Merlin the cranky cat
sat around getting fat.
Wanting to be heard
he mewed and purred.
He yowled and howled
and even growled
all with the same result.
He felt it quite the insult.
He snarled and hissed
What had he missed?
He tried a mewl
and lost his cool.
Short of a caterwaul
what should he call?
A tiny squeak perhaps?
Were they taking naps?
Chirrups and chirps
brought no alerts.
His tail-raising trills
brought no thrills.
He wanted dinner now.
He raised a loud MEOW!
Using the magic word
he finally was heard!
Merlin became the Magic Cat
in his tuxedo and top hat.
The other cats took their cue.
“Meow” meant “Please and thank you!”
The moral is if dinner you choose,
learn to mind your Ps and Mews!
Flesh to bone, lets solly our love
And clad our apples in green leaves.
The river that brought us together
The milk of our breasts, yet flourishing
Shall not dry up in brimming season-
The snail wet the ground along its path,
Yet no sand follows it to its shell-
Our love shall be drunk with revelries
But our virginity shall bear no umbilical cord-
For the night preens before standing mirror
The synthesizing owls mewl their spree
And the chirping crickets tie together their wings-
So why should we not solly round bonfire
And tincture our love with ecstasy…
Into the woods she walks, the autumn sprinkled path
wearing a red hooded cape; moving warily
as she sings nervously following the footpath.
Her worries of running into something beastly.
Wearing a red hooded cape; moving warily
she hears the amber leaves crackling under her feet.
Her worries of running into something beastly.
Spinning flicker, flutter leaves echo tempest beat.
She hears the amber leaves crackling under her feet.
Flapping of wings as frighten birds quickly take flight.
Spinning flicker, flutter leaves echo tempest beat,
drowns her quietness casting shadowed forms in sight.
Flapping of wings as frighten birds quickly take flight.
She quickens her steps and made her way to the end.
Drowns her quietness casting shadowed forms in sight.
Left behind, quiescence of lulls spell, time mewl spend.
She quickens her steps and made her way to the end
as she sings nervously following the footpath.
Left behind, quiescence of lulls spell, time mewl spend.
Into the woods she walks, the autumn sprinkled path.
1/9/2019
Rhyme & Pantoum
A cat of no throne still be royalty,
For a queen it be and servant be I and thee.
Shall its eyes reflect the sky of sheer equanimity,
For t’was a scheme for God to us from He,
Yet not a speck royalty I see in its colours of blight,
All which I see be a beast o’ two ears no flight,
Spatial symmetry of each strand snow white,
Erect its tail a friendliness, oh, such delight!
I love to hear it mewl, yet well I’d known,
That ode should define oh, so much more,
That knows be the thistles it sheathe unknown,
Makes for reasons to tame it so much more.
I’ll care then spoil, this peculiar feline
Not enraging it's wrath, I'm not crossing that line.
A cat of no throne still be royalty,
For a queen it be and servant be I and thee.
Every morning I dance naked
Singing in the morning rain.
None are there to observe my antics
None to share a laugh or pain.
Well, the angels perhaps.
I'm sure they chuckle
When I reword tunes
From the radio's knuckle.
I'll sing opera, in my strongest untuned voice
With a cast of one, and an audience the same
Oh the cat? Yep, he's both one and none
More interested in the craziness than the game.
He'll accompany me, sometimes (singing, not showering)
And mewl in his finest voice
Mostly he just keeps me company
'Cause he can, by choice.
So before the sun is awake
And before the sky blazes orange and the stars wane
And before my waking dreams have faded
My song resounds in my warm morning rain.
Antoine is a Vampire Ghoul,
Quite barbaric, bloodthirsty and cruel,
With a fang in your throat
He’ll suck slowly and gloat
With a smile as you whimper and mewl.
Peasants of the Playbook
You’re peasants of the playbook
Yet you think you know the reason
For the failure of the team
That does the best it can this season
And, massing in the mews
You’ve raised the mewl to a mew
Questioning the mastery
Of a coach as good as two
By what method do you meter
The mettle of this man
He coaches and he councils
And he does the best he can
With material you’ve provided
He’s positioned at the mandrel
Where he hammers out their character
It’s more than you could handle
Your mantle flounces flutter
When subjected to such folly
Your seething is better served
If you’d support the coach, by golly
It’s then we’ll see the sextant
Guide the gridiron guild to glory
And add a happy chapter
To this teams’ historic story
This is crap! It's all a hoax,
another of life's stupid jokes.
Just when you think you've made it stop
the devil's other shoe will drop.
How many times can we be fooled
and think that Hell has finally cooled?
Like children, we all run outside
'cause someone said that pigs could fly.
We think we have it all controlled,
then Fate reminds us of its hold.
We're actors and the play is writ
and we can't change it, not one whit.
Although we mewl and whine like babes,
the play goes on upon the stage.
They lie and tell us will is free
but we are damned to eternity.
And when we realize and stop
the play goes on, it matters not!
Nothing stops the play, you see,
it just goes on eternally.
And who is all this acting for?
For any viewer, it'd be a bore.
We know that God left long ago,
tired of this painful show.
And daily , many actors quit
and nothing changes, not one bit.
We realize , with much chagrin,
that it was pointless to begin.
The point is made, and it draws blood,
the meaning of it, clear as mud.
So jump back on the carousel
and ride again, what the hell.