The Dog Poems – as recently rejected by major literary journals

Note of Warning

This blog entry may contain offensive matter. Have a paper bag handy, or go check out Lawrence Welk for a few minutes.


the quintessential dog pomes

by me


Culture shock – that’s what strikes you about these poems. As a card-carrying cat I know damn well that these are written by a dog, but the poor suck thinks he’s human (see “Dogs”). It doesn’t take even an under-intellectualized human to spot that. But still, you can bet they’ll be turned off by what a proto-modern feline perspective would be bound to label as “animal vitality.” I am thinking of course, of the title piece “Vomit.”  You can see that this is a focal centre of his thinking (he keeps referring you to it). A cross-cultural transcendental animalist viewpoint shows that it only shocks humans “” but to write it you have to be animal. Hell, who cares a shit about vomit? We all do it (even humans do it) – but only animals like it. That is what sets us apart. Well, one of the things – pee and shit’s another.

So, the pseudo-human perspective adopted by our writer (who’s too dumb to know any better) provides an essentially flawed vision – even in the ‘cat eat dog’ ‘anything goes’ world we lease to humans. Properly deconstructed, these poems are shit – come with me into the corner while I lift my leg in salute.

Enjoy, and don’t blame me.

Theodoor Badcat

PS Oh yes, I forgot – gender issues. Well, its a non-issue with me – and so it is with most domesticates. We didn’t get the option – ZAP – you wake up, and thats it. So we all just sleep, eat and play as fancy takes. Beats me why those humans don’t try it, they aren’t short of people. T.


The only thing better than

Three-week old vomit

… crawling with maggots

Is four week old vomit …

Yer can’t beat it.

EAT it, and


(PS I have written a pome

its called Vomit  . . did I tell it to you?)

Witches (for Halloween)

I never bother a witch

But I never pass

Up the chance

To sniff the ass

Of a bitch.


Walks are never long enough

I always need some more

And when the Master’s working

they’re just a bloody bore

Throwing sticks and writing

What the hell’s it for?

We could be finding sniffs and shit

Its not against the law

Lets go and look for vomit *

I’ll be panting at the door …

* Did I tell you? I’ve written a pome called Vomit? ….


Once upon a time there was a groundhog

I snapped his neck in two.


… for the groundhog.

Fast food

We call cat food, fast food

You have to get it quick

Or the wicked witch

Will wop your ass.

(Oh yes, it makes you sick*)

* I have written a pome on sick,

I called it Vomit,

… shall I read it to you?


I love Fergie

I met her on the path

It really gets me going

When I know she’s had a bath

Black and wet and curly

Eyes ashine and pearly

If I was the man I was . . .

. . . I’d lead her off the path.


Yer have to poo on a path

Or people just ignore you

Now they say “Oh Séamus,

What will people think?”

I think they think

“Séamus is shitting on the path .. ”


Me, I’m a human

I’ve got looks, and legs, and love

And a great big bursting brain.

It really is inhuman

To say I’m dog,

When I’ve spent time –

Making humans tame.


Granola’s dead and buried

I’ve often pee’d on t’stone.

But I haven’t dug her up

And chewed upon ‘er bone

I’d rather be respectful

I’m a ‘full of goodness’ chap.

I just push away the bushes

‘Nd ‘av a quiet crap.

The end

When it comes I hope its quick

In death as in life, they say

Then heaven for the chosen few …

… the ultimate in being sick

An ecstasy of vomit in my way

And endless paths to poo

Uninterrupted walks

An infinity of stew

soft cushions, cupboard love, and, yes,

.. I do believe the Master’s come up too !!!


You see what I mean? –  did you enjoy Lawrence Welk? far too wholesome for good taste.


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