Anyone like poetry?

I thought it would be fun to have a place where we can share some poetry we’ve come up with over the years. I’ll start.


Pay attention to the shyer stray,
the shyer stray is the most mangy go of all.
Starved, subject, shyer stray.
Never forget the worn and mangey shyer stray.

Pay attention to the clever canine,
the clever canine is the most faithful tooth of all.
Does the clever canine make you shiver?
does it?

The gallus gallus that’s really yellow,
Above all others is the red rooster.
Why is it so yellow?

I saw the the zany tike of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the mischievous monkey.
Now goofy is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the mischievous monkey is ■■■■■■■■■.

Don’t belive that the poor puppy is aged?
the poor puppy is young beyond belief.
Does the poor puppy make you shiver?
does it?

I cannot help but stop and look at the reliable, big bloodhound.
Now faithful is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the big bloodhound is sure.

I’m looking for places to get published.


That’s probably not my favorite poem. Good luck, though.


I love poetry. I’m not very good at writing it, but I do have my favorite poets. Interesting poem, by the way. I like how it conveys the complexities of both young and old…both the happy and the sad parts. Good luck!

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Thanks. I’ll try again later. I’m still working on a style.

Thank you so much. Your feedback means so much to me.


I wrote this for my pug/beagle companion, Cheddar.

For My Loyal Dog

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Officers are loyal,
And so are you.

Orchids are white,
Ghost ones are rare,
The suit is fawn,
And so is your hair.

Magnolia grows,
With buds like eggs,
A story is short,
And so are your legs.

Sunflowers reach,
Up to the skies,
A city is big,
And so are your eyes.

Daisies are pretty,
Daffies have style,
The attitude is friendly,
And so is your smile.

A dog is beautiful,
Just like you.


I like it. My dog’s name is Daisy. I feel like you were channeling us. Thank you.



My love for dogs is so great,
my heart melts for it 'til the dusk of day.
The night hunts when it’s away,
loves, sleeps 'til day’s dawn.

Its beauty is great,
Wondering mind 'til it sees,
resting is all I do,
While waiting for the moment, for it to say “I do.”



Laying there half gone, half not
look off into the unknown
laughter from behind

Vision of the virgin white
vexing questions of truth or lie
visited by the all knowing

Movement from the darkest corner
mixing though with reality
music, sweet music through the night

Sometimes when you think
sinking, slowly sinking down
soon before you realize

Slowely, ever so slowly
thoughts have turned to dreams . . …

Snow96 written 1989. published 1992 Artwork for poem by a (famous to me) artist. (not under snow96, but my real name)


What the heck one more


Tossing and turning,
rolling and churning,
alarm clock ringing in your ears.

Fall to the floor,
stubbed toe on a door,
burnt toast from a toaster.

Out of gas,
starting to rain,
late for work again.

Paperwork lost,
boss starts yelling,
why, it must be Monday!

Snow96 written 1991, unpublished. artwork accompanying by the same (famous to me) artist.


Oh, happy morning,
A shaggy, howling dog climbs
A tree for chew toys.


Ode to the Dog

My feisty dog, you inspire me to write.
I love the way you bark, cuddle and run,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the friendly dun.

Let me compare you to a sweet buffoon?
You are more loyal, protective and soft.
Forte sun heats the earnest peaches of June,
And summertime has the unfriendly croft.

How do I love you? Let me count the ways.
I love your loyal tail, teeth and eyes.
Thinking of your sternest teeth fills my days.
My love for you is the royal devise.

Now I must away with an aloft heart,
Remember my meet words whilst we’re apart.


Hi Dog

My dog is the best dog,
So I look at him and say hi.

He lies there like a log,
And wags his tail like a sigh.

My dog is the best cat,
That anyone could ever own.

He never does what I ask,
And I’m sorry that didn’t rhyme.

But when I come home, tired, with liver,
He jumps right up, lips aquiver,

And barks and howls and claws and yips,
Until the meat has reached his lips.

My dog likes to chase the young,
When I let him out to roam.

In those times I enjoy the quiet,
In my waterproof triangular home.

Sometimes my dog is gone for weeks,
And I have no clue where he goes.

Once he returned home with a beak,
Of a large bird and I said, “Oh noes.”

But other than that, he’s a good fella,
Who barks when I play George Strait,

And growls when I play NWA with Yella,
It might behis most reliable trait.

My dog is the best dog,
So I look at him and say hi.

I will love him forever and ever,
At least until the day he kills somebody.


Ode to Dead Roses

By Lulubee

In the fading light
of fall days
Roses flop over
like so many dog’s ears.
I await
January’s thaw
when the roses will again stand tall
like dog’s ears on a hunt.


Splish, splash, I was takin’ a bath
Long about a Saturday night, yeah
A rub dub, just relaxin’ in the tub
Thinkin’ everythin’ was alright

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These are lyrics to a song that I like…but it’s poetic.

What if I’m wrong, what if I’ve lied
What if I’ve dragged you here to my own dark night
And what if I know, what if I see
There is a crack run right down the front of me

What if they’re right, what if we’re wrong
What if I’ve lured you here with a siren song
But if I be wrong, if I be right Let me be here with you tonight

Ten thousand cars, ten thousand trains
There are ten thousand roads to run away

But I am not lost, I am not found
I am not Dylan’s wife, not Cohen’s hound
But if I be wrong, if I be right
Let me be here with you tonight

And what if I can’t, what if I can
What if I’m just an ordinary man

If there is a will, there is a way
I will escape for sure, I am David Blane

But if I be wrong, if I be right
Let me be here with you If I be wrong, if I be right
Let me stay here in your arms tonight
And I have been wrong, I have been right I have been both these things all in the same night
So if I be wrong, if I be right Let me here with you tonight

One of my favorite works from Tennyson:


It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy’d
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour’d of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro’ soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
’Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

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Very nice. Thanks Flame.

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My favorite dog poem.

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It’s amazing that you found that gem.

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