The Tearful Literary Blurt Thread

[shereads]

From the book, Unleashed: Poems by Writers’ Dogs

“Out”

From two voices I learned some words
and loved three.
Out – a place I ran ahead to.
Dirk – who I shared with one not Dirk.
Chevy – what I rode in to places where I forgot
words and remembered my blood.

But I am to go now. That is my will, but my will
they taught me,
mostly.
Dirk and the one not Dirk.

The one not Dirk says the word
we both love the most.
Then he says Chevy.
My blood reminds itself.
The needle pricks.

He says Out,
and I wag my tail and go there;
running - and knowing
without a look back
that they, though lagging,
not smelling what tugs at my nose,
not hearing what else calls me,
have no will but to follow.

~ Casey
1981 – 1994

Andrew Farrell

 

[Guest]

From the book, Unleashed: Poems by Writers’ Dogs

I'm always so amazed they can type with such accuracy.

 

[Guest]

 

[shereads]

I'm always so amazed they can type with such accuracy.

Their owners take dictation.

 

[carsonshepherd]

*weep*

I've taught my dog my boyfriend's name (although my dog might think I'm saying TOY because they both start with T), but his dog knows me as The Nice Guy.

 

[ABSTRUSE]

My dog once wrote a limerick that made a poodle's hair go straight.

 

[shereads]

My dog once wrote a limerick that made a poodle's hair go straight.

:

Do share!

 

[ABSTRUSE]

:

Do share!

Do you speak mix breed?

 

[Salvor-Hardon]

This is why I don't have pets, they are better writers than I am.

 

[shereads]

When I Died on My Birthday

My heart broke for you.
I nudged your face while you called my
name over and over and
cried until there was no sound.
You couldn't feel it.

Strange seeing your own
body lying on the grass. My
eyes were slits, my ears
black triangles. And my long legs
were tan and smooth as

polished oak. Not moving. You were
desperate, so I
gave you butterflies, the symbol
of the soul and of
rebirth.

~ Bell

Kate Clark Spencer

 

[shereads]

As strong as you were
Tender you go
I'm watching you breathing
For the last time
A song for your heart



~ James Blunt, "Carry You Home"

 

[shereads]

More from 'Unleashed: Poems by Writers' Dogs"

Hunting Accident

I heard you park by the road.
Your whistle relesed me, your
tongue reeled me in.
I pissed through the bars,
inhaling wild boar, baby bats, deer,
a dirt-lipped underworld of rabbits.

I could hear everything, even the geese
snapping crickets by the mill,
where you lay your jacket
in the grass, eating from a can,
your heavy hand of fish and leather
blanketing my eyes.

There's blood in my mouth.
I always find it, soft and still
warm between rotten trunks,
or in a cluster of weeds.
But why do you rock me in your arms,
crying like a bird?


Caneli

Alicia Muñoz