Best Abbott Poems
Abbott Cat
—————————————(Dedicated to our unique cat Gnash)***.
*…..*****….*****…..
Know that Abbott Cat
Had the stride
Of the pure…placing:
Each step forward
With the slightest lift
of the upper ankle
So to set down his
Paws — first the toes,
Then the heels
As ballet dancers do,
In a gait of grace and
Blessed dignity…
Like the passing by
Of an acolyte — we
May nod our heads
In respect and
recognition
of the passing
Cross.
Abbott held, so
It felt, some
Secret knowledge,
Some gems requiring
A very regal posture.
To carry the inner
Cache of
Secrets of heaven;
Some wisdom
His mews
Could not share?
Still, his noble
Carriage and his
mystery held psalms
Giving lyrics to his
Every motion, with
A prefacing instant
Of a weightless rise.
And, Abbott
Welcomed
An open lap
To curl round upon:
His black, furry back’s
Cape and vestment-
muffler tail,
To be stroked
By a gentle hand,
Without precepts…
Over and again,
Like the redeemer’s
Promises, a gracing
Causing Abbott Cat’s
Spirit a wistful smile,
Plus a coded, grateful
Mew…
———————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 9/2021
Thanks be to God
Does anyone remember Abbott and Costello
Goofy as they were, my memories are mellow
Their antics were silly
A bit willy nilly
Bud and Lou were hilarious fellows
Day of mourning
for the music world
the red bearded god is slain
upon the stage his blood was spilt
metal will never be the same
a guitar genius
the best there was
his brother Vinnie
sick with loss
no-one else can fill his shoes
he played it all
from rock to blues
Dimebag Darrell
rest in peace
a blacktooth i drink for you
the Hendrix of our generation
live forever like all legends do
WITH APOLOGIES TO ABBOTT AND COSTELLO
“Been to the youth centre again,”
She said, “Guess what band I’ve been to see.”
I said, “NO IDEA, my pet.”
“No,” she says, “We had NO IDEA last month.
After that it was BETTER TO BE DEAD.”
I said, “NOT SURPRISED.”
“No, guess again, daddy.”
“Oh, probably NEVER HEARD OF THEM.”
“No,” she says, “They’re on next week.
WHO was the the band I saw in December.”
I said, “GOD KNOWS.”
“No,” says she, “It was WHO.”
I said, "WHADDYAMEAN?”
She said, “No, that’s next month, silly.
Tomorrow it'll be TOO LATE TO WORRY."
I said, "OK just don't be late home."
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Note:
Whenever my teen daughter talks to me about this
or that rock band, she claims I always say disparaging
things such as “Never heard of them” or “No idea”.
She’s right, so this poem is a sort of apology for
my comments. Names of rock bands are CAPITALISED
Hop along through the fields like the rabbits—
Or I know seven women named Abbott.
Call it ridiculous,
Something ludicrous,
But I’ve forgotten what my analogy is for.
Either way, because of you, my back is sore,
So hop along through the fields like the rabbits—
Or I know seven women named Abbott.
Don’t let them on your case.
Don’t let them see your face.
Sing yourself a nursery rhyme,
Postpone their judgment for another time,
And be free like the rabbits,
Or suffer the wrath of seven Abbotts.
Mr. Abbott
Mr. Abbott bought a
steam powered Stanley
He felt it made him
look rather manly
He has a large
handlebar moustache
Constantly covered in
soot and ash
In his finery,
goggles and gloves
He would wave at his
imaginary loves
Over the hills
and over the dales
He would frequently stop
for supplies and sales
Horses would buck,
cows would “moo”
Whatever the terrain,
the Stanley got through
At the end of the day
back in the barn,
Mr. Abbott, in his chair
would weave a yarn
His stories were
colourful and bold
Renowned for being
exceptionally told
As the years drew past
the Stanley would sit
Stiffening up
becoming unfit
The trusty machine finally
rested in a meadow
Until today,
saved by Jay Leno