I am a bonafide certified mommy-fied leader of a dog pack.
They currently sit at my feet waiting to see what we will do next.
Beau our newbie is the only renegade who keeps running from the pack.
He has never had the run of six acres before, and he loves it.
Sophie, our old lady cocker is sedate and stoic…
unless another member gets too close, then she gives a guttural
warning growl.
She is proud to be the matriarch.
Buddy at one hundred and sixteen pounds could take all of us.
But he is a gentle giant, going with the flow, letting the new baby manhandle him.
Beau at five months, attacks his big bro and often
Play biting his leg and his undercarriage.
They run from couch to couch, moving furniture as they go.
I am super proud to be a bonafide certified mommy-fied leader of a dog pack.
Categories:
manhandle, dog,
Form: Narrative
Excitement echoed
In my heart
First experience
Of being a part
Now looking back to
Those times, thoughts
Flood like the cold rain
And ties me in knots
Enthusiastically
Grabbing the end
Of the crosscut saw
Helping hand to lend
He let me slowly pull
From my point of
View, I carried my
Weight, without gloves
At seven years old
I felt a superb
Job was done by me
Now grasped being disturbed
He said to momma
Grab the other handle
I'm tired of the weight
Having her to manhandle"
Just a few short words
Made me feel
Inadequate, small
At times now inside I reel
Camaraderie
At other times shared
Loaded down with firewood
I knew he cared
Bringing in buckets
Of water
Fire starter, or feed
The cows some fodder
Forgiven years ago
But memories still haunt
That's why I write
To ease thoughts that taunt
Categories:
manhandle, 2nd grade,
Form: Rhyme
The worst part of being put in the pokey
Is being labelled for the rest of your life
It’s a lot harder to be carefree and joke-y,
And it is truly difficult to procure your next wife.
They take your paw prints in a rough way.
No one says sorry, or have a nice day.
They manhandle you making you wear paw-cuffs.
And make you wear striped pajamas and other bad stuffs.
What did you do? I asked my cousin Purest T. Honey Dog.
I really don’t know, he said. Maybe butchered a hog?
A hog? I asked. Nothing else? Surely this cannot be.
I have no idea what I killed. I was truly too drunk to see.
I found out later that Purest T. Honey Dog had gone on a spree.
He had killed the King’s men, all of them, total six hundred and tree.
Now I was in awe of my uncle, because he had beat Big Baddie’s record.
He has no idea how he did it, which I believe to be totally absurd.
Categories:
manhandle, 3rd grade, 4th grade,
Form: Rhyme
what the!
did you say
we the people
are living
in a bad new age
we can no longer
live in a melodramatic
irredeemable way!
oblivious to
what, we do
and how it will
hurt the children
of today
you say
we the community
need to act
in a uncivilized way
clean up this
right away
and do all we can
on this very day
cut down on
things that cause
environment toxic waste
shout no more
crude oil spills
in the river and lakes
and not to live
with plastics
severed up
on our family's
dinner plates
no! you didn't,
just
try and save the World
by getting manhandle
by every cop in the world
whats that you say
its time to
get up and march
its another
fu*k with the
man Friday
Ok! lets do it your way...
Categories:
manhandle, celebrity, children, earth, environment,
Form: Lyric
Eternal granite, crystalline scree, agates, boulders, rise
to hills, towering tors,* mutinous mountains, endlessly growing
rising, lifted, then toppled by the fiery rebirth of draconic lava**
Like the cracked shell of an avian egg***/ **** both molten yolk
and watery albumen mark the passage of time, the swings
of the multiverse, they pacify Charon’s passage on the Styx
Seen and unseen the arched openings spiral, poled in ten
dimensions by exigent mathematical quandaries, branching
boles boldly rooting in islands of primordial I, chained
screeching***** shadows infer larger beings who manhandle
the infinite construct of finite man
*Alliteration Repetition of consonant sounds [
** Hyperbole A figure of speech involving exaggeration.
*** Assonance The repetition of similar vowel sounds [A vian, A gg]
**** Simile A figure of speech involving a comparison between unlike
things using like, as, or as though.
*****Onomatopoeia a word that imitates the sound it represents
Categories:
manhandle, life,
Form: Verse
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Daddy
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/1985
Daddy,
their was
no
escape
from
your wrath,
and
hard hands -
You
screamed
dirty names
at me,
that
cut through
my body
like a
sword -
You beat
me
down -
a man
possessed -
a man
gone mad -
Your
whippings
scare
me still -
I can
hear your
putrid words
ring out
from your
evil
raging
soul -
Your
anger
and
gruffness,
caused
my
tender heart
to
crumble
before
your mighty
stature,
I was
afraid
of
your
strength -
Daddy,
what did
I do
to
cause
your
abuses ?
I
never
felt safe
around you -
Somehow
I knew
that
you
were going
to
get mad,
and
manhandle
me,
forcing
my little
body
to
the
lynching
room,
where
you
bull-whipped
me
like
a slave
master -
Blood
cried through
my
flesh -
And
as all
the seasons
pass,
wounds
will never
heal -
Scars
that wrenches
the soul,
bleeds
forever
from
the heart -
Categories:
manhandle, abuse
Form: Light Verse
The Manxome little Minx
Stood beneath illustrious Boa-bob tree
She scratched her left butt cheek
With grazed grass stained knees
Stared pon the ghostly forms gibbering with fear
That Nancy (her name) might manhandle their ears
And drag them petrified, within her Boa-bob bar
Unvisited by good-folk... being so far
Within a dusted deserted dessert dry plane
Exhausted generosity, she was repeating again
On meringue peach dust, must run for their freedom
Avoiding the clutches, of most the dreaded kingdom
Gunshot start!...
The banshee chase... As spirits in fear race off again
The pursuit was a violent fearfilled reign
Escaping her clutches, unashamed unabashed
The result was a grizzly, grassfilled dash
Spiritless, hopeless, hapless no lie
Till Nancy little Minxie, did wiffle by
And grabbing the sweet candy, she did so desire
Dragging her victim, to Hell by her Boa-bob fire
Spirit screamed, twas a sordid, torturous affair
Then Nancy Manxome Minxie re-emerged
Brushing her hair...
Categories:
manhandle, fantasy,
Form: I do not know?
THE METEOR - SOFA PEOPLE
Sofa pyromaniacs are skilled to put it mildly.
Fueled fiercely by gasoline (as is fitting)
Or by kerosene burning wildly,
They enjoy a fire to warm their sofa-sitting.
In anger are the flames incepted on the two-seater?
Or by simple accident of cigar or match?
Maybe the cat stumbled over the gas-heater
And then sat nearby to warm and watch?
But however the inferno got started bright,
What caused its plunge to earth
Like a shooting star or meteorite?
Did people push it, for malice or mirth?
To manhandle a burning sofa is a skill -
Out of a window eight floors up. If that’s their aim
They’d have to get it balanced on the windowsill
Before igniting the flame.
Oh the joy in their eyes :
Just push - and see the sofa incandescent
Recede and diminish in size
On its plunging earthward descent.
Then the son-et-lumiere display
From the crunch and splitting sound -
And oh the splendor bright as day
As the glowing hulk meets the ground.
And passing viewers catch their breath
From this Viking-funeral excitement;
And from their close brush with a fiery death -
Crushed by a hot chaise-longue into the pavement.
Categories:
manhandle, funny,
Form: Quatrain