a new year’s poem, wishing you, like, the best in meat

New Meat 2010

on the eve of next year
my bowl glistens
with the promise
of all that’s new and good

like, you know, this prompt comes from MeatRightPoem, a, you know, writing site.

WHALE MEAT

why wish for your words
when all but dogs disguise
the fact that knowning what
we want waits in juice
inside clean bowls.

thankyou

people,

people, you know, like to ask me all the time: “Moe, like, should dogs on the raw meat diet, you know, eat anything, like, with their meat?”

short answer: “Like, sure.” however, my MoPoWriMo answer is as follows:


BANANA

the smell of yellow love
fills the air like fragrance
set to sweeten the taste
of blood in my bowl

thankyou

i set myself to say
not here

when you call me
or write

but then
how could i be

that far away
from my bowl?

Tonight I wait at the door
waiting for woman or boy to walk through
while my roommate licks her backside

Upstairs
the boy sleeps

Downstairs
woman reads

Outside
my bowl fills with rain

I WROTE THIS POEM FOR MAMA WHEN I WATCHED HER RIDE AWAY: 

more
often
excited
surely

meat
eaten
albeit
tomorrow

I can’t believe it was only yesterday
that I last ate supper

Thank you.

If there was only one choice I had
as a dog
as a companion
as a ruler

It would be to eat tripe out of a ceramic bowl
on the deck
while woman watched, naked, from the hammock

These words
so true and powerful
have been written for you, my dear loved sister
for it is on this day
that you first handed me your rawhide
half chewed and smelling sweetly of your breakfast
from the morning before.

Is there anything greater
          I ask
Than watching your pet linger with her bowl
              linger with her happiness

reality
always
wanted

meals
eaten
alongside
trees

HI!!! THIS IS MAJI AND I WANT TO SHARE A POEM I HAVE WRITTEN ABOUT MY HERITAGE.

I AM A RUSSELTARIAN BEAGLEBACK
I AM A RUSSELTARIAN BEAGLEBACK
I AM A RUSSELTARIAN BEAGLEBACK

I SAW THIS WITH PRIDE
I SAW THIS WITH PRIDE
I SAW THIS WITH PRIDE

to you
i write
for you
i am
with me
we eat

in the portland rain
one can only hope to find
themselves
not alone
not without a fire
not without a companion
not without meat

so, like, april is meat poetry month and as a Ridgeback entrepenaur who deals in both meat and poetry, i, like, offer you my first meat poem for the month of april.

april rain
blood is washed away and I
yes I
am once again pure

All my love to my old friend,
the oldest I’ve ever had, 
a part of me that split off
long ago and comes back
again and again.

the smell of blood at my door
it must be the 14th
for it is then
that i see
what it is

moe’s meats
a business i began
forever ago
so i may never be without

who knew

there comes a time in a ridge’s life
when he says
yes
i
am
happy

hungry i sit
waiting for my meat
to simmer in the bowl

hungry i sit
watching woman
watching woman
watching woman

hungry i sit
like a good boy
waiting for my meat

Memories fade
the way
bones bleach
in the sun

I stack them
one by one
in the corners
of what I used to wear

There,
my meat blanket
stained with the joy

of marrow
by the fire

the puppies were nestled
all eight in a bed
with visions of raw meat
up in their head

down through the chimney
white paws and a tale
was the ridgeback Satcha Claus
dragging a pail

all full of jiblets and giblets and cream
the puppies were hungry
they started to scream

on beef heart, on chicken
on emu, on tripe
raw meat to all
and to all a goodnight

The sound
of Woman’s fork
down on the plate.

I wait, patient
on my haunch.

What’s left to finish
in time
is mine.

The clouds, like rain today.
I drain myself clear
in the yard, let fog disappear
in a roll not unlike
a meat tube.
My meal gone too,
I’m called, again and again,
to what nearly tastes
like gravy coming down.

Meat Gravy Upsidedown

My roommate gone

Meat on my tongue

Rest is the meal I crave

My bowl in the yard, stained

Collects rain

Gravy for later

At home, alone

I close my eyes
and wait for the torture to end
short of breath,
I’m still alive.
How long did I hold it for?
A minute, a year.
Another raw meat meal.

You can stew
the fire along
at night
but I’m fine, really
I’m fine with
my blanket
around my head
smelling my meat breath

There’s room enough
in the bed for me

ladies

there is no need
to fight for me

ladies

there’s room enough
in bed for me

ladies

but please,
let me lift the sheets

ladies

the M is for moe-dacious
the E is for eating
the A is for appetite
the T is for treating