photo: John Haslam
Come on then. Write a poem about a dog.
Cats have had plenty of attention on this site, so the dog must have its day.
It can be a chihuahua-sized or a wolfhound-sized poem, abandoned in the comments thread or sent to me in a travelling crate via email, as you please.
38 comments:
Chien a la Mode
It’s good practice to hang your Labrador
for several days in a cool place
the stages of dissolution ensure
a tenderer meat and superior taste.
When the animal is suitably blue,
then remove the tail and put it aside,
unfurred, skinned and filleted, it will do
in hearty soups or stocks, or simply fried.
Hack off the paws and butchery can start.
So, make a cut from anus to sternum,
and tug out the guts, while saving the heart.
Then place your hands either side of the rump.
It’s like unrolling a girlfriend’s stocking,
though you can take it a bit more slowly,
and it’s less likely that you’ll be drooling.
You can save the skin to make lingerie.
Now you have a glistening tube of meat,
with no resemblance to your girlfriend’s leg,
I hope and trust, which you can choose to eat
according to taste and seasonal veg.
Roasted barbie-style on a petrol fire
is good with a salad and polenta
or hot-smoked over a burning car tyre
or stewed with a couple of cats. Voila!
Delete if required. I'm not sensitive (obviously).
A splendidly unsentimental intro, MM. Mine is a bit more cutesy:
A dog and sticky mud
are seldom parted.
A house is not a home
when the dog’s just farted.
It’s hard to sleep
when doggy wakes
howling from a nightmare
or when it makes
demands to go outside
or else...
But then it looks at you and grins
races the kids and always wins
jumps up and down when you come back
from going to post a letter.
A dog’s a cheerful beast at heart
and gifted – though not very smart -
at making you feel better.
Andalucian Dogs
In the liminal, urban dirt-ring
On ant-bisected tracks
Gouged deep by storm runoff
Sandstone shanties and concrete sheds
Launch mad-eyed, chain-crazed dogs
Desperate Cerberi
Leaping against the rusted choke
That scrapes out their perimeter
Of drooping cacti or scooped chassis
Are they protecting the household from the mountains
That pile behind them in ascending avalanche
Of walnut, cedar, karst causeways, gorse
Pagan sinkholes, of chough and vulture
Red-backed bulls, branch-feeding imperious goats
Pools of stillness, altitudinous and cloud-close
Madonnas perched on crescent moons
Stone-hemmed lambs, vertical olive groves
Precipice and element?
We met one dog escaped
Hans, who was a child in Greece
Routed it with a gesture
Its broken chain dragging umbilical
Blank estranged futile dogs
Protecting nothing but
Imploring the virgin-free crescent
For a bolt-cutter
And the growling mountains
Great stuff, XB. Haven't seen the Andalucian ones but have met their like in other countries, poor brutes.
Invoking the Havana Hound
The Havana dog sleeps in the corner
of your eye. Stick or whistle won’t rouse him.
He’ll only stir if summoned through the fog.
You’ll need a Cohiba maduro, dark
as stained timber, and a lit pine cone scale
to light it with. You’ll wait forty minutes
before catching sight of his silvered hide,
sleek as the smoke he’s taken form in. Cough
and you’ll offend him back into darkness.
But you must be smoking beyond your means.
The rich can see him if they’re rich in grief.
His bark is his bite and he collects tongues.
If you lose your voice it’s no cat did it.
Send him out to fetch hearts you despise, but
remember, one day he’ll come for yours. Smoke
that fine cigar and he’ll appear. But choke
back your fear. Ghostly dogs are always best.
Havana dogs are better than the rest.
Jack Brae Curtingstall
this is by @pinkroom:
Dog waited,
dog looked;
teeth bared,
teeth crooked.
Fence vaulted?
Not…
quite.
Arse waiting
doggie’s bite.
Owner shouts,
poor dog foiled.
Outside, inside
clothing
soiled.
Thanks, Zeph
I'm getting used to them now, poor things, but it seems essential that every sattelite homestead have a collection of raving dogs on chains. Weirdly, it reminds me of the area of Norwich I grew up in (also the goats, now I think about it).
Not sure about 'growling mountains' anymore. Wanted the idea of a dull, huge, sort of silicate heartbeat. Any thoughts?
Thanks, Jack Brae and pinkroom (and Mishari (Ed))!
XB, I quite liked the growling mountains, would 'growling hills' be any better?
Zeph, if you're happy for my mountains to growl on your blog then that's fine with me. It seemed a little overheated but you've reassured me!
Excellent stuff, everyone. I particularly enjoyed Meltonian's tasty offering (in fine Tahitian culinary tradition, I might add, and not out of place in our taproom).
InvisibleJack's piece I'm not sure i understand, but love the music and smokey imagery.
"Growling mountains" is a great line!
Tahitian dogs would require not a poem, but a whole anthology. Sadly, I haven't the time, nor the skills.
Thanks all.
PS: Pito the doormat sends his regards and appreciation (and copyright claims for Zeph's second stanza, woof).
Pre-Post Modern Dog
Honey, dog so sweet and thick
Romping after high-hurled stick
Hasn't read her Baudrillard:
Watch out for that speeding car.
Dopey looking clumsy hound
Fundamental views unsound
Doesn't know her Derrida:
For Christ's sake, mind that speeding car.
After lunch of meta-pork
I take her for a meta-walk
Tell her about Lyotard
And how to spot a meta-car.
Nice one, misha, I enjoyed that! Great rhythm section in that dog-marching band.
Thanks,, offy. I think they're a meta-rhythm section. Here's one by
@Alarming:
A dog so stoical and loyal
Far more use to mankind than a Royal.
Their upkeep costs are minimal.
The Royal’s bill is criminal.
Dog’s may be addicted to a stick
But the Royals are demonstrably thick.
Droppings from a dog may make you frown,
Cheer yourself up, have the Royals put down.
Offside
Don't worry, nobody understands my poetry, including my mother, who thinks I'm a mere wastrell. On most blogs I believe I'm tolerated something akin to a charity case. (Except when I'm occasionally brilliant, which, as pure luck would have it, I occasionally am.)
At least I now have cyber-venues in which to post the stuff, and very grateful I am too.
Loved ExitB's poem. Wonderful! Personally, I'd keep the growling mountains.
Jack Brae
Thanks, offside. Some hot dogs here: a pat on the head and (metaphorical) stroke.
* wags tail - pants *
on sunday, me and
the dog will go for a walk.
ralph! ralph! ralph! ralph! ralph!
What are tail-pants?
are they like willy-warmers for fido?
Furs so scared can't be doing with dogs.
Dog Food
Stir-fried poodles
Go nicely with noodles,
Baked stuffed Alsation
Is a taste sensation,
Roast Jack Russell
Goes well with brussel
Sprouts; Chihuaha's nice
With black beans and rice,
Stewed St. Bernard
Complements Swiss chard,
Spaniel or setter?
Boiled spaniel is better;
Rhodesian ridge-back
Is good with a flapjack.
Steamed borzoi?
Lovely with pak-choy.
When you want some dinner,
You want something hot;
Fetch dog: it's a winner;
"Here, boy, here, Spot".
LOL, henry and Mishari. ROFL, even.
Melton was worried about his Labrador recipe being too tasteless (tasteless, geddit?) for OtherStuff, but as I told him there is a fine tradition in these parts, spearheaded by our Francophone regulars, of eating anything cute, furry and vulnerable that passes by. Mishari's serving suggestions will no doubt be very useful.
The Dog Ate My Title, Miss
So what type of canine do you prefer?
For some the large and savage is a lure,
for others a delicate ball of fluff
matches their distaste for playing rough,
Prince Mishari has a pretty Pekinese
which lies in perfect silence on his knees
while Norman primps the master’s locks a treat
at Hair Commodore on Old Compton Street.
If your interest is in violence
another type of dog would make more sense,
perhaps a Rottweiler or a pit bull
would meet all your requirements in full,
burly and vicious, a very short fuse,
they go well with black T-shirts and tattoos,
no-one will disrespect you ever again,
or think that you aren’t made like other men.
Leaving the ambit of mince and muscle,
some make a case for the Parson Russell
and consider that this clerical hound
is an intellectual in the round.
Please be gentle with these deluded chaps,
affection blinds them, the pathetic saps,
we know doggs are not the greatest thinkers,
but their owners see them through love’s blinkers.
Thinking of all that excess body hair,
and that vile slobber they’re so keen to share,
the rank damp smell which pervades the house,
the itchy indication of a louse,
that hyperactive urgency to walk,
the vital bath at which they always baulk,
for some of us, and it’s a judgment call,
the best kind of dog is no dog at all.
The East London Staffy is a fairly new breed - it's a pit bull but everyone pretends it's a Staffordshire. Usually seen accompanying youth who don't wish to be dissed, as per your second stanza, MM. Good stuff, if a trifle anti-hound (canihostile?) towards the end.
I like this photo.
One tries to wear the mask, but inevitably it slips...
The Reverend John Russell Preaches on Proverbs 26.11 on All Souls' Day
'As a dogg returns to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly'
Brethren, into this church I have called my terrier,
Not to baptise him, but to witness that no merrier
Creature was made than little black and white Jack,
Who deposited half of Miss Wilderspin's goose at the back
Of the chancel. Behold! How his trim leg is cocked
And poised o'er the piscina shaft! Yet god is not mocked
By his lesser creations. For Aquinas said rightly,
Friendship deserves study better than justice. O! nightly
My companion may puke and scratch in the hallow'd apse,
And the tiles 'neath the sedilia are besmirched with craps;
Blood from the ankles of my dolt curate has dripped,
Left indelible red on the steps in the crypt,
While throughout the east transept lie pools of Jack's vomit
And to these he returns, as the unfaithful to that false Mahomet.
Men may say, such a dogg in church should enjoy no dominion,
But the Lord looks on such with kind eyes, as on all of his children.
Beloved, just as you find your ways of doing your penance,
Be good to your dogg; it may save you from antidepressants
Terrific, freep, thank you, I hope your dogg approved.
I love the word 'dolt'.
Yes, great stuff, freep. I too love the word 'dolt', a word that springs to mind whenever I observe this government in action...
Good poem, shame about the doggma.
Well, MM, I always like to concentrate on the doggerel and let others worry about the doggma. I (and my canine) find it distressing how many words prefixed 'dog' signify worthlessness, coarseness, things that are vile, cheap, ignorant, low or treacherous. It is time to rebrand the dogg. There are worse animals. Like Yorkshiremen and whelks and turkeys.
Whelks are particularly unpleasant. I must remember in future to say "That film was a complete whelk."
Our good friend Guitou, who is obviously busy elsewhere at the moment, usually refers to the Deity as dog, which lends an extra piquancy to Freep's poem.
The English Patient was a total Yorkshireman.
I was going to write a poem, but now the Yorkshireman abuse has begun I feel all alienated...
freep started it. His belittling of the curd tarts in Betty's is still spoken of with quiet anger in Harrogate.
Don't be put off, Ringo. It's the 'career' Yorkshiremen, a la Bernard Ingham and the like, that I detest--with their fetish for 'plain speaking' (boorish ill-manners), 'common sense and prudence' (unimaginative and mean with money), etc etc...I'd be surprised if you had a great deal of time for the type yourself.
freep and his dogg are gone for a while,
To circumnavigate the whole British isle,
They'll be back though it's hard to say when,
But after a breather, they'll do it again.
Well, Ringo, it is possible to avoid Yorkshire abuse, provided any one of the following conditions are met:
1. Your garden contains three sheds or more
2. You are a woman (size 18 or under)
3. Your dogg is free from mange
4. When you attend the Ebenezer Chapel, you do not know all the words in the hymnal
5. You eschew the use of brown sauce with your Rock Salmon & chips
6. Your cap is at least 20% cashmere.
I am never sure which is more mythical, a Yorkshireman or an unicorn.
Freep, you've just made me burst a stitch! (just recovering from surgery which I can only think was performed by a horse by the state of me - but was in the depths of Huddersfield)
I didn't realise the standard Yorkshireman measurement had been raised to three sheds. Has there been an announcement?
Misha, can't tempt you to the annual Bernie Ingham Christmas dinner in Mytholmroyd Community Centre? (it's a quality venue)
(Polly here by the way)
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