Shakespeare’s Dog


in the theater tonight, the notion of a poem-potion
courtesy of Shakespeare's dog came unbidden

So when home arrived, was unsurprised that this
very peculiar pug was farting before my own front door.

get lost, I announced got what I need from your boss,
but before I could kick him across the floor,
the pug spake thusly:

this dog knows the boot too well,
it is parcel of this dog's life of no quality,
but if you give me shelter tonite, I will provide,
share some of Speare's un-Published Works
and you can claim it as your own!


kicked that dog across the room,
(having pity earlier I let him in and enter)
told Jim, (that’s what I called him)
he can stay the night, or long as the sun rises up
and goes down unbidden, but, if I ever
caught him plagiarizing, selling sonnets on the side,
I would report him to the ASPCA and the Poet’s Union.

The American Society for the Poets of Conscience Alive -
might have his low hanging ***** cut off in retribution.

he laughed out loud, rhyming funny, pontificating:

well mate,
thanks for the soliloquy,
me ***** long time gone,
but what I know and what I’ve seen
if tale-told you, and you were to listen,
you would keep me around as fodder
for your artistic soul.

in return chappie,
you need only provide me a rug, a fire,
A/C for the languid summer eves,
fodder for me body, and your boots,
far removed from my hindquarters.

We spoke much thereafter,
turns out he served his poet-masters
in many ways, more than a mere footstool.

his snoring keeps me awake some twenty years later.
his love for country music makes me put him on nice days,
outdoors, his headphones securely strapped round his double chins.

ugh that pug. became my best becoming love, old friend,
one of us will pass someday and an elegy composition,
the other devotee will furnish sadness utterly becoming.

so if a farting pug before your door you’ve  found,
take him in, give him water, an amply supply please
of Carrie, Trisha and Chaplin-Carpenter for his immortal soul,
but beware, he might try to sell you
some of my words, as your own.

According to the minister, we’re lucky to have found you, although I think you’d have liked it better up there, where the grass isn’t golf course green and the mourners are nonexistent. I wanted to scream when he said that but momma was leaning hard against me and her breath was coming in harsh against my ear and I stood there with making fists until I couldn’t feel the cold. Dad was holding on to her hard and his mouth was a straight colorless line and his breath came out his nostrils in big measured puffs like the steam train in the railroad museum back in Lincoln. I didn’t cry at all, just stood there feeling sick to my stomach and bracing myself against momma’s leaning. In the back of the group of mourners I saw David and his eyes were down and he avoided my gaze.
The minister was the young one from Partridge who you once told me gave you eyes, back when you came to church. He looked sad like an actor looks sad on one of those TV commercials for antidepressants. He paused too much. When he spoke, he fumbled over the words and sounded them out like a third grader—sa-salvay-salvashin-salvation. It was like Aunt Stu’s funeral, with the same fake-looking flowers and the same ugly black pinafores, only hers was open casket and yours wasn’t.
The tables were loaded with wedding-style lilies even though your obit said in lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the River’s Edge Animal Rescue Center. Each tablecloth had a neat stack of Thomas Mortuary Services’ business cards in a holder and they served bland finger sandwiches with diluted instant coffee afterward. It was the kind of thing that youd’ve laughed at and blamed the church for.
I think the hardest part is that all the dozens of versions of you I created in my head died, too. I made an Amy who went to college and got her degree in veterinary sciences and started an ASPCA. I imagined an Amy who grew her hair out and cut the blue tips off and wore flowery loose blouses and played guitar. There was the Amy who trained service dogs for wounded veterans and the Amy who fell in love with a kind young man who picked her up on the I-5 and drove her to Vancouver. There was an Amy who lived recklessly and pierced her ears with safety pins in truck stop bathrooms on the way to see Less Than Jake in San Fran. I made up Amys with tanned arms and Amys with tattoos and Amys living in Carmel as an accountant. Every one of those versions died when we found you.
I haven’t been up there yet. They say you were up there for three months until that guy found you. They say it was painless. They say that they’re looking for the driver that did it. I don’t think they’ll find him, and I’m almost glad. I don’t know what I think about that.
I wish we could have gotten you in across the street. The stones there are all soft from rain and there’s no lawnmowers or fluorescent turf. The only disturbances are when the horticulturists plant new roses. After it rains the clay soil sticks to your boots. Plots up there are hard to dig in to because of all the old growth trees, and I imagine the old coffins have roots wrapped around them, like the pictures of veins going around the heart in that Biology book I returned to the textbook room a month after you slipped out our window the last time.

My wife, Karen, looked out onto the patio, "why do they always come to us?", speaking of mama and her kits, newcomers they were, but apparently enjoying the food and shelter of this "safe house". Just some, of the many, that had blessed us over the years  with their magic , showing up unannounced, cats, dogs, raccoons, possum, to name a few. Some stayed, some left.

You see, it is our firm belief, that God's closed fist, with index finger extended and pointing downward, looming over our rooftop, wherever we happened to be, is a "guiding star"for them, and only the animals are capable of seeing it, telling them to "go here, for your safety, shelter, and food".

God has many such fingers, in every city, town, state, province, and country on this earth. Why, I would bet that right now, he has a cat(s) asleep on his lap, their way of saying, "thank you, Lord, for helping all of us."

(Make a visit to your local ASPCA Shelter-Adopt an "Angel!)
copyright May 18-2014 richard riddle

It all started with a wire recorder,
Skinny wire wound up on a plastic
Roller, in the basement bedroom of
His neighbor’s garage, very near
The place they euthanized a cat to
Learn about feline anatomy.

Fresh from his new job as an
Orderly at the VA hospital, and
Sure of his place as the savior of
Many a homeless alcoholic drifter,
Adam decided to start with a cat
So as not to practice without a license.

The recorder was a Christmas gift,
Since the young man had started to
Document the songs he learned in
His choir-school days in case he
Had to audition for a role in the
Church mini-pageant the next year.

Adam took pride in being able to
Reply in the affirmative to both
The questions his friends asked:
“Are you a scientist?” and “Are
You a singer?,” since the Nobels
Are being handed out oddly now.

Taping his notes was a necessity, as
His hands were always full of sheaves
Of music or carefully wrapped in
Latex gloves when he was armed with
Stainless steel surgical tools, and
Liable to get ****** dissecting.

On one occasion his much younger
Cousin happened in on the anatomical
Experiment and was sprayed with a
Rather morbid dose of formaldehyde
From the spot just under the tail,
Where he was standing.

Adam began to wonder whether this
Was the tip of the iceberg, or if he was
Merely fooling himself into recording
His results as the best way to gain
Entrance to the grad school of his
Choice, to join the other robots.

He wondered, too, if this was just
A little bit of a dream from faraway.
If the cat was simply a clue to the
Future, if in the entrails would be
Found dramatically bound in
Ribbon, the key to a music box.

And from this music box would
Spew forth a melody which Adam
Could redeem for a ticket away from
This basement laboratory and to
A candlelit stage floor where he
Would hear the sound of a single cello.

He believed in the things he always
Thought he knew, the things he had
Not memorized but had gut feelings
About, so in his beliefs could be no
Deceit, no surprise, no doubt.
Only wonderment and blind faith.

Black dots started to form on the
Ceiling, bells began to ring, soft
Crying in the distance became louder
As the ghost of the basement in the
Attic whispered in Adam’s ear:
“Your sleeping heart is awake!”


The whisper became a whistle, a
String of lights, then a fugue, then
The tick-tock of a clock, finally the
Sound of a fire’s breath in green
And gold murmuring over fake
Rattling radio waves.

Adam’s lab was transformed,
It became a lobby with a Steinway
But no player at the keys and no
Rolls hiding above them, only
A triptych playing the carols of a
Lone double bass leitmotif.

Adam felt blessed as he was called
Center stage by a maestro in white tie.
The podium’s glistening red and gold
Parament complemented his bright
Blue eyes in a pleasant way, as did
The strains of “Fantasia.”

Adam’s mom entered the room
Suddenly without knocking.  She
Handed him a letter from the ASPCA.
“I had to sign for this,” she whined.
“And get dressed.” she ordered, “Your
Choir rehearsal starts in an hour; hop
To it before your voice changes!”

© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016

down the up subway
#a small female wearing a fedora
a little boy dressed proudly
#in an ASPCA sign
an NYU journalism major
#who promises Halloween candy
if I answer 8 true-false questions
a man in an ascot leads a purebred
#red-haired dog on a leash,
fresh from his limousine
a noontime walk under a blue
#cloudless sky
the annual harvest in the square
#and a prêt-à-manger lunch
with a ginger beer and brownie
burqas are commonplace,
#cell phones are not
cabs whizz by on a narrow roadway,
#some are empty
the architecture is protective,
#it exists to mask
a man looks down from his loft
#and smiles

© Lewis Bosworth, 10/2016

My wife, Karen, looked out onto the patio, "why do they always come to us?", speaking of mama and her kits, newcomers they were, but apparently enjoying the food and shelter of this "safe house". Just some, of the many, that had blessed us over the years  with their magic , showing up unannounced, cats, dogs, raccoons, possum, to name a few. Some stayed, some left.

You see, it is our firm belief, that God's closed fist, with index finger extended and pointing downward, looming over our rooftop, wherever we happened to be, is a "guiding star"for them, and only the animals are capable of seeing it, telling them to "go here, for your safety, shelter, and food".

God has many such fingers, in every city, town, state, province, and country on this earth. Why, I would bet that right now, he has a cat(s) asleep on his lap, their way of saying, "thank you, Lord, for helping all of us."

(Make a visit to your local ASPCA Shelter-Adopt an "Angel!)
copyright May 18-2014 richard riddle

i had just given up,
on coffee,
when i met you.

but your life is coffee.
so my heart just agreed.

i love when you put your arms around me.

but listen, i need you to pace this out correctly.
i need you to just hold on to me.

cling to me like a spy
on a grappling line.

and i swear,
i honestly don't mind
if you smell like wine.
sometimes.

i've been meaning to write more poetry.
but i'll probably never use this.

for it to turn out presentable...
i guess would my only wish.

because i needed to find a way
to say i love you
without having to stumble
over a bunch of other words.

that can wait till Wednesday.

but i bet that is something,
you already knew.

look, let me just say that
i am afraid of falling for you.

my track record is not so great,
and i've got a lot of activist work on my plate.

and what is the distinct possibility
that you and i,
could give each other what we need?

i'm just so terrified,
that you might leave.

my life has been full of a lot of ****** things.
i don't need another chance to be broken.
and it's been a few days since we've spoken.

i don't care how long it takes...
i'll stick around.

i feel like something
you picked up from the lost-and-found.

or a pathetic puppy from the pound,
like those dogs Sarah Mclachlan talks about
in the ASPCA videos.

i was homeless once.
does this mean that me i qualify
for this new space
to take the place of my new home?

the first time we ever had breakfast together,
you made me sit on the counter
while you were busy at the stove.

little did i know.
i fell in love that day.

and i hope you can find that to be okay.
because *******
i love you.

Not alone
Have family and friends
They are busy with their own lives especially this time of year
Thankful for being a poet and a writer
Bless December Bluebirds
Bless ducks, geese, and turkeys roaming free in the most unexpected places
Squirrels seriously overfed with bananas smeared with almond butter
Along with a variety of shelled unsalted nuts
Rain circles and raindrops
Sunny days
Walking twenty five miles a week for the ASPCA on Charity miles app
Being a loner is fine for me

C@rainbowchaser2023

down the up subway
#a small female wearing a fedora

a little boy dressed proudly
#in an ASPCA sign

an NYU journalism major
#who promises Halloween candy
if I answer 8 true-false questions

a man in an ascot leads a purebred
#red-haired dog on a leash,
fresh from his limousine

a noontime walk under a blue
#cloudless sky

the annual harvest in the square
#and a prêt-à-manger lunch
with a ginger beer and brownie

burqas are commonplace,
#cell phones are not

cabs whizz by on a narrow roadway,
#some are empty

the architecture is protective,
#it exists to mask

a man looks down from his loft
#and smiles

© Lewis Bosworth, 10/2016

Walking is excercise and means to destress
With Mother Nature as company I am off
Charity miles tracker so ASPCA gets funding for every mile
Listening for bird songs
Buying a bag of nuts for the squirrels in park
Placing them under trees and by fences
One little one looking for food hid in his tree
Quietly watching for the sweetheart to climb down
Happily munching on what left I behind
Sunday walks in October

C@rainbowchaser2022

Not alone
Have family and friends
They are busy with their own lives especially this time of year
Thankful for being a poet and a writer
Bless December Bluebirds
Bless ducks, geese, and turkeys roaming free in the most unexpected places
Squirrels seriously overfed with bananas smeared with almond butter
Along with a variety of shelled unsalted nuts
Rain circles and raindrops
Sunny days
Walking twenty five miles a week for the ASPCA on Charity Miles app
Being a loner is fine for me

C@rainbowchaser2023

That sweet cute little face
Trying to jump out of her pet carrier and into a stranger's arms
Those olive brown eyes looked more human than canine looking straight at me
You didn't want me to leave but you were behind me on the plane
Though your human mom kept reminding you that we played while waiting but not when we fly
Havanese puppy with silky hair and bewitching smile
You can't come home with me or any other dog for that matter
My beloved is so allergic that hypoallergenic dogs cant be with us or near us
Just one look let's me walk twenty five miles a week for the ASPCA
My daily doggie fix

C@rainbowchaser2021

She is pelting the Big Apple after she took aim at the Big Easy
Sorry that you dealt with another storm
Pouring rain and humidity all day til seven pm
Yet, Jif the squirrel was in his tree
The ducks found shelter though they would rather swim in their pond
The black cat sat under a car leering at passersby
Walk for health and charity is done daily for the ASPCA
Clears the mind and feeds the soul
Poor dogs and cats need help and every step does just that
Zeta rain

C@rainbowchaser2020

As an advanced ASPCA approved
bonafide creature with bioengineered
intelligent nanotechnological version
embedded with wonderful integrated circuits,
whose cloned specifications
rendered me an exemplary rendition
with a combination
of spliced genes courtesy
Canis lupus familiaris
of the great Pooch E. Knee
and poet/novelist named
René Karl Wilhelm
Johann Josef Maria Rilke
known to the webbed wide world
as Rainer Maria Rilke
wishes to convey gratitude
my choice of words
how thee and mine master
fated to be linkedin
for her mental health well being
courtesy Creative Health Services,
the facility graced by your employment
for as long as planets align
within the solar system,

which integrated circuits functioned in syncrhonicity (not aa misspelling) to boot artificial quasi animal behavior, helping me function as an emergency backup conduit for conducting electricity (in case of a power outage) to help generate all major and minor appliances, serve in the role as divine sterling rod, an innovation to locate the fountain of youth, and more importantly custom made dedicated, complex animatronic, electronic, and polycistronic smart canine (impossible mission to distinguish yours truly from the real McCoy), I serve as a board registered emotional support animal, (who gets fueled by powder milk dog biscuits after completing a task such as picking up bowel movement detritus if the sudden unexpected need arose while being out and about whereby I pull off the side of the road as she evacuates) from heine of my master Aye aye bee why Harris, who asked me to express her satisfaction (omitting the correct spelling of her first name) with yourself a warm hearted human being an apropos mental therapist, and now anonymous readers can vicariously experience our journey without any faux pas as I proceed on four paws.

Only the best and brightest minds
came together to witness brainchild
after chromosomal
and genetic information dialed
up hybridization spelling shock
cuz tampering with deoxyribonucleic acid
on the same testing grounds as divine creator
experimenting with seeds of life
and as extreme worse case scenario
would yield an outcome
immediately necessary to terminate pronto
if outcome turned out horrid
forcing scientists to incinerate
unformed glob of partially
hydrogenated oils differentiating cells,
must forever remain
surreptitiously kindled tinder
for immediate destruction unbeknownst
except to a select few then cremated ashes
rocketed off upon deep space nine
to the outer limits of the twilight zone,
where dark shadows forever hide
alien looking creation
that never came into fruition
there to be permanently exiled
and top secret report filed
plus any and all remaining evidence
swiftly tailored and harried styled
as material for a future mockumentary
concerning how experiment
went awry, but vaguely
resembled genesis of
what could have manifested as Oscar Wild
ever since critics posthumously recognized
his storied, albeit life cut short,
especially the importance of being earnest.

Tongue in cheek,
I assess the fraught perils
of artificial intelligence
barely understood by me,
an average Joe er rather Matthew,
who always felt himself
to be synonymous
with that of an outlier
even as a quiet little boy
and however much the following
next statement might matter,
I used to wish my now thinning hair
to be like that of Donald Hoy
(which obituary of his I read online),
because he sported
a shock of dark and thick hair,
similar to the mane of Andy Howe
an overarching compulsive obsession
with what I a sexagenarian,
who doth now recognize
an over importance how hair
loosely linkedin to virility, though yours
truly always a minute (min ute) lad,
when measured Body Mass Index (BMI) chart
also referred to as a growth chart
when height/weight of his development
charted and trended on the undersized
so maybe I sub-consciously convinced myself
that manly strength (think Samson)
falsely and emotionally appropriated
an unhealthy significance to that material
that sprouted atop
the head (human hair)
primarily made of strong
structural protein called keratin,
which subsequently
composed of amino acids.

In addition to keratin,
a hair strand contains water,
lipids, and minerals,
as well as the pigment melanin,
which gives hair its natural color.

The hair shaft itself consists
of dead cells filled with keratin,
and it has a central medulla
(in some hairs), a main cortex layer,
and an outer protective cuticle layer.

At one time believe me you - much mental effort expended on grooming and combing my then long wavy hair, and then at some (petticoat) junction while living on green acres, I arose one day and ceased attention formerly lavished upon tresses, which grungy style in vogue approximately half my life ago, whereat a looser dress code superseded what used to be mandatory clean cut image so important when pursuing gainful employment during mine post adolescence, which half-hearted (mock seriousness) yours truly paid lip syncing service to arbitrarily established, and often received scathing remarks from mother dearest who commented “You're going out looking for a job like that!?” which critique never failed to bode accurate to a grown son who over stayed his welcome at 324 Level Road, Collegeville, Pennsylvania, but the sole impetus that finally shoe-horned out the security of said abode arose when yours truly got hot and heavy with a gal he met while contra-dancing, the milieu that helped diminish the introvertedness that earned me quite a few epithets such as wall flower and “quietest student” in high school at Methacton. Physical intimacy freed his pent up hormonal secretion finding the perfect conduit, which unprotected *** engendered pregnancy come about nine months later endowed with the creator of new life to step up ambition to acquire gainful employment while simultaneously seeking a one bedroom apartment, which abode found ourselves (a family of three Harris folk) within Hatfield, a place named Pennfield Manor 2701 Elroy Road 19440.