Tag Archives: #dogs

On the beach

Three little dogs,

twelve little feet,

one virginal beach,

as the tide moves out of reach.

Given no note 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

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.

Muddy puddle water

Dogs love puddle water,

just as much as you do:

the smell and the taste,

it’s like a doggy voodoo.

Off to the Beach

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.

The Labradoodle (extended)

A Labradoodle

at Durdle Dor

spoke, ‘Abracadabra!’

then spoke no more.

.

A small Chihuahua

who saw this feat,

also spoke the once,

‘I want food – to eat!’

.

And all the dogs

who were there that day,

had something of nothing

of which to say.

.

And so was heard

(so the stories tell)

a thousand dog-phrases,

before Midnight’s toll bell.

Ode to a Bark (aka a Bark Ode)

Oh, I think that, perhaps,

I read once,

somewhere,

under the rainbow,

that a dog will bark at many things –

bad poetry being one of them –

and it ‘has’ been found

that a hound

will utter a higher-pitched sound

when the fear they feel is real.

A deep growl and short bark combination

is likely to be less worry

and more fascination

with the interesting odour

that has recently crossed their neural radar,

‘Hark, hark, the dogs do bark,

beggars are coming to town…’

or some such nursery rhyme;

but, we mustn’t put the beggars down,

when they are out of luck

and no one gives a darn.

Oh, dogs, why do you bark

when all is quiet,

when I’m on a diet,

when there is a Thursday in the week?

Oh, why bark at the meek,

who seek solitude, safety,

and another word beginning with ‘s’.

Yes, I know that another dog has just barked

some forty miles away,

but that doesn’t mean to say

that you should reply.

Why?

Oh, why?

YOY!?

Pink and Yellow

Pink and Yellow

I have two dogs,

Pink, and Yellow;

I take them for walks in the rain;

they wear hi-visibility jackets,

so they can be seen,

is that plain?

Pink wears a yellow coat,

and Yellow wears a pink;

which is the simplest way to dress them,

well, that is what I think.

“But…” you say,

“… if Pink wore pink,

and Yellow, yellow,

wouldn’t that be better?”

“No…” I respond,

“That idea wouldn’t work,

you adle-pated fellow;

Yellow’s coat is too big for Pink,

and Pink’s is too small for Yellow.”

My Response to Jane’s Response to Matt Harvey’s ‘Sit’ gig at Calstock Arts, Cornwall.

My Response to Jane’s Response to Matt Harvey’s ‘Sit’ gig at Calstock Arts, Cornwall.

Matt, I was at the same venue,

as Jane and you,

(Claudia didn’t hove into view)

but, Matt, you, alone,

seemed to atone

for never having seen me in the audience before,

and what’s more…

you’re a bright ‘un.

Your words were all

of a decipherable hue;

they spoke volumes

to me, to Jane,

to you, to me,

and back to you, again.

‘Not mere doggerel’,

Jane said.

‘The best of Bodmin More’,

was the only comment that came to my heed,

but I kept it there,

and, nodding –

like one of those dogs that you used to see on the parcel shelf of an old Moggy Minor –

I agreed.

Just a-walking in the rain.

Just a-walking in the rain.

What are we doing in the rain,

getting wet, once again?

When we should all be dry indoors,

and dreaming of those Cornish shores.

“Dogs Can’t Clap – Can We?”

“Dogs Can’t Clap – Can We?”

Dogs can’t clap!

Leastways, we can;

but we have to be really impressed by something,

before we do;

which doesn’t happen that often at all,

I can tell you.

When you throw a ball,

you usually throw it… in the wrong direction,

and never far enough;

you take us on boring walks,

that we’ve been on hundreds of times before,

and always leave us wanting for more;

you pull us away from interesting smells,

and the promise of a tasty morsel,

when that is what we want the most;

that or to roll in the spoor of a fox,

and to sniff the fragrant odour of a standing post –

it’s just a message from Basil or Sam;

and you cut short trips to the sea,

and prolong visits to the vets.

Dogs can’t clap;

maybe;

but we can hi-five youi

and wash your face

more often than you care to.

Dogs can’t clap;

but, we can sit upon your lap,

even if we are 20kgs or more;

and a dog will never,

and often,

show you the door,

and where our leads are.

And, if you ever got things just right…

well, one paw clapping?