Dogs Simile Poems | Examples
These Dogs Simile poems are examples of Simile poems about Dogs. These are the best examples of Simile Dogs poems written by international poets.
Like burnt-out logs on ice-cold firedogs nudge,
emotions crumble at tentative touch.
In Iambic Pentameter: Stressed syllables are in bold.
Slaves of wages for generations
long forgotten in history’s screenplay.
Each hand for a moment has held
the torch.
The people are waiting in lines.
All toilers have resisted.
All skins have felt the blaze of blood.
The people are waiting in lines.
While trash still clutters the streets,
while starving stomachs
roam like rabid dogs.
The people are waiting in lines.
Our tears have been cleaved
and parceled,
sold like floodplain to the blind
by corporate politicians,
while the people are waiting in lines.
We are lured to live among the cushions,
to rest here where the river rises.
No markets can be called free
while hosting inequality.
The people are waiting in lines.
We medicate to escape,
numbing to the barbarization.
No economy can be called just
without democracy.
The people are waiting in lines.
We shall watch for clues.
We will know the signs.
Every torch shall rise.
The people are waiting in lines.
Published: Dissident Voice, August 2, 2020
In heat
the pulse of your streets.
I've heard the crack
of hard political whips
that pinch the air.
Cores of human topography,
your aging neighborhoods.
Your people kick cans
counting gravel like jewels,
while chiselers roast dogs
in the courthouse.
Swine flu kills
the papers.
And already the sky is
feverish.
In your train tunnels
a violinist plays pianissimo.
I've seen
railroad men search for him
along your tracks.*
But you are always
the sweltering sore
of the Atlantic.
A rusty mouth
for dark ships.
A blind brick town
of boarded storefronts
and ***** flicks,
you are buried.
Brown bag your way
to the last alley.
The tenants throw
rocks at your windows.
The rain has stopped
washing your sewers.
*From an old legend of
railroad workers on the east coast of the United States.
Published Black Buzzard Press - 1982
Of Wars, Eagles and Doves
Chilling hailing raindrops fall viciously
Into flowing rivers of dreams
As the dark blooming cloud of war
Across the pale sky streams;
Peace lay wallowing in excruciating pain
Trampled down on the bloody ground.
All stalemates have been canceled and called off
As gallant generals gather in the busy game room.
The war dogs are barking and tiring of playing golf;
Tails wag happily anticipating the end of peace coming soon.
Rusting weapons of destruction earn no money to spend;
Investing in war has never ever been deemed a mortal sin.
Yet undying hope lingers in the luminous splendor of love;
Remember it’s the eagle that is endangered; not the cooing dove.