When my water bowl’s gone dry And squirrels mock me from their tree I thank that Bull Mastiff in the sky For the wonder that is me. When that thorn stuck in my paw I gave forth no whine or howl. When that bone jammed in my jaw I smiled through painful jowl. And though […]
Unconquered: Zigfried Earnest Zigmund Read More »
Don’t think (my Kibble) my love might fail, If I reject your offered treat – A scentless biscuit made from kale, Garlic, and unbleached wheat – True, my preferred viands tend more To cluck or moo or bleat, To come replete with fat and gore; In short, I favor meat. So when you seek to
To Purina, Going to the Store: Zigmund Cupicarne Read More »
No dog is a Champion, No dog is the Best; Every dog has its own unique excellence, Its place in the sun. If a stray beneath a bus be turned to mush, All life is reduced As sore as if some coiffured poodle were. As sore as if thy mother, or thy friend, Thyself or
For Whom the Dog Howls, by Sigmund Donne Read More »
Above the peaks, a meaningless cumulonimbus splayed its parting parts, enclosing the late sun, whose shafts erupted through the central tendrils, lighting them silver too intense for word. Two dark starlings skipped random as stones over water into the darkness advertised by this glory. A swarm of bull gnats clouded my head while the starlings
Carlos, around the corner up the street, Told me his neighbor had a statue made Of the most fearsome watchdog you could meet Who, vanquished by Carlos, died of shame After his pusillanimous retreat. The bleeding fang holes in his lips and face And flleeing butt the sculptor quite ignored. A fearful snarl he incised
King Rottweileras: by Zigmund Shelley Read More »
Shall I compare thee to a dish of chow? Thou are more toothsome far than kibble: An hour, and the macerated cow Begins to rot, and turn too foul to nibble. The microwave may heat too hot to eat, Or inattention by the chef may leave too cool; The most delicious dish’s flavor fleet And
Sonnet 18: Zigmund Steiner-McCollum Read More »