Long Haunches Poems
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The Dogs we called Family
Tara came first and then there was Ben,
When both of them died we said never again.
Then Sam the runner, got killed in the street,
Prince came and went quick, we didn't know he was sick.
He came from a farm where distemper was rife,
Took him to the vet where he ended his life.
One year had to pass to get our house clear,
Without a mutt there, it seemed without cheer.
One day I was out and the Pound I happened to pass,
I doubled back and I looked through the glass.
Inside I walked, many dogs ignoring my stare,
Until one at the end looked up at me square,
Sat on her haunches both paws outstretched.
She's the one, I knew, so my family I fetched.
I said nothing to them of the dog I had seen,
When they saw the same one I knew they were keen.
The dog was due for the jab that very hour,
To save her life now was in our power, you see.
We paid the fee for her life, Our Lucy was free.
She was the new member added to our family of four,
She lived with us and loved us for 19 years more.
While she was with us we had another to add,
Along came Jamie the Yorkie,he was a bit of a lad.
Like Ben he stayed near ten years and sadly passed.
Lucy died of old age, we said it's time to give in.
Our Garden Cemetery of loved ones was full to the brim.
To Cyprus we came to retire and live in the sun,
Of a dog in the family we didn't want one.
Then a visit to Larnaca was to change our life again,
Because along came Lexi to start it all over again.
She was soon followed by Levi, he was a lively one,
Then came Eli, the whirlwind and pain in the bum.
So from just us two forever as we'd planned,
Now we were five and life was once again grand.
A sad day loomed we had no idea of what was to come,
Levi was walking wrong so we took him to the vet
He had hurt his spine, as bad as it could get.
His rear end gave out and could not be reversed.
He was paralyzed, and getting steadily worse.
The love he gave us in his life reduced us to tears.
The vet said it's time he confirmed our worst fears.
We let him go to where he could romp with all the rest,
All the dogs in our family, they were the best.
With Tara and Ben, Jamie,Charlie the Pinscher and Lucy too
Neo the Collie and Big Ben & Storm the Rottweilers two,
Newfoundland Curtis and Demon the Chow,
All Pals together, in the Big Kennel now.
© Dave Timperley May 5th 2016
Ephemeral online moment...
Yours truly plagiarizes himself with zeal
courtesy mental cogs and rusty wheel,
thus no literary crime committed to steel
I broadcast material shown thru rickety
black and white Roman Times newsreel
forthwith shoddy wordplay exempts me
against copyright infringement meaning
only I own privilege to take self to heel,
nevertheless yours truly hoops longshot
to score brownie points a higher power,
I will not cajole, bribe nor appeal...
while sitting on haunches horsing around
contemplating how to clearly expound
idea that the here and now does not exist
cuz no sooner then present moment
experienced than bitta bing bitta bang...
little block of time immediately gone,
hence quite profound...
Whereby present, i.e.
2:24 PM March 4th, 2021
instantaneously becomes past.
Linkedin thru tenuous
webbed world wide
electronic thread defied
no matter flurry of emails/
messages exchanged flattery applied
courtesy transient online
tête à tête downside
cyber venue offers convenient exit
personal aversion, I chide
brevity figurative thorn in side
futile effort Androcles tried
I haint lion, familiarization denied
fledgling cyber acquaintanceships
dead on the vine, yours truly sighed
potential friendship never fortified,
cuz immediate value judgement cast,
instantaneously prejudiced aversion
perhaps hidden agenda implied
maybe intimated illusions of grandeur
netiquette nuances overstepped, I chide
yours truly vouchsafe
absolute zero great expectation
love smitten wounds pride,
the Italian girl in Algiers
inchoate mystique forever unknown
nonetheless fantasize bartered bride
figment of overactive imagination
hence grist for poetry mill
grateful fleeting rapport tried
to take flight before sputtering
doomed to dustbin of history (mine)
filed within memory as template guide
against future unnecessary disappointment
best stick to your guns abide
against infatuation lest
conjured lass doth override
focus on reality no matter who espied
Facebook post, tis foolhardy
to allow, enable, and provide leeway,
hence aimless thoughts elide
dear boy, ya never learned always denied
rapture becoming ensnared
noose sense and sensibility stride
ding blindly, dumbly, foolishly...,
into own perilous entrapment, verstehen?
I stand alone
on the precipice of life,
watching the Herd.
It is me
the judge
and executioner,
the one who chokes out the weeds,
the reaper of the weak,
the unworthy.
These are the unknowing
builders of my soul,
the appetizers
before the feast.
Now let's step into
the true primal hunt
(setting)
Full moon darkened
by a mist,
an old wood forest,
deep,
enclosing
always silent
the type of night
you can taste in your mouth,
almost feel it
roll across the skin.
That's when I sit back
on my haunches,
waiting for the scent
to hit me,
awakening every nerve.
I leap into motion
crisscrossing the aroma,
moving ever closer
to destiny,
the symphony of my life.
As a silhouette
comes into sight
I pause,
this is a time to cherish,
let's enjoy this one.
I move a little up wind,
to let the prey
catch my scent.
I can see when it hits her,
she stiffens
and bolts.
Now the fun begins.
(chase)
through a small glen,
into brush,
under a dead tree
every second I draw
closer,
around a rock
down a deer trail
almost within reach,
through a small stream
on the far bank
I leap,
pinning her to the ground.
I rake my claws across
her belly
dumping her intestines
then I get off her.
Its amusing,
watching her try to get up.
I watch for the sign
of when she gives up,
starts to repent
then I begin,
ripping a chunk of meat
from her thigh,
gnawing her arm off at the elbow,
tearing more flesh from her chest,
back to watching,
chewing on the arm
like a drumstick,
sucking in her soul
so slowly,
make her suffer for hours,
watching the blood pool up
on the ground.
(Kill)
My heart beats once
and in that second
I grow soft
and bite out her throat.
H-E-L-P!!! N-e-e-d s-o-m-e b-o-d-y!!!...
Spouse booby trapped husband!!!
Homicide courtesy munch
house zen by proxy
immediately suspected hunch
police, K9 corps, and ambulance
nearly lost their lunch crossing over divide
yellow crime tape
cordoned off homicide
booted feet did poetically crunch
while leashes untangled,
viz braided bunch.
Law enforcement officers i.e. they
Perkiomen Township precinct tidy
as... executive attache
case headed by narcotics
mod squad trooper Amelie
Beth knew address of scrivener brother
immediately quaffed mouthful Schuylkill
downing requisite with "FAKE" sedative cray
zee that seems giving
judicious punch to allay
time and again marital altercations daresay
put Schwenksville neighborhood
under immediate lockdown
Bay of Pigs in comparison childsplay
summoned rookies re:
instant karma coldplay
witnessed unusual display
officers, paramedics, and trained
German shepherds on faux pas did pray
(canines formerly under religious sway
nsync with neutered saint Matthew Scott
sacred church fathers and mothers
panglossian benevolence ne'er betray
loved spouting doggerel pay
Canis lupus familiaris obeissance
oh... I got scent tum mental anyway
kit and caboodle - women in blue,
plus aforementioned cod ray
regarding medical technicians
braced themselves steely, fiery, burly,...
former career recruits, thus okay
toughened courtesy green beret
fearless motley crew did sashay
gingerly, nimbly, softly... treading listening
faintly hearing sauntered without delay,
whence plaintive bent down on haunches
analogous to plie (plea yea)
including dogs ready to spring,
where overly curious inquisitive nee
bores asked to take selfie oy vey
afterwards quickly made bee line
discerning most strategic way
to enter apartment and rescue
a scene no stranger Giacomo Casanova,
to Rabelais, or Marquis de Sade
chaos theory put thru paces
mind boggling utter disarray
courtesy the missus
floor to ceiling clutter, perhaps soiree
gone awry with personal paraphernalia
strewn helter skelter hodge podge
bajillion potential accidents away
one misstep to temper and disable
garden variety trumpeting popinjay.
Les Bijoux (The Jewels)
by Charles Baudelaire
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
My lover nude and knowing my heart's whims
Wore nothing more than a few bright-flashing gems;
Her art was saving men despite their sins;
She ruled like harem girls crowned with diadems!
She danced for me with a gay but mocking air,
My world of stone and metal sparking bright;
I discovered in her the rapture of everything fair;
Nay, an excess of joy where the spirit and flesh unite!
Naked she lay and offered herself to me,
Parting her legs and smiling receptively,
As gentle and yet profound as the rising sea,
Till her surging tide encountered my cliff, abruptly.
A tigress tamed, her eyes met mine, intent ...
Intent on lust, content to purr and please!
Her breath, both languid and lascivious, lent
An odd charm to her metamorphoses.
Her limbs, her loins, her abdomen, her thighs,
Oiled alabaster, sinuous as a swan,
Writhed pale before my calm clairvoyant eyes;
Like clustered grapes her breasts and belly shone.
Skilled in more spells than evil imps can muster,
To break the peace which had possessed my heart,
She flashed her crystal rocks’ hypnotic luster
Till my quietude was shattered, blown apart.
Her waist awrithe, her breasts enormously
Out-thrust, and yet ... and yet, somehow, still coy ...
As if stout haunches of Antiope
Had been grafted to a boy ...
The room grew dark, the lamp had flickered out.
Mute firelight, alone, lit each glowing stud;
Each time the fire sighed, as if in doubt,
It steeped her pale, rouged flesh in pools of blood.
This translation has been adopted by **** and escort websites!
The Perfect Courtesan
by Michael R. Burch
after Baudelaire, for the courtesans
She received me into her cavities,
indulging my darkest depravities
with such trembling longing, I felt her need ...
Such was the dalliance to which we agreed—
she, my high rider;
I, her wild steed.
She surrendered her all and revealed to me—
the willing handmaiden, delighted to please,
the Perfect Courtesan of Ecstasy.
Rain ©
I walk on slick shine streets
in the night with my lover.
Freshly out of bed and ravenous
for other food, he pauses and
licks the tears and rain drops
from my face.
Rain in its many moods
quickens to sweep the earth and
skies clean.
Settles on the skin like a damp
kiss. Cold, warm, sweet, clean,
sharp, rain.
Is designer bottled water
merely rain drops from afar?
The dog romps through the rain,
in his perfect raincoat, oblivious
to the wet.
Blinking owlishly when a drop
should fall into his eye.
Mysterious primates of the forest
sit forlornly, beneath the
umbrella leaf.
Forever patient as the skies
rupture with a torrential deluge.
Human-tender eyes reflect their
disgust and sadness at the wet,
messy coats they must wear.
The equine turn their haunches
to the storm to show their scorn
for nature’s tantrum.
Cats run for cover, sit
majestically removing the
wet rain from their person with a
wet tongue.
Wild fowl dance across the circle
patterns of the pond’s face,
beating their wings and singing.
They frolic and dive celebrating
the sublime circumstance of
being wet.
Man spends energy and money
to keep himself dry and safe
from the rain, darting from
doorway to doorway.
What does he fear? He won’t
melt if he gets soaked, he won’t
become ill or grow fins, and he
just might get clean.
Snow is rain in its wedding attire;
no two brides alike.
The rain drop falls into a rivulet
of other rain drops atop the
mountain.
The rivulet runs into the creek,
the creek into a stream.
The stream rushes to the river
and the river falls into the sea.
The rain drops turn to salty tears
as the journey ends.
It is said that chickens, if left out
in the rain, will lift their heads up
to the sky and watch the rain
until they drown.
Trisha Sugarek
Butterflies and Bullets
Our dinner, boiled to death root vegetables, we swallow in silence as night closes-in on the school. The co-opted Buddhist monastery housing us empties its porcelain thrones into the walled garden’s weedy rear yard. Village women wash: the floors, the pots, the laundry from first light to deep dark. The water runs downhill. War does not stop the drudgery. Where the women sleep is unknown to us. The owners’ are small men; they rule the house with a heavy hand. They teach the techniques of shamanic healing and Thai Massage.
the Green Tara
hangs upon the room's wall:
geraniums on the ledge
The drowse of Friday evening evaporates in a burst of gunfire. Behind the high walls surrounding the school, the sounds of violence escalate. Through open, screen-less, windows sirens sound, the sky lights up and red, yellow, blue, and white prayer flags hang lifelessly from the eaves to the locked gate. Sleep hides, as I do, beneath the covers.
coiled
insecticide smolders:
temple bells sound
The monks, long gone, leave remnants of themselves on the incense coated plaster. Peace sought here was not found. Poverty necessitated the building’s sale. Here on a side street in walking distance from the American embassy, a school for westerner’s storm cellars. The desire to learn Eastern Healing techniques and a common language, English, binds us together: American, French, Spanish, and South African captures of the internet, pilgrims. We come, healers all, undaunted by the Civil War, to Kathmandu, Nepal.
Monday, the riots end on cue. Tourists, again, meander the dust clouded streets, skirting the alley’s begging children. Tea is served in the burgeoning shops. Butchers swat flies from hanging haunches of meat, rare bird vendors walk the street with baskets of exotic birds. And, brazen Westerners stride bare armed, sari-less exposed, and rude, at least until next Friday night—they own the world.
First Published by Mulberry Fork 2016
The full moon and milky snow illuminate the nighttime landscape I found myself lost on the mountain.
I have to make a choice. Looking for the North Star I placed a stick pointing north to direct me to the closest destination when I rise in the morn dawn. To the North one hundred fifty miles to the nearest cabin hoping that it is supplied with stable foods and a warm place to stay until rescued, or south two hundred miles in the other direction where a trapper lives all year round.
Over my shoulders I carried my rifle and survival equipment and begin the one hundred fifty-mile hike to the cabin. Walking through spruce, hemlock, and lodge-pole pines and eating a variety of berries.
In the morning after the snowstorm, I woke to ski snow-powder steeps. A wolf rested on its haunches, inspecting my unprotected surroundings. I took aim, shot, and missed, and it turned and took off.
For days, I had the feeling that someone or something was watching me. I started seeing signs of bear tracings. I was almost out of ammunition for my rifle and decide to make a spear. I looked around for a suitable sturdy tree limb or sapling a few inches taller them me. Using my knife, I fashioned a shelf for the knife creating securing support for the knife and wrapping it tight with rope.
I had shot a three-point buck early that morning and dressed it out; when I heard woof, woof, woof, sounds. The brown grizzly bear came down on all fours and started pawing at the ground, then came at me like a freight train.
I wedge the wooden in of the spear between the rock and into the ground. The grizzle charged then stood up rising above me, impelling itself through the heart with the spear killing it instantly. His dead weight slumped falling limp forward on top of me trapping me under.
Tired and cold the pain disappeared by the time I amble down the pathway toward the summer cabin in the noon-lit dawn.
12/30/2021
The full moon and milky snow illuminate the nighttime landscape I found myself lost on the mountain.
I have to make a choice. Looking for the North Star I placed a stick pointing north to direct me to the closest destination when I rise in the morn dawn. To the North one hundred fifty miles to the nearest cabin hoping that it is supplied with stable foods and a warm place to stay until rescued, or south two hundred miles in the other direction where a trapper lives all year round.
Over my shoulders I carried my rifle and survival equipment and begin the one hundred fifty-mile hike to the cabin. Walking through spruce, hemlock, and lodge-pole pines and eating a variety of berries.
In the morning after the snowstorm, I woke to ski snow-powder steeps. A wolf rested on its haunches, inspecting my unprotected surroundings. I took aim, shot, and missed, and it turned and took off.
For days, I had the feeling that someone or something was watching me. I started seeing signs of bear tracings. I was almost out of ammunition for my rifle and decide to make a spear. I looked around for a suitable sturdy tree limb or sapling a few inches taller them me. Using my knife, I fashioned a shelf for the knife creating securing support for the knife and wrapping it tight with rope.
I had shot a three-point buck early that morning and dressed it out; when I heard woof, woof, woof, sounds. The brown grizzly bear came down on all fours and started pawing at the ground, then came at me like a freight train.
I wedge the wooden in of the spear between the rock and into the ground. The grizzle charged then stood up rising above me, impelling itself through the heart with the spear killing it instantly. His dead weight slumped falling limp forward on top of me trapping me under.
Tired and cold the pain disappeared by the time I amble down the pathway toward the summer cabin in the noon-lit dawn.
1/3/2017
I am a dreamer literally for I dream a lot
With most of them remembered, few of them forgot.
My dreams are always based in reality,
Although quite mixed up they often tend to be.
But this particular dream I had just yesterday,
Was different from all the rest, I have to say.
I've never dreamed before of a fantasy creature;
Never before has fantasy entered as a feature.
It seems, in my dream I had a unicorn,
The cutest little horse with a little horn.
She was pure white like I've never seen,
Whiter than the snow, all fresh and clean.
Perfectly proportioned, rather small in size,
Maybe seven hands at her withers, I would surmise.
She knew she held a place confirmed in my heart.
She was a delight to watch and so very smart.
Her soft and low nickering never let me fear
Her presence was very far but always close and near.
She'd nuzzle me gently for treats and for pets.
Such a joy to me, she brought me no regrets.
The center of attention she really loved to be
And all her little antics were amusing to see.
Her moves so graceful, a ballerina couldn't beat;
She pranced like there was air underneath her feet.
She would stamp her little foot, toss her head around,
Let her little haunches drop 'til they met the ground.
Then her little muzzle she would lift up towards the sky,
As she'd neigh the cutest whinny with a pitch rather high.
I loved to hear her whinny, a delight to my ear
And she would whinny, be expecting then to hear
A response from me in the language that she spoke,
But as I replied with a whinny, sadly I awoke.
Now I'm left to wonder why she came to me
In a dream so surreal, as though reality.
A reason for I seek, since my dreams often do foretell,
But about this one I am puzzled of my little Uni-Belle.
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2018-04-05 23:55:00 (EDT)
All rights reserved.