprised to know
That this poem was even written by Jake
~~Upon the banks of big piney slough,
I recall a picnic with old blue,
and my granddaughter at age two.
and many blood sucking critters too.
~For a very short while we did picnic,
then we would bait our hooks and pick ticks.
while the ants carried our food off in nit picks.
Gets no better than this, can’t beat it with sticks!
~Mosquitoes demanded their rightful share,
for of the blood of we humans they are an heir.
Some dudes have no flair for this type of affair,
after a day or two they would need repair.
~Moms who let babies grow up to be rednecks,
raise children who can fish and pick blood ticks,
and kill big water moccasins with little sticks,
while picking polk salet for supper on picnics.
~Having caught a big flathead cat or two,
I called granddaughter Sue and my dog blue,
for I remember quit clearly when Sue was new,
was the dog days of summer, ninety two!
For and in Honor of: Carol Brown
And Contest: Picnic
“Ole Brownie”
The meanest and the best,
Proven among the rest,
My dog in Arkansas, pope county,
I present, ole Brownie,
With first cold front,
Arkansans begin the hunt,
Razorback hogs,
with their dogs,
Now my dog Brownie,
Meanest hog dog in pope county,
A sight to see,
Even growls at me,
A heinz fifty seven,
Comes number seven of the eleven,
Impossible to see,
His pedigree,
Though no pedigree,
Visibly plain to see,
He was the dog for me,
By my shout of glee,
When he was given to me,
He was a handsome dog,
Though he loved to hog,
Part red bone hound,
Mixed with feist clown,
Would fight anything around,
Twas very plain he wasn’t a coward,
With teeth bared,
Who’s hoss or boss,
At any cost,
Often declared,
When disputes were aired,
Ain’t no fibbing,
Ears torn to ribbons,
His ears` he had sacrifices,
To his scrapping vice,
Anyhow, to finish my story,
Bout my dog of glory, ©.( “Razorback Hog Hunt”)
9-27-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com
JOCK AND HIS DOG
Once knew a Scottish dancing geezer
Accidentally locked his dog in the freezer:
Seems the animal had just spilt
Some curds and milk all over his kilt:
Must have soaked right through his sporran.
(The dog of course was foreign .)
No Scots dog would do such a thing
As spill stuff mid a highland fling.
As Jock took stock of his tartan man-frock
The whole episode had been such a shock
The door of the freezer shut itself slam -
The dog was locked in with the ice cream and ham.
Oh but the key couldn’t be found,
Though Jock looked all around on the ground.
Turned out the dog had the key in his teeth -
He’d stolen it from the sporran sheath.
Poor dog got real cold till the police came,
Opened the freezer and on Jock placed blame.
But the dog hadn’t really suffered so cruel;
He’d eaten all the ice cream as fuel.
And the kilt was no worse for wear. . . .
But Jock’s sporran had lost all its hair.
“Hi, hi, how are ya?” Bowser seemed to say
When Jake came home from work each day
Work went fine, but when Jake stepped inside
He turned from Doc Jekyll to Mr. Hyde
Clean laundry was scattered about the floor
Silk curtains weren’t hanging anymore
The lid on his crock pot had been removed
All over the pot roast Bowser had drooled
Paw prints left scratches on the toilet seat
Holes in his waterbed doused the torn sheet
Jake had lost women because of the stench
Of dirty old dog in the couch entrenched
And hairs that stuck to black, sexy attire
Had proved a sure way to quench gals’ desire
Poor Jake had now reached the end of his rope
Unforgiving, he no longer could cope
The dog had been bored, but that’s no excuse
He’d caused more havoc than a herd of moose
Jake stayed calm, Bowser didn’t hear him grouse
But he was sentenced to life in the dog house
I took my doggy for a ride.
She looked so cute sitting by my side.
And then she gave a little cough
And couldn't seem to turn it off.
She was sick on the seat, but it got worse
She threw up into my open purse.
She was just as sick as a dog can be,
And oh my word, she's been sick on me.
Should I call 911 or find a vet?
I sure needed help for my little pet.
I saw a veterinary sign.
I hoped he could fix this dog of mine.
The vet was a very handsome guy.
I was such a mess, I wanted to cry.
His amusement, he didn't try to hide.
Being laughed at I cannot abide.
"She's just car sick," he said with a smirk.
"Give her these pills, I'm sure they'll work."
I had the last laugh when I heard him curse.
I had paid with money from my stinking purse.
I used the line "Sick as a dog>"
For Andrea's Doggone conterst. won 3rd