Poetry Prompt: Dog Adventure

Those of us who spent childhood years reading stories about dog adventures, lived vicariously through their tales of excitement and suspense. The first page of the Little Golden Book classic, The Poky Little Puppy begins: “Five little puppies dug a hole under the fence and went for a walk in the wide, wide world.”

It’s a joy to experience the world through the eyes of a dog.

Poetry Prompt:
Write a poem about one dog’s adventure.

Lost Dog

He lifts his hopeful eyes at each new tread,
Dark wells of brown with half his heart in each:
He will not bark, because he is well-bred,
Only one voice can heal the sorry breach.

He scans the faces that he does not know,
One paw uplifted, ear cocked for a sound
Outside his sight. Only he must not go
Away from here; by honor he is bound.
Now he has heard a whistle
down the street;

He trembles in a sort of ecstasy,
Dances upon his eager, padding feet,
Straining himself to hear, to feel, to see,
And rushes at a call to meet the one
Who of his tiny universe is sun.

—by Frances Rodman, from Good Dog Poems


Special thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here’s one contribution— a poem from Richard titled, Taiko:

Like a little toy dog the color of rust,
with eyes brown and blue, you stand.

And recalling a poem, in memory dust,
I smile and extend you my hand.

That was a time when a turn in my life
turned a dream into time so untrue.

And wandering then, a sheath for a knife,
I came each day to a window with you.

Love can be selfish—advise from the years
that made ragged the edges of rhyme—

and selfish it was trading you for my tears,
taking you into that terrible time.

Things break apart that faithful won’t hold;
paradise is wrought with a worm—

The way of your heart was wild and so bold,
neither tether nor love held you firm.

And here in this photo all these years through,
so still in the same old chair,

I wished that someone else had picked you
from that window as you waited there.

Photo by Darren Clare. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.


Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!

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    • says

      I liked this. It captures dogs riding in the car very well. They do think they have control of the car sometimes. Been on those Texas hill country roads and they are not for amateurs. Our daughter lives in Austin.

  1. Marcy Terwilliger says

    Gracie May

    She wonders the streets,
    Digs out huge big holes
    Escapes like a thief.
    Solid black Lab
    With gray around her nose.
    Sweet thing comes a calling,
    She knows I’m the shady side.
    Cools her down,
    As she snuggles up to me,
    Licks my face while I get her
    Something cold to drink.
    Our visit is never too long,
    Gracie has other’s to greet.
    Lots of people on the sidewalk,
    Car’s she can chase down the street.
    If only she were mine,
    Gracie May and I would go for a walk.
    Each day we would talk,
    There would be no need for a dig.
    Sad but true,
    She belongs to you.
    Come back Gracie May,
    I sure miss you.

    • says

      This poem touched me. My second dog was named Gracie, a real sweetie. It is sad to see someone else’s dog longing for affection and want to love them the way they should be.

  2. says


    not your best years,
    link on link on link,
    moving, rattle-steel
    on wood bark,

    the wolf in you,
    the breath opened,
    breath yet rising
    after you, ascending beyond,
    even now,
    the imprisoned rain

    —but then—

    the streets, yours,
    the gathering of trees, yours,
    the frightening and familiar, yours—

    to be free by choice,
    and lost by freedom,
    so much like drops of rain
    you shook from their refuge
    behind the guard hairs
    and nestled in the down—

    what quenched you
    grew deep, grew round,
    and drowning lurked
    between the shadows of woods,
    the shivering and slender shelters,

    —lost is a blade of days
    honed into countless cuttings—

    to be found by fear,
    by shout and sheer abduction,
    a cage without keys inside you,
    formed friendless—

    —but now—

    you pound the floor
    with your great tail to greet me,
    the story of you trapped in language,
    the sojourn of you beyond imagination.

  3. says

    One day my husband took Rose-Dog for a walk.

    They walked up, and they walked down, and they walked all around.

    And they walked very, very far.

    Rose-Dog splashed in a creek, chased a butterfly, and rolled little brown marbles with her nose.

    My husband forgot to look at his watch.

    Finally Rose-Dog was so tuckered, she could go no further.

    So she simply collapsed in the clover, put her head on her paws, and said it was time to go home.

    And I had to drive ten miles to pick them both up.

    The end.

  4. says

    Airedale in the Sky

    The Airedale next door cannot accept the limits
    of grounded feet. He skys above our fence,
    trampolined to heights his dog-dreams
    shape as he bounces up and down,
    up and down, up and down.

    His furred consciousness refuses to accept
    the gravitational pull of his own yard
    while my Westies centered
    on shorter legs watch
    longing to find
    sky’s key.

    It’s his delight in the flight that captures
    their grounded imaginations, joy
    in rebounding from landing
    squarely, springing up,
    recoiling, flying

  5. says

    Canine Lovesong

    I confess. I love
    that black door.

    The cool on my nose,
    the smells to die for.

    I love it when she ponders
    what to select, stands

    before the light. I peer
    through her legs

    into the bottom bins,
    round juicy things

    I don’t even like
    look gorgeous

    through unavailability.
    Bacon! She’s taking

    bacon from the shelf.
    The ads are right. If

    I had thumbs, I’d
    get it myself.


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