Pitter Patter Feet

Little pitter patter feet
A yip, bark and bite
For every step across the room

Plop on the butt
Eyes lift upward
A whine for attention

All before a canine monkey
Swings from a sleeve
Yanking and killing the fabric
all
the
way
down.

The Weekend of Meet the Breed

Winding down from
Greetings and explanations-
“Come see the AHT!”

“Oh, is this like the Xolo?”
Questions and answers
Passed back and forth.

Only a few people matter
Judges need some education
In matters concerning breed

Conformation-qualifications of
Faults versus acceptable traits.
Correct information is better than falsifications.

The weekend of breed booths
One long showcase of various dogs
Is at long last over

And finally normality
Can resume the broadcast
Of babysitting and reading.

Pies and flying balls

This is another dog poem which goes into what is, I’m sure, most dog people’s least favorite activity, poop pickup. It also talks about playing ball with a ball crazy dog who was put out with me while I was doing the dog yard. This poem is the result of those twenty or so minutes alone with the dog and the shovel. There really isn’t a whole lot for me to say here; I think you’ll get the picture when you read it, so I’ll just give you guys the poem.

Here’s Dog Pies:

Picking up dog pies surrounded by sand, patches of grass
Elongated tubes, solid in their form
Or crumbly at the slightest touch
Pungent smells fill my nose as
A body runs full on past as I bend over.

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Where’s the lure? Where’s the lure?

As this weekend is a terrier racing event, but I’ve already put up the poem, Terrier Racing, I figured, “This is as good a time as any to put this up.” So here it is:

 

Lure Coursing
Wiggling, driving urges
Plastic-like rabbit
Many eyes following-fixating
Around the track it flies
Screams of wanting
Lunges to kill it

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Let’s hear 3 for the third

Here are three more poems: a (hopefully) uplifting poem, a poem about hippotherapy, and a dog poem. As I have stated in a previous post, take whatever meaning you want from the first one as it is what you, the reader, takes away that matters. I think it is a relatively straightforward poem, but for some that will see it, maybe that won’t be the case. Any questions about it or any other poems here, don’t be afraid to ask :).

 A Little Hardship
Why be afraid of a little hardship?
Eventually everyone dies, becomes disabled
Just go with it,
Deal with it,
Face it,
Then,
Live life one moment as at a time, to the fullest;
And challenge what you thought as true.

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Three to Start

Here are the first three poems: dogs, guitars and nonfunctional hands.

 Guitar
Solid, semi-hollow, hollow bodied
Reverberating from within out
Projecting sweet noise at a pluck, a strum.

Amped, noise picked up and sent on through
The head and speaker.
Turn of the dials:
Clean, smooth, like one savors a truffle
Turn again to feel
The pulse of distortion, heartbeat that drives the pit.

Loose and out of tune or right on standard pitch;
Add a pedal, even quite a few:
Head off to the stratosphere
Off to six feet under.

Instrument of Godliness to throngs of fans.
A brush that paints dollars for some
And art for the rest.

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