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The Burglar Dog

I have a dog called Harry,
He’s a Maltese-Poodle cross,
I don’t know how I got him -
(He saw me coming! – Of course!)
The little rat sleeps on my couch
And scatters his bones about,
His hair’s all over the washing pile
And I’m constantly kicking him out.

Then he goes for the doggy wounded look,
And lies in the sun, outside,
Rolls in the grass and the prickles, waits
For my temper to subside.
I say – ‘Who spilt the rubbish, then,
All over the kitchen floor? ’
He sniffs – ‘It was the Burglar Dog.’
- Refuses to say any more.

The Burglar Dog, the Burglar Dog!
That’s all that I ever hear,

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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Pillage Hangman - Parody LONGFELLOW - The Village Blacksmith

Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The Smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can
And looks the whole world in the face
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Like The Burglar

Like the burglar who distracts
the guard dog with a piece of meat,
the poet, serving meager facts,
intends the words to be his treat.
The words are music that should wow
but their meanings’ mist and fog
if higher than the reader’s brow
may leave him barking like a dog.

TS Eliot in The Use of Poetry and the Use of Criticism, cited by Mark Ford reviewing Our Secret Discipline: Yeats and Lyric Form by Helen Vendler, compared the ostensible meaning of a poem to the bit of meat with which a burglar distract a guard dog.

3/22/08

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Sensitive Burglar

Selecting in the dining-room
The silver of his choice,
The burglar heard from chamber gloom
A female voice.
As cold and bitter as a toad,
She spat a nasty name,
So even as his swag he stowed
He blushed for shame.

'You dirty dog!' he heard her say,
'I sniff your whisky stench.
I bet you've gambled half your pay,
Or blown it on a wench.
Begone from here, you rakehell boor!
You shame the human race.
What wife would pillow-share with your
Disgusting face!'

A tear the tender burglar shed,
Then indignation rose,

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poem by Robert William Service
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Bad Santa

Stuck in a chimney
high above ground
A burglar called out
He couldn't go up nor down.

He'd stolen some money
and pilfered some clothes.
then, by way of egress,
up the chimney he rose.

But that move only works
with a suit of red Clothes
on one night a year
if you finger your nose.

He got stuck half way up
and he couldn't get down.
The fire Department
had to rescue this clown.

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poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Burglar Of Babylon

On the fair green hills of Rio
There grows a fearful stain:
The poor who come to Rio
And can't go home again.

On the hills a million people,
A million sparrows, nest,
Like a confused migration
That's had to light and rest,

Building its nests, or houses,
Out of nothing at all, or air.
You'd think a breath would end them,
They perch so lightly there.

But they cling and spread like lichen,
And people come and come.
There's one hill called the Chicken,
And one called Catacomb;

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poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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The Dog Guard: An Australian Story

There are lonesome places upon the earth
That have never re-echoed a sound of mirth,
Where the spirits abide that feast and quaff
On the shuddering soul of a murdered laugh,
And take grim delight in the fearful start,
As their unseen fingers clutch the heart,
And the blood flies out from the griping pain,
To carry the chill through every vein;
And the staring eyes and the whitened faces
Are a joy to these ghosts of the lonesome places.

But of all the spots on this earthly sphere
Where these dismal spirits are strong and near,
There is one more dreary than all the rest,—
'Tis the barren island of Rottenest.
On Australia's western coast, you may—
On a seaman's chart of Fremantle Bay—
Find a tiny speck, some ten miles from shore:
If the chart be good, there is something more,—
For a shoal runs in on the landward side,

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poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Thief Of Hearts

(a. rich, j. friedman, j. kraus, h. hattler)
Producer: trevor horn
Album: wildest dreams (96)
Let me tell you about a man I knew
Yeah, I knew him all too well
My attitude has always been you can have me for tonight
But not for tomorrow
Its gonna cost you plenty, more than you can afford
More than you can borrow
Well I can make them fall in love just as easy as i
Pick their pockets hey
And when Ive done the deed I jump on a freight train
And make my getaway
Im a thief of hearts, a burglar in the night
Before they knew what hit them I was out of sight
Been a thief of hearts, now Im paying for my crimes
Cause now youre gone and stolen mine
I met you on a starry night, full moon in your eyes
Did something strange to me
I was all prepared to spin my web, take you for a ride

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song performed by Tina Turner
Added by Lucian Velea
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Trial by Jury

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

THE LEARNED JUDGE
THE PLAINTIFF
THE DEFENDANT
COUNSEL FOR THE PLAINTIFF
USHER
FOREMAN OF THE JURY
ASSOCIATE
FIRST BRIDESMAID

SCENE - A Court of Justice, Barristers, Attorney, and Jurymen
discovered.

CHORUS

Hark, the hour of ten is sounding:
Hearts with anxious fears are bounding,
Hall of Justice, crowds surrounding,

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poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Most men judge only by their senses and let themselves be persuaded by what they see... On top of that, insufferable vanity has convinced humans that nature has been made only for them, as though the sun, a huge body four hundred and thirty-four times as large as the earth, had been lit only to ripen our crab apples and cabbages. … Do people really think that because the sun gives us light every day and year, it was made only to keep us from bumping into walls? No, no, this visible god gives light to man by accident, as a king's torch accidentally shines upon a working man or burglar passing in the street.

quote by Cyrano de Bergerac
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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