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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dog barks to keep itself, not the village.