Duty incarnate, with muddy paws.
Oaths sworn in slobber, not language.
Guardian of joy, even when joy forgets itself.
this is the sleeping house
three dogs with full tummies
they snore away
these happy sleep sounds encourage me to nap
This will be my second nap of today
I cannot stop myself
I climb onto a couch
cover myself with a fuzzy blanket
wake up with dog slobber on my face
they want me to play
TITLE: SOBER
It's over but
Keeps coming over
One after another
Sober thoughts
Drained
Down
Sad ladder
Rising to blaze
Blades amazes
Eating
Void
Thoughts
Burning
Ablaze
Quenching
Inner fire
Get out of mercy
Self denials
Emerged
Established
Addiction
Illusion
Consumption
Destruction
Cells
Wrinkles
Surface
Ageing without race
No place to pace
Lost inner peace
Choas the body
Leads
Relent
Relent? Give up on
That addiction
Manipulation or
sober
slobber
over
never
Forever.
That’s not my face.
I open my mouth to see and-
My tongue and lips morph with the slobber in my mouth.
My eyes, my eyes.
I have two eyes.
It is like, they are a different color, but maybe it’s just the light this time.
But the lights hurt so I want to turn them down a little bit.
Which helps with the morphing somehow.
Because I am distracted by the shadows.
And shadows aren’t real,
They are just the remnants of me.
Those eyes, they are still on my face but jutting out.
Brighter than usual,
But in the wrong spots on my face.
One up and one down.
And they move everywhere, and it makes me feel numb.
I’m still looking in the mirror.
But it’s time for bed, somehow.
In the morning, everything will be back to normal.
Maybe I will have a dream of me in the mirror.
To remind me of what I used to see.
LIMERICKS NOT WRITTEN FOR A CONTEST
Men will slobber and drool when at the beach
Cuz bikinied women are out of reach
So eat your hearts out, men
For those girls you will yen
Fine women would consider you a leech
Men are enticed by girls with flat tummies
Though theirs are obese from eating yummies
They can keep dreaming
With beady eyes gleaming
Some of the male gender are such dummies
Men think of untying bikini strings
Of Victoria Secret girls with wings
They'd like to touch their tush
or better yet their.... shush!
Men want to do so many wicked things
Ogling girls clad in skimpy bikinis
Wishing they had three wishes from genies
Each one would be the same
Trying to UP their game
With enlargements for their teeny weenies
Turn about's always considered fair play
Many women would be glad for a lay
With a well muscled stud
Who would heat up her blood
Spendin' a lil time rollin' in the hay
Rough hands upon her,
not near, there, or where,
nor the seashell tip of a fingering care
or other
lack-lustering lapping's
but the groundless clubfooted grasping
of long incoherent passions.
A clinker of desire hammered anew
by the forceful hands
of mist shrouded Nibelungen;
a dross now forged bright
into red-eyed gleams of flame.
She who bears the weight
of such a slobber-lipped changeling
covers his paws
with a tracery of spidery entanglements
the softest spell-binding webs
that break his knuckles;
refining hot bones
into phantom kisses.
For her satisfaction (and hers alone),
she captures that clumping stray
caging him deep,
and he left with no hands but hers.
He sits up; alert
His head turns sideways, I swear with a grin
He slowly performs an extended stretch
A furrowed brow; my best friend
It's a pattern of behaviors
A Pavlovian routine I've come to know
Its as if he's trying to prepare me
For the extreme love he's about to show
He leans into my leg
He slings a string of slobber across my shoe
I scratch him behind the ear
And good lord, he almost comes unglued
His tail wags wildly
He sprints around and around
He's here with his own special person
And he thinks - I'm the one he's found
As he begins to tire
He lays right beneath my feet
Occasionally he turns to look at me
Hoping I'll provide an extra treat
He's a mans best friend
A human stress and anger vaccine
He's not a therapist or a life coach
His set of skills are canine unique
As he prepares for the evening
He performs an extended stretch for the night
He curls up in a ball
Everything in both our worlds is just right
Men who hulking thugs lobby,
Now and then their hobby
To winning rivals clobber,
Hitting them until they slobber;
Their tunes for the piper
A much worse viper,
Venom as good a wiper
As enemy- silencing sniper.
Old owners of power
Mythical the eleventh hour
Their only message for The Youth:
A not- yet- your- time hurting truth.
The pummelled margins pulsed with steady sway
as reeds resisted swell. These shards in gilt
refracted dying light from summer sun.
Beneath their shafts a clotted mass of spawn
like slobber wobbled, thickening the lake.
There shiny flecks of tiny minnows dashed
with throbbing verve around the shallow edge.
Then hatching eggs released a swarm of flies
like pixilated screens that pepper light
as swallow wings in diving mode catch air.
Occasionally, trout would surface to gulp
a random fly escaping harmful beaks.
a heron diving, pierced a fish; but then
above a buzzard gazed before he dived
towards the lake with gilted talons bared.
In routine drill, the heron's neck was snapped
then slowly dragged along the grassy ridge.
Deep in the lake a shadow played with light
reflecting wings that fade into the cloud
that, similarly, words escape from pens
and morph in ink across a whitened page.
There once was a delicate robber
Yet in his drink he'd drool and slobber
Sure he loved to drink beer
But to me it's unclear
Why 'Sir Dainty' was so macabre
DON'T SNEEZE IN THE BREEZE
Unless you say please.
DON'T OOZE IN THE BOOZE
No choice I would choose.
DON'T SNEER AT A TEAR
It's a matter of fear.
DON'T WEEP IN YOUR SLEEP
Your COVID may creep.
DON'T CRY WHEN YOU FLY
A tear of goodbye.
DON'T DRIP ON A LIP
No slobber is hip.
DON'T SNEEZE A DISEASE
On carrots and peas.
DON'T FLICK WHEN YOU'RE SICK
Whatever you pick.
DON'T HUG WITH A BUG
In place of a shrug.
DON'T DROOL ON A FOOL
At home or at school.
DON'T KISS WITH REMISS
Say no with a hiss.
DON'T BLEED WHEN YOU BREED
Whatever the need.
DON'T BARF ON A SCARF
The way that dogs harf.
DON'T SOB FOR A SLOB
Who took your old job.
DON'T WED IF YOUR DEAD
Your fluids may spread.
DON'T SLIP ON A DRIP
And fall as you flip.
DON'T DROOL IN A POOL
You naughty old fool.
DON'T 'BIDE IF YOU DIED
Just go back inside.
DON'T WOO WITH THE FLU
Nobody loves you.
DON'T MARRY AND BURY
A woman named Larry.
DON'T DRIVE NOT ALIVE
There's no chance you'll survive.
DON'T BORE WITH A SORE
That's itching once more.
DON'T GO WITH THE FLOW
Your Covid may grow.
Mary drying his feet with her hair.
Mary at the temple calling for him.
Mary full of sperm on a street corner.
Mary full of a Grace,
a grace that makes her invisible
to women haters.
I want to put all the girls together.
Maybe he does also?
Maybe this virgin that men slobber over,
this mother, this worshiping foot washer,
this whore with a heart,
maybe this patchwork Mary
is the only Mary,
and if so
let us adore her.
For if we don’t
he might not like our slobber,
he might wipe his feet
on our doorstep as he leaves.
We might turn pale blue and invisible -
turn to stone.
Eyebrows on noses and whiskers on women
Large rats and wombats that suckle my kitten
Penguins that waddle in hot sulfur springs
These are a few of my befuddled things
La da, di da da
Piglets that paddle in puddles of poodles
Parrots that prattle for peanuts and noodles
Wild things that fly in the face of my fan
These are the things that I chase when I can
La da, di da da, li da da, li da da
Rabies and robbers and nights in Havana
Babies that slobber on bites of banana
Fickle young fingers in pickles and kraut
These are the things that my life is about
When the elephant stomps
When the Man-o-war stings
When I'm feeling small
I simply remember my old mattress springs
And then I can't jump
At all!
La da, di da da, li da da, li da!
Tremendous among the slobber
Calm over the divine power
With soggy signs under the downpour
Morning to evening splatter
Rain soppy among the haze
Overwhelming in the airspace
Amid strong wind and thunder
Evil and huge beyond the water
Attractive ponds past the timber
Rainfall over in nightfall drenching
The next day waiting
You look at me confused,
haunches poised to
leap upon my lap.
Eager to slobber my face
with kisses, and for
your ears to be scratched.
I stop you, arm extended,
with a strongly articulated, “No!”
Initially, you look confused,
then hurt wondering
what wrong you have committed.
I smile, and pet your head,
my smile conveying, “It’s alright.
Not yet, but soon.”
You turn, and hop up
on the leather couch,
turning three times,
and plop into the nest
you created, and, sigh.
© 2019, The Book Of Ruth, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.
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