Tag Archives: metaphor

Life – The Bad Dog

The Bad Dog

The Bad Dog

You can’t turn your back on it,
you know.

You’ve tended to it, cared for it,
nursed it from vacant bones and
put meat to its flesh, but it doesn’t
know any better, does it?

You won’t be able to make it
understand exactly what time and effort
and love you’ve put into it, or what
hope you have for it, what future
you want for it.

Sure, you can pander to it,
plead with it, prey about it,
but it is not so much deaf as alien,
aware, alive, yet unknowing-
uncaring for our ways.

Unlistening and yet hearing, it
is just another animal, another
guiltless stray that wanders on in step
with us from the moment we take it in
to the feasting scraps of
our final days.

And, worst of all, it will not linger
when our kindly offerings are gone.

No. It will just do as it must,
just do as it does, and simply carry on
searching for that fresh and vibrant scent,
seeking out its next meal where someone
gasps that gullible breath.


Alright, so this one isn’t funny or happy, but that sort of thing happens occasionally. I honestly got the idea from this poem from a friend who, upon mentioning life, said you can’t turn your back on it. I answered with a kind of wry chuckle that, ‘it’s like a bad dog, isn’t it?’ and, well, now you just looked at what came after that though. Once again, not happy but a bit snide and aloof but it’s just one of those honest to goodness how I feel about things poem.

Now, with that downer sort of nonsense out of the way, I hope the rest of your week picks up, your workday flies by and, if life happens to get out of line, you roll up the nearest news paper and smack that bitch square on the nose to let it know just who’s in charge here.

(Thanks to  Minita for the awesome picture! )

The Spoken Word

There was a voice;
it lingered in back lots
of my mind, mingling with
memories on their way to
either side, it ran into
things I’d left behind,
and leered at those I’d lost.

Then it rocked between
crowded seats of sparkling
right brain epiphanies
and got off at the last
stop before the car returns
home to its reviewing lot.

From there it hitched a
ride, tying its immaterial
baggage to the hissing tide
of vapor that exudes and
arrives from the land of
its birth.

And from there I watched
it go as strangers often
part from their common row,
giving it little thought
to immigrant entering that
foreign tangible land.

But occasionally now I do
wonder, over the volumes of
vagabonds that have stumbled
apart from my path, to where
they wander that they seem
so eagerly to go?
This poem came to me about 11pm last night, and I finally got to a sort of ending just as I posted this. I really liked the sound and the imagery of it, even though I’m not quite sure why I began writing this while half awake…sometimes I swear I am not at the wheel of the mechanisms of my mind. Honest.         

Anywho, happy Friday and here is to hoping that your weekend is long, and that your Monday seems far away!

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