Share Dog Poems That Celebrate the Life of Your Best Friend

Welcome to our reader collection of dog poems.  Here you can celebrate the life, loss and friendship of mans best friend. Share a favorite dog verse or create your own.  You can submit your dog poetry here.


"'I never barked when out of season;

 I never bit without a reason;

 I ne'er insulted weaker brother,

 Nor wronged by fraud or force another;'

 Though brutes are placed a rank below,

 Happy for man could he say so."

 TO THE MEMORY OF JACK,  AN AIREDALE

 PREFACE

Matthew Arnold, explaining why those were his most popular dog poems which dealt with his canine pets, Geist, Kaiser, and Max, said that while comparatively few loved poetry, nearly everyone loved dogs.

The literature of the Anglo-Saxon is rich in tributes to the dog, as becomes a race which beyond any other has understood and developed its four-footed companions. Canine heroes whose intelligence and faithfulness our prose writers have celebrated start to the memory in scores--Bill Sykes's white shadow, which refused to be separated from its master even by death; Rab, savagely devoted; the immortal Bob, "son of battle"--true souls all, with hardly a villain among them for artistic contrast.  Even Red Wull, the killer, we admire for his courage and lealty.

Within these covers is a selection from a large body of dog verse. It is a selection made on the principle of human appeal. Dialect, and the poems of the earlier writers whose diction strikes oddly on our modern ears, have for the most part been omitted. The place of such classics as may be missed is filled by that vagrant verse which is often most truly the flower of inspiration.


More Dog Poems.....

 PUPPYHOOD

  _"What other nature yours than of a child

  Whose dumbness finds a voice mighty to call,

  In wordless pity, to the souls of all,

  Whose lives I turn to profit, and whose mute

  And constant friendship links the man and brute?"_

 

  THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE

  WE MEET AT MORN

  Still half in dream, upon the stair I hear

  A patter coming nearer and more near,

  And then upon my chamber door

  A gentle tapping,

  For dogs, though proud, are poor,

  And if a tail will do to give command

  Why use a hand?

  And after that a cry, half sneeze, half yapping,

  And next a scuffle on the passage floor,

  And then I know the creature lies to watch

  Until the noiseless maid will lift the latch.

  And like a spring

  That gains its power by being tightly stayed,

  The impatient thing

  Into the room

  Its whole glad heart doth fling,

  And ere the gloom

  Melts into light, and window blinds are rolled,

  I hear a bounce upon the bed,

  I feel a creeping toward me--a soft head,

  And on my face

  A tender nose, and cold--

  This is the way, you know, that dogs embrace--

  And on my hand, like sun-warmed rose-leaves flung,

  The least faint flicker of the warmest tongue

  --And so my dog and I have met and sworn

  Fresh love and fealty for another morn.

    HARDWICKE DRUMMOND RAWNSLEY.


THE LOST PUPPY

  Say! little pup,

      What's up?

  Your tail is down

    And out of sight

  Between your legs;

    Why, that ain't right.

      Little pup,

        Brace up!

 

  Say! little pup,

      Look up!

  Don't hang your head

    And look so sad,

  You're all mussed up,

    But you ain't mad.

      Little pup,

        Cheer up!

 

  Say! little pup,

      Stir up!

  Is that a string

    Around your tail?

  And was it fast

    To a tin pail?

      Little pup,

        Git up.

 

  Say! little pup,

      Talk up.

  Were those bad boys

    All after you,

  With sticks and stones,

    And tin cans, too?

      Little pup,

        Speak up!

 

  Say! little pup,

      Stand up!

  Let's look at you;

    You'd be all right

  If you was scrubbed

    And shined up bright.

      Little pup,

        Jump up!

 

  Say! little pup,

      Bark up!

  Let's hear your voice.

    Say, you're a brick!

  Now try to beg

    And do a trick.

      Little pup,

        Sit up!

 

  Say! little pup,

      Chime up!

  Why, you can sing--

    Now come with me;

  Let's wash and eat

    And then we'll see,

      Little pup,

        What's up!

    HENRY FIRTH WOOD

One of Our Most Popular Dog Poems:

A LAUGH IN CHURCH

  She sat on the sliding cushion,

  The dear, wee woman of four;

  Her feet, in their shiny slippers,

  Hung dangling over the floor.

  She meant to be good; she had promised,

  And so with her big, brown eyes,

  She stared at the meetinghouse windows

  And counted the crawling flies.

 

  She looked far up at the preacher,

  But she thought of the honeybees

  Droning away at the blossoms

  That whitened the cherry trees.

  She thought of a broken basket,

  Where curled in a dusky heap,

  Four sleek, round puppies, with fringy ears.

  Lay snuggled and fast asleep.

 

  Such soft, warm bodies to cuddle,

  Such queer little hearts to beat,

  Such swift round tongues to kiss,

  Such sprawling, cushiony feet;

  She could feel in her clasping fingers

  The touch of the satiny skin,

  And a cold, wet nose exploring

  The dimples under her chin.


  Then a sudden ripple of laughter

  Ran over the parted lips

  So quick that she could not catch it

  With her rosy finger-tips.

  The people whispered "Bless the child,"

  As each one waked from a nap,

  But the dear, wee woman hid her face

  For shame in her mother's lap.

    ANONYMOUS

More dog poems (submit yours at bottom of page)

TREASURES

  They got a bran' new baby

    At Bud Hicks' house, you see.

  You'd think Bud Hicks had somethin'

    The way he talks to me!

  He comes around a-braggin',

    An' when he wouldn't quit

  I said: "What good's a baby?

    You can't hunt fleas on it."

 

  Then Bud turned to me an' told me

    How loud that kid could yell,

  An' lots I can't remember,

    He had so much to tell.

  But I got tired o' hearin'

    An' so I ast him, quick,

  "If you wuz in a-swimmin'

    Could it go get a stick?"

 

  There is no use a-talkin',

    Bud thinks their baby's fine!

  Huh! I'd a whole lot rather

    Jest have a pup like mine.

  I'll bet it's not bald-headed!

    But if Bud doesn't fail

  To let me hear it yellin',

    I'll let him pull Spot's tail.

    ANONYMOUS

Dog Poems often mourn the loss of a dog:


  A RETRIEVER'S EPITAPH

  Beneath this turf, that formerly he pressed  

With agile feet, a dog is laid to rest;  

Him, as he sleeps, no well-known sound shall stir,  

The rabbit's patter, or the pheasant's whir;  

The keeper's "Over"--far, but well defined,  

That speeds the startled partridge down the wind;  

The whistled warning as the winged ones rise  

Large and more large upon our straining eyes,  

Till with a sweep, while every nerve is tense,  

The chattering covey hurtles o'er the fence;  

The double crack of every lifted gun,  

The dinting thud of birds whose course is done--  

These sounds, delightful to his listening ear,  

He heeds no longer, for he cannot hear.  

None stauncher, till the drive was done, defied  

Temptation, rooted to his master's side;  

None swifter, when his master gave the word,  

Leapt on his course to track the running bird,  

And bore it back--ah, many a time and oft--  

His nose as faultless as his mouth was soft.  

How consciously, how proudly unconcerned,  

Straight to his master's side he then returned,  

Wagged a glad tail, and deemed himself repaid  

As in that master's hand the bird he laid,  

If, while a word of praise was duly said,  

The hand should stroke his smooth and honest head.  

Through spring and summer, in the sportless days,  

Cheerful he lived a life of simpler ways;   Chose, since official dogs at times unbend,  

The household cat for confidante and friend;   With children friendly, but untaught to fawn,  

Romped through the walks and rollicked on the lawn,   Rejoiced, if one the frequent ball should throw,  

To fetch it, scampering gaily to and fro,  

Content through every change of sportive mood  

If one dear voice, one only, called him good.     Such was my dog, who now, without my aid,  

Hunts through the shadowland, himself a shade,  

Or crouched intent before some ghostly gate,  

Waits for my step, as here he used to wait.      

ROBERT C. LEHMANN.

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Poems Submitted by Our Readers

Click below to see poetry contributions from other visitors to this page...

Black Labrador - Jake 
Ears of fluffy velvet Malteaser brown eyes, Otter tail for wagging Head noble and wise, Faithful, inquisitive, friend of all friends, Dependable, …

Holly Not rated yet
My love you is just the best ,so stop running off and give me a rest.I call and call but theres no luck.your not instrested cos ur chasing a duck.lol I …

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