Out in the park, lashed by rain
a girl, heart torn, cried under a hat
there in the ground, buried her Jane
an old brown manx, as flat as a mat
Pound for pound, not pretty but plump
Marcus, the neighbor, two pies, not enough
fast to the market, tripped over a stump
Jane at his feet took her last puff
When the Isle of Man Master Baitor
Got a gig on an Irish freighter
To Scotland they sailed
Until they were hailed
When seamen splashed an aviator
The little Manx cat
has a short and stubby tail
This is how they're born.
They come from the Isle of Man.
It's out in the Irish Sea.
Mock Poem
A man I knew who lived in Vilamoura which is a vulgar
Replica of a real Portuguese Village, decide to walk
The whole length of the land, he came upon an old
a village so aged that houses collapsed by too many years.
A few people belonging to a sect didn’t move.
No, they were not Jehovah witnesses who prefer ringing
On people’s doorbell at Tv time.
They were inbred people convinced the world was
Coming to an end and it was their duty to be the first to go.
And find a roomy place in heaven.
Intrigued by the steadfastness of their faith he bought
A cabin and had a toilet and shower installed.
It was a mistake the dwellers thought bathing was a sin
set fire to his cabin, nothing for it to resume his walks.
I once had a Manx who constantly primped; her white underbelly never sported one piece of grass or dirt. She kept so clean and fluffy that we’d no idea he’d had her backside chewed up for three days, by an Opossum!
In altercation
My cat became Opossum
Chow wearing teeth marks.
They are going to put up the prices
But say we will hardly notice the cost
They plan to increase the standing charges
But spread them out so we can’t see what we’ve lost
The standing charge it will increase
But the cost of the gas will go down
When the meter reader arrives
I guess he may start to frown
For people won’t be able to use any gas
They will struggle to pay the standing charge
Some will put on another blanket and jumper
And wish that they lived on a barge
It’s the old folks I feel sorry for
Their pension provisions hardly rise
It’s fuel or food – which should they choose
It really is cause for alarm
Manx Gas has the monopoly
There is no other provider we can choose
Folks may consider switching to oil heating
Then Manx Gas are going to lose
Suppliers need to look after their customers
Without them they may go bust
So use your voice – we have a choice
Vote with your feet find someone you trust
13th October 2015
"Morris" The Manx
A "tailess" menace is what he can be..
Getting into everything; so full of energy!
A cheshire grin, a pair of big mischievous eyes..
Jumping out of nowhere, he likes to surprise!
He prances around, chasing everything freestyle.
Frolicking about, I have to smile.
Running like a rabbit, he climbs up a tree!
Clawing his way back down with such gallantry!
This "tailess" menace, noble, smart and robust!
I just love my waggish Manx in all his glorious zaniness!
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.