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Tiana Marie Mar 2018
Trees are trees
Birds are birds
Bees are bees
Cats are cats
Dogs are Dogs
Flies are flies
Bugs are bugs
Leaves are leaves
Wings are wings
I am me
that isn't changing.
awknight Mar 2018
The dogs above me
bark until I shut
them out. A metaphorical
strangulation of purity.
A weary progression
toward insanity.
Bukowski sits beside
me. Limp with the
dread of life
as I flip through his words.
I cannot find myself
because I am wearing my
lover’s socks and
praying to a god I know
does not listen.
Kim Essary Mar 2018
Bark, bark, yap, yap,
Don't they ever stop, you bad dog you chewed my favorite shoe, lay down , get outside , chain them up, cover their mouth with a leather strap where they can't speak,.  They get left in scorching heat. It's not to cold it's a dog, he has a dog house he can take shelter from that storm. Don't stop it's just a dog you ran over. So you leave his body to lay..
You fool, can't you see, they are just babies like we use to be , they bark and yap cause they are talking to you, they need your attention so they chewed your favorite shoe. Let's see how it feels to put that chain on your neck and leave you tangled outside for days, let me forget I didn't get you freshwater it's only 100° today, crawl in that boarded up box to shelter yourself from the rain, it's normal for you to shake in the cold ,  if I strike you and leave you lay they lock me up for ******, You should be ashamed of yourself   Human you call yourself  what part of this is humane.
They love , they hate, they hurt they feel pain and joy they cry real tears , they blood runs through them to pump their heart, they are no different than you and me   wait what am I saying there is but one very big difference you see,  my furbabies are more loyal than any human standing. They protect me when I'm in danger, they comfort me in my time off need, they never leave my side , theres  the difference ,now can you see
Dedicated to the most loyal , loving companions I've ever had.  My wonderful furbabies
Jack Ritter Mar 2018
"And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?"
- W. B. Yeats:  The Second Coming

Dachshund

Bred to burrow after badgers,
what's he doing here?

Terrorizing the underwear
behind my couch.

Is he a true hund,
or just a pan-fried sausage
with a Bluto chest?

I wonder what they called him
back then, in the Black Forest,
when dogs were dogs.

Tracker? Hunter?
Try: Baron Von Putt-Putt Tootsie Roll.

I'm Scot myself.
My people once sacked York.

No, this isn't York.
It's Plano, Texas.

Don't think a Dachshund and a Scot
can't sack Dallas from here.

Until then, we play our little game:
What rough ****** slouches toward my underwear?
Our funny little Frank
Liberty J Feb 2018
My puppy loves to run,
My puppy loves to play,
My puppy is tons of fun,
My puppy does this all day.

My puppy loves to fetch
My puppy loves to slobber
Throw a bone, he’ll catch
My puppy has even stopped a robber!

My puppy loves to run,
My puppy loves to play,
Then his fur turned grey,
And he died last May.
T R S Feb 2018
What happened to your muzzle?!

Well... the neighbor had food.

Your snout is so wet!

I bet.

What about the pads on your paws?

I saw a cat.

What about the stickers?!

The whiskers...

What happened is that the world found out you're soft and pokeable!!!

Ughhhh....lord help your footpads and noseholes....
I have thought of these words, not the ones you may hear when your body presses to the air, and the sound-waves go unobstructed, no the words lay here on a page, within a thought that didn't happen today but might show up tomorrow, recorded by the blood of bone, water, and metal, each etched mark, stains the memory of a time when oxygen was free and clean to breathe, finding out that the next moment these words are consumed, their meaning becomes a new personality, these thought words and the specific tact and errors, prolonging the flow from the head to the finger tips, thus causing minor adjustments, which make even the most thought out words seem like they have no true, maybe real, meaning, accused we stand, on trial, only a judge begging for a recess, but my closing statement is not finished.
I keep a thought journal with me everywhere I go and I wrote this poem inside it. the reason this is important is because when I am writing in the journal I never edit myself or stop the word flow unless the thoughts finally stop coming. But with my poetry I look over everything and edit until my words take on a personality of their own. I am pulled towards the gravity of something new.
Jen Snow Feb 2018
People tell me
I should be

sad

Because
Life is hard

How

Can
I
Be

sad

When
Watching a
Pug

Carrying a stuffed
Hedgehog half
Her
Size

Up two flights of
Stairs

On her way to bed

Or being greeted by furry smiles
And optimistic tails
Every morning

Regardless of wind or rain
Heat or cold
Aching joints or creaking
Bones

I hope if I’m deserving

I come back with doggy optimism

The whimsy of a Pug
The strength of a Mastiff
The endurance of a Husky
The smarts of a Border Collie

Because then
I will be
Truly
Fortunate
xavier Jan 2018
it’s warm inside. stew simmers on the stove
i walked the dog in the snow and he shivered in his sweater
inside now he lies on the floor, ears perked up
comes over to see me
lies down at my feet.

off in the kitchen, the radio talks
voices drifting in from afar
with grave news
so many graves these days
suicide bombers in Kabul
blowing up buildings with the strength of their rage.
serial killer in seattle
planting bodies in flowerbeds like seeds
from which nothing but tears will grow.
the radio’s voice is calm but heavy
with all the tragedy it brings.

here it is warm, safe, happy,
and in through the cracks streams the news
like polluted water.
it floods if you let too much in.
the rising water is hard to ignore.
and inside i’m warm.
inside these walls i am
happy. safe. well-fed.
how can i live so well
when the blood seeps in through the cracks across
the world.

i want to give them all a home. every teenage refugee,
every baby, every mother,
every father.
i hope that somewhere
other side of the Veil,
everyone killed by terror
has a bed. a warm meal.
and maybe a dog.
this poem is inspired by despair, guilt, and current events. my life is really good, i'm very fortunate to live where and when i do. i have everything, and i realize that, especially when i hear the news of violence everywhere. it's hard feeling like all i can do is listen and learn and hope someday we make better mistakes than these. hope that someday there's less blood on the ground.
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