Two dogs
pulling in different directions;
and I am the piece of ribbon
half way along the rope
in the midst of the two teams;
being pulled
one way,
and then the other;
and back again.
Who will win?
Not me.
Not me
I am your sofa,
I am your climbing frame,
I am your waiter –
do you know ‘my’ name?
.
I keep you waiting,
I take too long,
I don’t give you enough,
I measure things wrong.
.
I take you out
when the weather is yuck,
I pull you away
from your choicest tuck.
.
I make you be quiet
when you are saying, ‘watch out!’
When there’s no one around
to whisper or shout.
.
I get up and do things
when your need is for hugs,
and I leave you for ‘years!’
so you chew up the rugs.
.
I suppose that you need me
to be at your beck and call;
but I’d quite like a moment,
though you’d like them all.
My dog is jealous,
of my other dog,
and is also jealous,
of my other other dog.
.
My other dog (the second one)
is jealous of my other other dog,
and also jealous of the first dog in this poem.
My other other dog doesn’t really do jealousy;
but is a quick-moving, lively, active sort…
when there is the prospect of food in the offing.
.
My three dogs are small, medium,
and slightly larger than medium
(but not large).
One is black, one is brown,
the third… has a lack of common sense,
hence we call her Derp –
even though it’s not her actual name.
.
All three get on well together,
and have formed a little circus troupe;
juggling, acrobacy, riding a bicycle backwards, and the like –
can you picture a Dachshund riding a bike?
Anyway, they are all loved and love back,
of canine affection we have no lack.
Not that they are all together
all that often,
but, when they are,
they can get on
with the best of them.
Characters all,
creatures of habit,
feline, canines
(that never say, ‘rabbit’)
loved to pieces,
cheeky tykes,
up for a walk
(unless it’s wet)
more like friends
less like pets –
if only they could talk,
“We hate the vets!”
My dog loves Larkin:
which is not that unusual;
if you consider that some dogs like music,
especially Bach;
but, poetry?
Why not?
Has a dog not got ears to hear;
a mind to think;
eyes to read the words—
hold on…
sorry, my dog loves Barkin’ –
easy mistake to make.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Bach, #dogs, #Larkin, #nonsense, #poetry. #poem, #Pun, #silly, #WonkyWords
We never used to have any,
we certainly have some now;
I popped in the dogs’ red coats
with a few dirty towels;
luckily, the dogs don’t mind
if their towels are pink;
at least, that’s what I try to think,
as they have been giving me looks,
kind of curious and strange,
as they look at their towels,
and consider the colourful change.
Three little dogs,
twelve little feet,
one virginal beach,
as the tide moves out of reach.
Given no more than a few minutes
of running to and fro,
there is no part of the revealed sand
that doesn’t have a paw-print show.
Holes have been dug,
ragged rocks run ‘round,
and all can be discovered
from the tracks on the ground.
Three tired dogs,
twelve tired legs,
“We deserve a biscuit treat!”
the spokesdog says.
Sheltering under a tree,
the three doggoes and me,
trying to remain dry,
as the rain falls from high.
.
Failing in this task,
in pale rainlight we bask,
spirits dampened just a tad;
I ignored the signs,
and, so, my bad.
Dogs love puddle water,
just as much as you do:
the smell and the taste,
it’s like a doggy voodoo.
I’m off to the beach
to teach the young dudes
how a planet occludes.
No, not really;
I’m taking the dogs
for a walk,
and to teach them to talk.
No, not really;
actually, not the talking part,
just the walking bit.
 | Cynthia Praski on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
 | Words from a Lentil… on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
| Cynthia Praski on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
| Words from a Lentil… on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
| Cynthia Praski on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
Graeme Sandford 