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When the dog barks
When the dog barks
Don’t crack, I remark
Watch your back
Maybe it is about to attack
A dog is commonly your loyal slave
But your master when it is brave
It can be your best friend
It can be your worst enemy
When the dog barks
Get ready on your mark
It senses you in the dark
When the dog barks
And you don’t talk back
It will sense the courage you lack
When the dog barks
You may need to give it a whack
To set it on the right track
Before it embarks
On a mission with its mates in a pack
When the dog bites
You must put up a fight
When the dog bites
Think hard, do what is right
When the dog whines
Even you should know it’s not fine
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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When a dog barks at the moon, then it is religion; but when he barks at strangers, it is patriotism!
quote by David Starr Jordan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If the dog barks, go in; if the bitch barks you had better stay outside.
Always Remember
always remember that when
a fake dog
takes a poise on your sofa
at the middle of your
living room
or your study
try looking
try listening carefully
it never barks.
it is your silly puppy without a mommy
that barks
in the mirror. barking at its image
waggling its tail
the fake ones
do not bark, remember that, and i know that you know
that i know about this plasticity
between us.
it is you that barks
almost every morning when i begin to write a poem
and all the while for years and years
i have always been silent.
that is the difference between us.
and let me tell the obvious. do not be hurt.
i am fake and you are true.you are angry and i never was once.
you breathe. i don't anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Barks of Trees are best gathered in the Spring, if it be of great Trees, as Oaks or the like, because then they come easiest off, and so you may dry them if you please, but indeed your best way is to gather all Barks only for present use.
quote by Nicholas Culpeper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hypocrisy And Ignorance...
cutie the little chihuahua
lives inside the bath tub
near the music room of
tom,
the whole night the chihuahua
barks asking for
a hot-dog
for supper but cruel tom
listens to rock
and hears nothing about the tiny barks
of the tiny dog,
the following morning
tom gets wild
why his tiny dog died
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Cleaning Agents
Anger or sorrow is the outcome
When one’s interest is affected.
Anger barks out and sorrow sheds tears.
Barks and tears are cleaning agents.
(23.05.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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french Fries -context-2nd World War-1940-fall Of France
An owl hoots, hoots, hoots, hoots
A dog barks, barks, barks, barks
Then some boots, boots, boots, boots
Uproots, uproots, uproots, uproots
The night lurks, lurks, lurks, lurks
Red wines bespatter,
French fries berserk, berserk, berserk, berserk
As the tall neighbours jerk, jerk, jerk, jerk
There rents the air some surrealists
The face of renaissance recaptured nationalists
No ikebana for my darling in Paris
As scenaries take on cemetaries
And greenaries take on apothecaries
Some invitations dugging heccatomb
Our menu-guns, missiles, mortar and a bomb.
Some toddler girls hanging for apricots
Uproar the gargantuan mascots
Come bigots,
Come faggots,
All yield in to the zealots
Ablaze relaxes a man
In some shabby agonized catamaran
His cries laughed away;
His worries withered away;
Is he the last to give in?
For Paris to Berlin.
04/03/2009
Dog Life
It`s too painful to continue this dog life,
for all the doghouse walls are like the edge of knife, he had thought.
A collard hound prowling around a cruel, immortal millstone,
-rounding by an old dogmatic dog in the manger-
Looking for daily bread and far-fetching collar string,
-a pre-existent, invisible and really inflexible string-
Was dogging his doggish days down the drain.
The dog-tired dog while his dogs were barking,
Couldn`t hunt, neither the bread nor the string.
Submerged and completly deaf and blind,
Under the shady shadow of dogged millstone,
He was willingly barking his last barks,
While vomiting his former-life, by his own string.
His barks let sleeping dog lie, while
He can`t rememberhis putrid nightmare…
Even the vultures, having dogfight above it,
Don`t ask for whom the bells toll at night;
And I am still gazing at the poor pointer forget to breath,
Stopped on at eleven, at rest…
poem by Mahdi Karimi
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Hollywood Holiday
I rode my motorcycle through a watermelon patch
Right on the california freeway
I took my holy Bible on my blessed boogie woogie drive
Cause I know I know I know
Where I go oh lord theyre gonna bless me jive
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
I parked my motorcycle on hollywood and vine
And sang till my red blood turned boiling blue
I took my sole survival and bore my cross on a string
Cause I know I know I know
What I dear I bear my charm to king
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Go For Simplicity My Friend
i go for simplicity my friend
because i am poor
i do not go for sophistication
because i am poor
i do not complicate matters
because i am poor
i do not want you to misunderstand
because i am poor
i do not want you to think some more
because i am poor
i do not want to convince you
because i am poor
i do not want you to be with our side
because we are poor
i want all things in their simplified forms
because we cannot afford
any other form of convolutions
we cannot afford another revolution
it will be expensive
and we have no more years to give
to pay for the sponsors
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Vixen
Among the taller wood with ivy hung,
The old fox plays and dances round her young.
She snuffs and barks if any passes by
And swings her tail and turns prepared to fly.
The horseman hurries by, she bolts to see,
And turns agen, from danger never free.
If any stands she runs among the poles
And barks and snaps and drive them in the holes.
The shepherd sees them and the boy goes by
And gets a stick and progs the hole to try.
They get all still and lie in safety sure,
And out again when everything’s secure,
And start and snap at blackbirds bouncing by
To fight and catch the great white butterfly.
poem by John Clare
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Puppies; Their Mom & Dad in a starlit night
Puppies play on a safer ground and no mines.
The skinny Mom calls them for milk
But they ignore and play on, seems not hungry.
Poor Dad goes out in the silent night
And barks to the Moon.
He thinks if she comes down
Enough milk for the kids and his beloved lifetime.
But Moon never makes an impression of a friendly smile
And he cries so sadly; ' Once upon a time my fellow dog
has been to the Moon.
But now she behaves as an unknown.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Almost all the noblest things that have been achieved in the world, have been achieved by poor men; poor scholars, poor professional men, poor artisans and artists, poor philosophers, poets, and men of genius.
quote by Albert Pike
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Small Plot Of Land
Poor soul
Spit upon that
Poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so
Poor dunce
He pushed back the pigmen
The barbs laughed
The fool is dead
Poor dunce
Hes less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead
And prayer cant
Travel so far these days
The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes
Poor dunce
Swings thru the tunnels
And claws his way
Is small life so manic
Are these really the days
Poor dunce
Poor dunce
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poor Little Girl
Poor Little Girl
Nobody cares what she does
She only lives what she was
In her mind reliving thoughts of yesterday
‘til she finds she knows her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
Why can’t she love what she’s seen
People don’t want her to’ve been
Wasting time and living in her yesterday
‘til she finds she knows her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
Her heart will shoulder
Who she’s intended to be
She may never know her
Until she has set herself free
Harboring the darkest nights of yesterday
So until she finds her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
She’s so important to me
I admit I use to be
Runnin’ never knowin’ of my destiny
Blessings in disguise today that end that play
Poor little girl,
Poor little girl
Poor little girl
Little girl’s me
Copyright 1969, Will Fiala
poem by Will Fiala
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Poor Baby
Orbison/c & r price
Glittery eyes; witchy smiles
A good time is all you are after
Skin tight thighs; little white lies
Put you in the center of the laughter
But your reign of queen is over
Your fortress has been broken down
You're still the center of the laughter
But your role has changed to the clown
Chorus
Ooh poor baby
Someone broke your heart in two
Ooh poor baby
Who would have thought it could happen to you
Poor baby
A pretty face; sweet talkin' ways
Got you a part of the action
A come-over-touch, glances and such
You always had to be the main attraction
Now you're the one who's crying
You lost at your own lonely game
You're still the center of attraction
But now i'm gone, you've got yourself to blame
Chorus
Ooh poor baby
Do what you said you'd never do
Ooh poor baby
You let someone get much too close to you
Poor baby
Poor baby,poor baby
Poor baby,poor baby
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I were dead
'IF I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child!'
The dear lips quiver'd as they spake,
And the tears brake
From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled.
Poor Child, poor Child!
I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song.
It is not true that Love will do no wrong.
Poor Child!
And did you think, when you so cried and smiled,
How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake,
And of those words your full avengers make?
Poor Child, poor Child!
And now, unless it be
That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee,
O God, have Thou no mercy upon me!
Poor Child!
poem by Coventry Patmore
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The Sunken Crown
Nothing will hold him longer—let him go;
Let him go down where others have gone down;
Little he cares whether we smile or frown,
Or if we know, or if we think we know.
The call is on him for his overthrow,
Say we; so let him rise, or let him drown.
Poor fool! He plunges for the sunken crown,
And we—we wait for what the plunge may show.
Well, we are safe enough. Why linger, then?
The watery chance was his, not ours. Poor fool!
Poor truant, poor Narcissus out of school;
Poor jest of Ascalon; poor king of men.—
The crown, if he be wearing it, may cool
His arrogance, and he may sleep again.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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