Dog poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best dog poems ever written. Read all poems about dog.
My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.
We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.
The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.
One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
Down behind the dustbin
I met a dog called Ted.
‘Leave me alone,’ he says,
‘I’m just going to bed.’
The tires on my bike are flat.
The sky is grouchy gray.
At least it sure feels like that
Since Hanna moved away.
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Mother doesn't want a dog.
Mother says they smell,
And never sit when you say sit,
Or even when you yell.
Our gloves are stiff with the frozen blood,
Our furs with the drifted snow,
As we come in with the seal--the seal!
In from the edge of the floe.
The murkiness of the local garage is not so dense
that you cannot make out the calendar of pinup
drawings on the wall above a bench of tools.
Your ears are ringing with the sound of
Lady Clara Vere de Vere
Was eight years old, she said:
Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.
The unknown bird sits on his usual branch.
The little dog next door barks in his sleep
inquiringly, just once.
Body my house
my horse my hound
what will I do
when you are fallen
The truth I do not stretch or shove
When I state that the dog is full of love.
I've also found, by actual test,
The hunchback in the park
A solitary mister
Propped between trees and water
From the opening of the garden lock
For years we've had a little dog,
Last year we acquired a big dog;
He wasn't big when we got him,
He was littler than the dog we had.
I’M travellin’ down the Castlereagh, and I’m a station hand,
I’m handy with the ropin’ pole, I’m handy with the brand,
And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day,
But there’s no demand for a station-hand along the Castlereagh. +
The badger grunting on his woodland track
With shaggy hide and sharp nose scrowed with black
Roots in the bushes and the woods, and makes
A great high burrow in the ferns and brakes.
Despised man, black dog
Operating by night, barking mad
Going to and fro, lying doggo
Sick as a dog, barking up the wrong tree
Tired of working like a dog
Or living a dog's life; dog it
Pull yourself out of the doghouse
For sale: chihuahua. Great guard dog.
"All dogs are good."
Well, that's false.
Bad dogs can bite innocent people.
Baby I've got to
Let my dog out
Of his dog house
My dog ready to
To me god is just dog spelled backwards, in my eyes I'm not religious but I consider my self as an agnostic. If god (spelled backwards) is really all that great then why can't we be who we are (without the consequences) . If god (spelled backwards) really exists and really loves us then shouldn't we support he support us in any thing we decide to do. If god (spelled backwards) is so great then can he create a mountain that he cannot pick up? This is why (to me) god is just dog spelled backwards. Some people think of a dog as smelly and un deserving of love. I think god (spelled backwards) is like that. But don't judge me for this, remember this is America and I can believe in what I choose. Most people consider a dog as man's best friend. Lets hope that dog (spelled backwards) doesn't catch rabies.
A young dog met an old dog at a barbecue one day
The young dog licked the old dog's face and together they did play.
The young dog every now and then wanted to play a little fetch…
The sense of fear is human made
Unless otherwise, firm panic is self-made
To the same item, some are a fright
And others are bold and stand delighted
An old woman was just cooking her dog's dinner when she decided to
review the general decline of things in her west window.
Yes, there the old sun bleeds and dies of childbirth.
In the east the anemic child rises, stillborn . . .
When she turns back to the pot where she cooks her dog's dinner she
discovers that it is her dog that she is cooking for her dog's dinner.
How strange that when cooking a dog's dinner one cooks the very dog
for whom the dinner was being cooked . . .
She takes the steaming pot off the stove and puts it on the floor, think-
ing that the dog will not be having its dinner tonight, thinking that the
dog cannot eat itself . . .
She draws a chair to the pot, and sits there soaking her feet, seeing her
dog floating at her ankles in the mist that rises from his dinner.
She thinks, if I cooked the dog, how is it I didn't cook myself? . . .
Perhaps next time . . .?
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