Appalling Poetry COmpetition IV: Doggerel in Space

Here I sit
Broken-hearted
Tried to shih-tzu
But only far Ted

Pontormo

You sad-eyed poodle
You have, I aver,
Matted, unkempt and scrofulous fur
And your name is lame.

Who called you Pontormo?
The prat in a hat
Who lives in the flat above
My head. I want you both dead.

With your nails on the floor
Click-clack! Skitter-sclack!
Skidding around and barking all day
When your master, the prat in the hat is away.

You live, paw in glove
With your master, the prat
In the hat, in your flat.
Him you adore; I, you and he strongly abhor.

I will poison you both someday;
Or, at least, contrive a way to drive you away.
Pontormo, is it a surprise
That you see only hate in my eyes?

A Chindo of Seoul, "Maria"
Suffered from bad diarrhea.
Her owners were flustered
and wondered, disgusted,
if that's why dog's meat in Korea?

I loves you, Porgy,
for you're my corgie.
Who's my little corgie-worgie?

Casuistry surges ahead!

My terrier, Bones,
was mere second best
to Fido who proved
to be terriest

Does Dell, damned dalmation
have hope for salvation?

Casuistry's poem manages to be both concise and lazy. Impressive.

Why does Klaus, my German Spitz,
Insist on taking German shits?

Should Biff, a dried-out Beauceron,
refresh with high-grade Eucerin?

Do Bichon Bolognese like Ross
get mistook for pasta sauce?

Mary had a little pug
And Spot was always gruntin'
She tied it to a cyclone fence
And kicked its little c¿ËηҖӘשΔΞ¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶ NO CARRIER

Should Tuomas dainty Finnish Lapphund
dare to sniff a spayed bitch cunt?

Though he claims he's Chesapeake Bay,
Does anyone think Ruff's not Guejae Gae?

Can Angél, born Xoloitzcuintled
live a life undisgruntled?

Autumn Almanac gets bonus points for including Җ, which I think is still just a theoretical letter! Though maybe it's used in Mari or somesuch.

To be sure, there are dogs hairier
than Harry -- my Jack Russell terrier --
but none prepared for Boston winter better
than Harry, bundled in his J. Crew sweater

I kinda wish I didn't use "Harry" the second time. Maybe substitute "snookums"

Bow wow, my Jezebel, Bow wow
Chihuahua, in Tihuana, Chihuahua
Won't you take me to Mexico?

I don't understand
why my mastiff, Dan
never one to beg
still humps my leg

?

Borzoi of Love'
Destiny Hope was his name
This beast saved my life

oh snap

In Cyrillic Җ is the zh sound
Why don't you have a Russian Wolfhound?

Borzoi of Love
Destiny Hope was his name
Must he leave us so soon?

Җa Җa Gabor, the poodle from outer space,
Can you hear me ground control?

BreҖnev

(okay that wasn't quite a poem, sorry)

I love you, Lucky
Beautiful Chow
Drinker of gin,
Lacking of chin
Dancer in the rain,
Driving me insane
Will you die for this country?

No, it's not. Ж is the zh sound in Russian. Җ is a letter that was proposed (or maybe used to exist?) for a palatalized zh.

Why must I fail?
Why can't I have an airedale?

Would a beagle
name of Cade
beat a seagull
with a spade?

I'm really tired, Fido, dear Labrador pal
ЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖЖ

No, it's not. Ж is the zh sound in Russian. Җ is a letter that was proposed (or maybe used to exist?) for a palatalized zh.

-- Casuistry, Wednesday, 20 February 2008 17:45 (7 minutes ago) Bookmark Link

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Yes then.

My poem is by far the worst.

Ah hell.
Garold the pug has fallen in some watta
But he seems unusually bothered.
He licks a paw
cleans out his ears.
What are you, a cat?

Run, Fido
Run!
Your French Bulldog smile
won't save you now.
Do i hear sirens?

To be sure, there are dogs hairier
than Harry -- my Jack Russell terrier --
but none prepared for Boston winter better
than Harry, bundled in his J. Crew sweater

-- Hurting 2, Wednesday, 20 February 2008 06:13 (7 hours ago) Link

O fuck, I also didn't end with a question. Make the last two lines:

But is there beast prepared for winter better
than my snookums, bundled in his J. Crew sweater?

O! Blue tick hound,
who is nothing dainty or toylike,
nor mustachioed as is the schnauzer,
still less to be likened to the hulking,
eternally-beslobbered Newfoundland.

You hound of heaven, war-fanged,
baying, ears afloat in swift pursuit,
whose very name, Blue, bespeaks
an innate, skyborn goodness,
what earthy doggy demiurge or
dazzling canine innner fire,
burns in that pink tongue,
with which you lick your privy parts?

I wish I had a beagle puppy.
I don't care if it's spit-uppy.
I would name it after Snoopy.
I would teach to make poopy
On newspapers on the floor.
Who could ask for any more?

Dalmatian?

what better metaphor for
social integration
in baltic states? Dalmatian!

Sounds like a cryptic crossword clue.

Just like the President's
Scottish terriers,
Barney and Miss Beazley,
who crap where they please
on the WHite House lawn,
ever confident someone else
will scoop it all up
and tidy things after them,
so, too, does George Bush
sow crap in sorrowing Iraq.

Just like the President's
Scottish terriers,
Barney and Miss Beazley,
who bark and wag and wriggle
to ingratiate themselves
to their keepers, who then
will give them food,
pet them, change their water
at no further expense to them
so, too, does George Bush
bark, wag and wriggle for us.

Chosen for cuteness, chosen
for obedience, chosen for
being good with children,
we the people select our leaders
much like we select our pets.
Who, alas, shall rid us
of this terrier president
this digger of holes, this
chewer on the furniture legs?
Who shall scoop up this mess?

Call me Nerts.
Call me Yoda.
Call me Salmagundy.
I answer to them all.

Call me Picklepuss.
Call me Tannhauser.
Call me Mr. Tiny.
They are all my name.

Chihuahua or black lab,
St. Bernard or mutt,
Pekinese or wolfhound.
I take many forms.

My name is Legion.
My face is the face of Love.
I leave my mark where e'er I lief.

I am Dog, the Great One,
What God hath wrought
godson more fair than I?

I would rather stuff a pug
named Biscuit into a banjo case,
and beg out in the street
than park my butt on your couch
and smell the cabbage you just cooked.
For the love of Mickey and Minnie's turds
won't anyone cut me some slack?

Trayce is a mongrel
She is on my tram

er, that's it.

Bark! Bark! Bark!
Woof! Woof! Woof!
Yip! Yip! Yip!
Growl! Growl! Growl!
Miner, a Collie,
gives it up for Run/DMC?

Is anything
more ridic
than Andy
my shepard mix
trying to chew
speramint gum?

Molly the cockapoo
ha ha more like caca-poo
zing! zing! amirite?

This poem is a tribute to, and adapted from a song, about my favourite co-worker's dachshund, Enzo:

Is this how it feels to be Enzo?
Sleek and long and low to the ground?
Is this how it feels to be the real Manchester Dachs-hound?

A lover of bones was Stacy the terrier
The more bones she had the merrier
She got bone cancer so we had to bury her
Wonder if it was the bottled Perrier?

He is the greatest dane
Caring, heroic and true
Boris is this doggy's name
Why do I have to clean up his poo?

skipping skippy sipping
from p(butter)j's dirty bowl.
pj cockspaniel doomed
to wee b. universe's goal.

the lip of my little brother
must've fattened that day
from the screaming seeing
the log drop so fast that
even the most optimistic
pooch that was pj could
not escape the pouch of
earth his head dug into
the dirt floor of our
primitive garage.

six weeks of circling.

it's funny what a happy meal heals.

and the next week, pj's brother skippy
took his place circling his paws
on our pants, like james belushi's
eternal coverband of slobbery
laffler riot rock and roll, played
with but somewhat ignored until we
gave him away a few years later.

and i wonder, am i skippy or am i pj,
am i a jar or a sandwich,
will i expire in a pantry,
or be eaten alive?

m. (lol! childhood trahmah!)

still wearing that smile.