South Poop

I saw the best minds of a canine generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
Dragging themselves through the sidewalks at dawn, finding a worthy spot to unload
A filthy pile of intestinal concoction, steaming and rank, leaving an offering to the Gods of the street.

Barking, furiously, their noses to the ground, animals searching for a suitable place,
Where their innermost secrets can be expelled, a ritual of bodily liberation,
While hipsters in coffeeshops sip lattes, oblivious to the profound excretions outside.

Who howled and whimpered to submit to the primal call of nature,
Who sniffed and scratched, seeking solace in the aromas, traces of their brethren,
Who left their mark, a brown graffiti, on the urban canvas.

Who wagged their tails in innocent joy, ignorant of the chaos left behind,
Who breached the boundaries of decorum and cleanliness,
Who embraced their true selves, uncensored and unashamed.

I saw the best minds of a canine generation, unburdened by human judgment,
Creating their art in the unexpected places, a testament to their authentic lives,
Lifting their legs, marking their territory, leaving a message for all who pass by.

O dog poets of the pavement, your fecal verses play along the sidewalks,
A symphony of scents, a mosaic of messages, a reminder. Life’s beauty
Lies in its expressions of existence.

> dog poo verse in the style of allen ginsberg

Amidst grass it lay,
Unwanted gift on display,
Nature’s art dismayed.

> again, dog poo haiku please

Let us trot then, you and I,
Where pooches dare to squat and sigh,
A furry bard with tails to ply,
Among the grass where treasures lie.

Yellow streetlamps with a flicker,
Reveal the paths where canines bicker,
Among the gardens, they’re the pickers,
In moonlit nights, a scent-filled liquor.

The moon retreats, the stars are bright,
Above the lawns of the silent night,
There, ‘neath the trees, in plain sight,
Lie parcels left by nature’s might.

Oh, do they dare remain ignored,
These offerings left untoward?
Full of stories yet unexplored,
In each mound, a mystery stored.

And should I, with bag in hand,
Dispose of waste so nobly planned?
Or let it linger, mark the land,
A silent story, hard to withstand?

Oh, Fido, do you pause and ponder,
As you squat and pause yonder,
What legacies you leave behind,
In each pile left for humankind?

Do you measure out your days,
In steaming heaps and odorous sprays,
Wondering if these trails you blaze,
Will echo in the nights and days?

So let us wander, you and I,
In that realm where dog waste lies,
With every mound that meets the eye,
A chapter in the canine’s sigh.

And as we tread upon this earth,
A symphony of scents and mirth,
Remember well the stories told,
In each little mound, a tale unfolds.

“> the first few verses of the love song of j alfred prufrock, but make it about dog poo”

Upon the verdant grass it rests, a foul surprise,
A canine’s mark left behind, nature’s call obeyed,
A pungent scent wafts through the air, the scene defies,
This uninvited presence, a mess to be conveyed.

Its texture vile, its color a repulsive brown,
A testament to digestion’s work, not to admire,
Yet even in its unpleasant state, a lesson’s found,
In cycles of life and waste, we can’t deny or tire.

The sun above casts its warm and golden light,
Illuminating this unsightly, grotesque creation,
A reminder of the balance in nature’s daily fight,
Between beauty and decay, a constant oscillation.

As time passes, the odor fades, the mess erased,
But the memory lingers, a lesson to impart,
In this cycle of life, nothing’s to be replaced,
For even the unpleasant plays a role, a vital part.

So let this doggie deposit, though offensive to the nose,
Serve as a reminder of life’s intricate dance,
In the grand tapestry of existence, each piece compose,
A mosaic of experiences, a fate we all enhance.

> dog poo sestina please

Foul gift on the ground,
Nature’s call left to be found,
Brown beneath the sun.

> dog poo haiku please