Boe the Cat
Boe the Cat was not an easy cat to like
But then he did not like others either.
Blandishments carried no weight with Boe,
He bit or scratched at all who drew close
Believing the entire house to be his domain,
He considered a carelessly unprotected ankle
anywhere as fair game for attack
There was, in truth, little endearing about him.
“The Cat from Hell” my daughter pronounced
As he rebuffed yet another of her overtures.
He was in indoor cat, and quite mad.
Boe’s one redeeming virtue I could see
Was his unqualified devotion to my wife
And the joy his exclusive adoration gave her.
He had arrived with her, a dowry of sorts,
Or an inscrutable prenuptual agreement.
To be fair, the Cat was gentle with our son.
And usually chose to sleep in our room, Still,
I found him generally surly, suspicious and
Ill tempered. “No. He’s feisty but he's family”
Insisted my wife, scooping him up in her arms
Saved from a South Boston slum before I arrived,
Boe was as tied to her as remote from the world..
Whenever we took an overnight, we would return
To hairballs or puddles (or sometimes worse)
Expressing his feelings on being abandoned.
The first person up, I aways made the coffee.
The Cat from Hell came as I prepared to put
His catfood on his mat—just in time to bite me.
Truth. Predictable, and embarrassing too-
My limbs looked scored by needle tracks!
Once, fretting about something, I awoke early
And had the dish in place before Boe arrived.
Seeing it, he just stared balefully at me, waiting.
I retrieved the food, pretended to fill the plate,
Put it down. He promptly bit me, then ate content.
Boe did have a favorite pasttime in his life:
To crouch motionless by windows staring out
At the birds flittering on feeders and squirrels
Racing across the lawn, his jaws trembling,
Instinctually knowing how nicely they’d crunch.
One day my wife returned to find Boe dead
On the kitchen floor, cause of death unclear.
Called at work, I drove home quickly to find
My wife weeping, my boy confused by his
First encounter with death, and the cat silent.
We wrapped our cat in his blanket, togther
With some toys our son wished to give him.
Twenty minutes to a clearing in a wooded grove
Filled with the chatter of birds and squirrels.
I covered the hole I dug with a good-sized stone.
In a few weeks, my little scrapes and punctures
Healed and the scabs fell away. Somehow, though,
Mornings at our house were different now, and less,
In the absence of those sharp teeth and claws,
And that strange, twisted little mind.
Every so often I take a walk to what we call
Boe’s Woods to see how our cat is sleeping.
.
poem by Chuck Toll
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Hes A Go Getter
Hes a go getter, go getter
When his wife gets off from work, hell go get her
Now Ive got a neighbor that lives down the road a ways
His wife holds down a steady job, he dont turn his hand all day
I know that most of you will know the kind Im talkin about
The kind that rather than have to work, hed rather do without
But hes a go getter, a go getter
When his wife gets off from work, hell go get her
Theres a group of men in the court house yard any time that you go by
Playin checkers and tradin odds and makin jokes about their wives
They wait all week for pay day and they hold the moneys plenty
And the wife thats worked those long hard hours never gets a penny
But hes a go getter, a go getter
When his wife gets off from work, hell go get her
Yes hes a go getter, a go getter
When his wife gets off from work, hell go get her
Hes a go getter, a go getter
When his wife gets off from work, hell go get her
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Vigilantes
Oh Ive just come
From the land of the sun
From a war that must be won
In the name of truth
With our soldiers so brave
Your freedom we will save
With our rifles and grenades
And some help from god
I want to see my family
My wife and child waiting for me
Ive got to go home
Ive been so alone, you see
You just cant believe
The joy I did recieve
When I finally got my leave
And I was going home
Oh I flew through the sky
My convictions could not lie
For my country I would die
And I will see it soon
I want to see my family
My wife and child waiting for me
Ive got to go home
Ive been so alone, you see
When I walked through the door
My wife she lay upon the floor
And with tears her eyes were sore
I did not know why
Then I looked into her hand
And I saw the telegram
That said that I was a brave, brave man
But that I was dead
I want to see my family
My wife and child waiting for me
Ive got to go home
Ive been so alone, you see
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Foolish Behaviour
(rod stewart / savigar, cregan, grainger)
Can I introduce myself
Im a man of panache and wealth
Sound in mind, body, soul and health
Why I wanna kill my wife
I have the urge to take her life
Been planing for years to get rid of her
Not divorce I really do mean to kill her
Shes so full of useless information and trivia
Thats why I wanna kill my wife
I have a duty to take her life
Her stupid friends get right up my nose
They all wear annoyingly sensible clothes
Theyre all so bleeding grandiose,
You know why I should kill her friends
Theyre all driving mercedes benz.
Hell escape down into mexico
Sell the house and find a nice young girl
Hell laugh and sing and he wont work anymore.
Should I string her up or strangle her in bed
Suffocate that little venomous head
Or perhaps Ill just whip her to death
Listen do me a favor kill my wife
Do it for mankind take her life
Or should I act quite cold and deliberate
Or maybe blow out her brains with a bullet
Theyll think suicide they wont know who done it
Im gonna kill my wife Im really gonna take her life.
Hell escape down into mexico
Sell the house and find a nice young girl
Hell laugh and sing and he wont work anymore
The moment of truth has come
Im at the point of no return
Ive got my hands locked round her throat
Im about to kill my wife
Dont stop me now Im gonna take her life
Too late now Im gonna kill my wife
Cant help myself Im gonna take her life
Telephone rang and he woke from his sleep
His wife snoring soundly next to him
It was all a very nasty dream
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wife- better half of life
Wife is the better half of life
Give wife love affection as soul-mate
Wife is not glorified maid as said
Wife do not want money salary honorarium
Do not make hulla gulla and do not beat drum.
Mian bibi relationship should not be commercialized
Third party intervention in family relation vandalized.
Wife is not a domestic labourer
Wife is backbone of the family
The maile stone of the family
Wife is the torchlight of the family
Wife is the colorful star
Do no put any question to her.
Wife is there to give everything
Wife is not to take anything in return
Wife is the goddess.
Only mad man can say wife is a domestic servant
Make wife a wife life-partner better half
And enjoy life freely.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Togetherness Is Gone
My wife,
Stop cleaning the house
Please come here
To accompany me
My husband,
The house is dirty
We aren't able to pay the maid
You've already retired
My wife,
Don't cook
It's a holiday
Let us eat outside the home
My husband,
Don't eat outdoors
We need efficient
You've already retired
My wife,
Let's keep me company
Why the rush to sleep
It's still early
My husband,
I have to get up early
To clean the house
And prepare breakfast
My wife,
I have to go this morning
My friends were waiting
Long we don't meet
My husband,
Be careful on the road
Greetings for your friends
But, why not breakfast?
My wife,
You have fallen asleep last night
I see you sleeping soundly all
I don't have the heart to wake you
My husband,
I'm sorry
I don't welcome you home
But, why should sleep on the sofa?
My wife,
I have to go again
I have social activities
With my old friends
My husband,
Don't forget dinner at home
You look very dapper
Although not wear perfume
My wife,
sorry, we were very busy
I had dinner with friends
Happy dinner, dear
My husband,
I woke up too early
But you're not at home
Where are you?
My wife,
I came home at midnight
I have to go early in the morning
I don't have the heart to wake you
My husband,
I just finished washing clothes
I've found the clothes that you wear today
But, why the smell of perfume?
poem by Hasanudin Sofyan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dear Wife
Dear Wife I write you this poem
As I have been told it would do me well,
To let you know what you have done to me,
And ask why you put me through all this hell.
I brought you here all the way from your home
To be my wife and my love forever more,
I then gave you all, and I did without,
But then your went knocking at other mens door.
I then found out you were telling lies about me
And love letters and phone calls to other men you sent
But you I had trusted with my whole heart and soul
So your many affairs on me, I never had the hint.
Dear Wife this is your poem
I hope you read it over and over again
Your sister said your affair on me wasn't your first
As you did it also with your other husbands and men.
Did you tell anyone else what you did too me
About mentally and physically abusing me all the time
And how you always put yourself always first
And never what was yours was also was mine.
You left our house when your family had slept
So you could go out and be with with another man
As you didn't care who you used or had hurt
And you I don't think no one could ever understand.
Dear Wife here is more of your poem
I truly hope that you will read it all
Have you told anyone who you left me for
Or are you ashamed and want that to be my call.
He too is a liar and and user and also a thief
And in so many ways he is just like you
As he too has not a job but lives off others
So he now tells you what you can or cannot do.
He had cheated on his wife so she left him
And also I found out he is a Momma’s boy
He is a coward and he cant fight his own fight
And as you know all of that is a true story.
Dear Wife here is more of your poem
There is so much more that I need to write
Are you going to raise your daughters the way you live
And have them believing that you were always right.
Will they think its alright to jump from one man to another
And its better to always take than it is to give,
And to ignore GOD’S word and think only of themselves
Tell me is that how you want them to live.
Soon one day all of your family and friends will find out
Of all of your lying and the ways that you do act
And hopefully none of your family will turn out like you
And as you know those are not lies, but only fact.
Dear Wife this of course is your poem
And you know that none of it is a lie
I never expected what you had done to me
So deep inside my soul I surely did die.
I kept all the messages you sent in your letters
Even the one about your hickey given in our house
The one your bragged about that was given to you
And it wasn't given by me, your spouse.
I remember when you told your daughters and me
How every Sunday that you had to go to school,
Even on Valentines day and your Birthday you had to go
Then I found out it was lie, and once again I am the fool.
Dear Wife here is some more of your poem
I am beginning to feel a lot better now,
As I did nothing wrong and it was always you,
And truly I do feel so happy with my soul and I am proud.
You committed adultery and you robbed and you stole,
And I stayed truthful to my wife and love which was you,
When you were abandoned in Scotland for over a year
Remember it was I your husband who wanted you.
I still have the pictures and the mail you had sent
And everyone even your family knows of your past,
All your adultery and affairs and cheating you have done,
The evils you have done to others will always last.
Dear Wife again this is your poem
If not without you it would of never been born
Some talk about the fury inflicted by scorned women
But I tell you this, a man too does not like to be scorned.
You have gossiped and criticized everyone in your life
Told of secrets and promises that you swore to keep
You honor no one and loyalty is not your friend,
And for you soul, sad to say no one will ever weep.
You have talked about your sisters and your brother
You said of their problems that they have many
Then you talked about your ex-husbands and ex-lovers
And this and we say Wife; Problems you have many.
Dear Wife This is the end of my poem
I hope truly that you have read it well,
And I hope all that know you, have read it too,
As they will too know, the truth is all that I did tell.
You have no conscience or dignity about yourself,
Is that why you changed your looks once again,
You cant change your soul, like changing of your hair
Seems you cant stay away from adultery and sin.
When you sleep tell me how do you sleep
I bet you sleep well, that is if you have not a soul,
And are you waiting for another man to come in your life,
So you can again start another life not far down the road.
Dear wife, I wander will your daughters be like you
Later in years when women they will become
You already have taught them how to lie and steal
And how to use men for gain and also fun.
I remember when they told me about all your boyfriends
And all the men you had stay with you for the night
And sad to say I later became one of those men
I guess I became the man next in your expanding line.
I wander if your daughters are happy with you
And the life that you gave them to live
They don't know how to be true and virtuous woman
The greatest present a mother to her daughter she could give.
Dear Wife, that name I wont call you anymore
As my wife to me you can never be
As you did the sins no other wife would ever do
And everyone of that one fact would always agree.
So you can tell your lies to everyone that you meet
Do you believe any one but a sinner would believe your lies
As you don't and never did walk the steps of morality or virtue
Now when you feel the cold wind that is GODS sadden sigh.
So using me and abusing me will happen no more
As to my mind and soul on that one thought I do reflect
As i can do so much better but you will not ever
And now my Dear Wife, you will ever be known as my ex.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Thirteenth Street Bus
god died...
nothing else unusual about the day.
the Thirteenth Street bus was late again,
people passed each other walking heads down.
when the bus finally arrived,
no one was there.
old Mr. Peterson and his crippled wife,
were nowhere to be seen.
three hours earlier...
an angry young man sat alone,
hugging his knees and shaking,
in an empty room neath a bare light bulb.
unable to focus or think,
peeling back the layers of hell...
consumed by the rage of need.
old Mr. Peterson made the coffee,
and boiled water for oatmeal.
two creams and a sugar,
and he took a cup,
to his wife still lying in bed.
he felt the faint smile of the wrinkled face,
birds just outside the window were singing..
45 years, or maybe yesterday,
he didnt know or care anymore.
the enraged young man
caught Mr. Peterson in the kitchen,
and cracked his skull with a lead pipe.
he rifled his pockets for what he could get,
and started slamming through drawers.
Mrs. Peterson hobbled in on her walker,
he stabbed her with a kitchen knife...
and left her dying on the floor,
as he pillaged the house....
the birds were silent as he ran.
when the police burst through the door,
it was already too late.
his body hung in an empty closet,
while the radio blared in stark despair.
crumpled clothes in the corner,
a mattress unmade in the center of the room.
a food stamp card and a dirty needle,
an unopened letter from the unemployment office.
a lone picture on a stack of boxes,
taken three years earlier...
the young man in his military uniform,
the day he came home from Iraq.
three funerals on the same day,
no one attended either.
a borrowed preacher in a coffee stained suit,
a few words and a worn out prayer.
it began to rain, and it was over,
three lives that never were.
three short paragraphs in the newspaper,
the county picked up the tab.
god died...
or maybe we died,
passing behind blacked out windows.
standing behind indifferent curtains,
lips moving but never speaking.
the Thirteenth Street bus was on time that day,
but it didnt even bother to stop!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am Not Sorry No She Said
I am not sorry no she said
That my ex son in law is dead
He gave to my daughter a hard life
And she to him was a good wife.
It may seem a callous thing of me to say
That I'm not sorry he's out of the way
For without him my daughter will survive
And in fact I'd like to think she'll thrive.
And though I feel her years with him were wasted years
My daughter sheds her grief in tears
To him she was a good wife and a good friend
And she stayed with him right to the end.
Whatever in him did she see
I find it way far beyond me
For to understand the workings of humanity
For they were different as can be.
She said as for myself I've been lucky in life
Lucky to be a good man's wife
But our daughter good of heart and kind
In love and marriage happiness failed to find.
Her feelings she is not afraid to own
When she said the rudest man that I've ever known
And I am not sorry no she said
That my ex son in law is dead.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stories Of Hope Series #2 The Light
He traveled all night anxious to get home
He heard the familiar ring and picked up his phone
With tears in his eyes he covered his face
For it was his wife-Samantha-Samantha grace.
Her doctor had told her that she was dying
And seeing this specialist was worth trying.
So she packed up her bags and was waiting for him
But the doctor had said her prognosis was mighty grim.
When he arrived she was ready, the trip they
Would make would be fast and steady.
She climbed into the cab and they were on their way
She folded her hands and began to pray.
Dear LORD “ this can not be? “
What’s going to happen to my family?
Choked up with emotion he could not control
He asked GOD to save this beautiful soul.
A better wife and mother could not be found
She should not have to be laid in the ground.
As they drove down that dark lonely road
Thru the trees a bright light was shown.
He knew it could not be sunrise
He was shocked and surprised.
He applied his brakes and slowed down to see
But this light was a total mystery.
They stopped the truck and got out of the cab.
He looked at his wife and she had a smile on her face
“ this was his wife- this was his grace”.
There was an aura around her that he
Had never seen before, and would not see ever more.
They both dropped down to their knees
as the light got closer, and in that light they could see
An angel floating ever so gracefully.
The angel floated down and touched the top of her head
And then whispered in her ear:
Do not fret for things will get better yet.
And as quickly as he came he disappeared.
And the light whisked back up into the sky.
I looked at her and she looked fine.
We arrived at the office of the specialist
With the x rays they had given grace.
The doctor looked at them and pointed to a spot
And said the cancer had spread, but he would run
His own tests just to see, if there was something
That could give him some hope.
He took more x rays and did a cat scan
I sat there and held her hand.
We sat there and it seemed like an eternity
When he entered with a smile and said
“You’re cancer free”. I can not explain
For the tests they had taken were the best in the land
This is something I can’t understand.
We left his office with a new outlook on life
With HOPE in our hearts, the LORD
Saved my wife.
HOPE IS THE KEY TO SET OURSELVES FREE
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For A Niece Who Just Had An Abortion
she left Ormoc
for it is such a small place for
her mind
she arrived in Cebu
that early morning
with a small pack of
clothes
she just had an abortion
and she felt so
isolated
she did not go direct
to her boarding house
she sat on one of the
benches in Fuente Circle
she cried, she is blank
as a grey sky sans the sun
she called my wife
through her phone, sobbing
'It is still very painful'
my wife listened
just listened
she knew how is it
to bleed
without stopping.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Spaewife
OH, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid to fry.
An’ siller, that ’s sae braw to keep, is brawer still to gi’e.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Hoo a’things come to be whaur we find them when we try,
The lasses in their claes an’ the fishes in the sea.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Why lads are a’ to sell an’lasses a’ to buy;
An’ naebody for dacency but barely twa or three.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Gin death’s as shure to men as killin’ is to kye,
Why God has filled the yearth sae fu’ o’ tasty things to pree.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
The reason o’ the cause an’ the wherefore o’ the why,
Wi’ mony anither riddle brings the tear into my e’e.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home invasion in Springs
Masked like the black criminals
that robs you of your car
and just there and there promises you death,
they arrived
with a mini bus taxi on the farm,
drove right through the farm gate
and at the front door
jumped out of the kombi
with five steps intruded into the house
to bring death to the farmer,
to rape the wife
and daughter.
The farmer heard the crash
at the gate,
he realized that it was big trouble
heard them in their own language command
to kill, while shot upon shot
was ringing from the front porch
and he though about the obliteration
of his whole family.
His wife was too far away
in the lounge busy with sewing
and he heard his daughter rushing screaming
to her mother
turned about hurried to the gun safe
and got hold of a pump action shotgun
with LG cartridges
and rushed down the hallway.
In the lounge four black criminals
aimed pistols at his daughter and wife
told them to strip themselves bare
and when they did not want to
one said to the others in his language
to kill them
while the farmer was sneaking
closer at the back of the lounge suite.
Just one glance from the farmer
made his wife and daughter fall to the ground
two shots came from the shotgun
lifting two of the gangsters right from their feet
and the other two started shooting
into the ceiling
and the wall of the lounge
and when the farmer fired again
they fled in fear to the outside
turning around to fire at the farmer
and another one dropped in his tracks,
the other ran wounded into the cornfield.
At the start the police, wanted to arrest
the farmer for the murder of the robbers,
but there was more than enough evidence
that it was self-defence,
even the farm workers
were witnesses
about the shooting, threat
of the robbers
and by his actions
the farmer saved himself, his wife and daughter
and the labourers praised him
as a kind and a just man
but at the church
some members regarded the farmer
as a mass killer
who had determined the fate of others with a shotgun.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Willow tree by the lake
Willow tree by the lake standing tall since the day one
Home for birds and squirrels, place of fun
Breeze will come and play with her branches
Whistle at them before they move on
Any time, at mid day, at night or at the crack of dawn
Humming bird feeder and bird house hanging all over the tree
They swing back and forth and hang free
All summer it is a fun house as the birds come and go
Rabbits will hop around on the ground below.
Ducks will sit idle or sleep under her shade
Squirrels will carry food up the trunk, not afraid
During winter when nature sleeps no life around
Willow tree will shelter the birds, the squirrels
and even the worms under it's ground.
Many yrs ago I planted the tree, saw it grow day by day
Sat under it, wrote poems, it made me happy and gay
I know one day my time will be up and I will be gone
But my willow tree will still be here, singing with the wind at each dawn.
poem by Syed Karim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I stopped at home one day
Early in the morning
I gave the children food
and a goodbye kiss
to my still sleeping wife.
At times I dropped them
at school
and turned with the road
to the highway
to get to work
and when I stopped at home one day
there were no children
that came running out,
no wife knocking
at the outside door
and all the dogs were suddenly silent
and life took
its own course
and every thing
had passed just too quickly.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Weight You Carried from the Start, My Friend...
At Genesis we sang, learned to hold hands
And then abandoned one, the other too
Disappearing through the world, men strange and new
Unable to express the loss, to sing or cough
Or even to admit the weight
We carried down the road, inside a common soul
That space, that place of emptiness
To which some part within us fell, since we let go
The grip we held when juvenile and brave
We would not give it voice, to comfort
And assist, that it was both of us who bore
The weight and felt the loss the same
We could not ask, what kind of love, my friend,
Among loves manifold, are we?
What love is worthy of our name, what place
In you is that cold corner where I lay?
Will you once lift a hand to find
And touch the place in me?
When we were teens, I kissed your future wife
And now thirty years on, it's late, as you
Might say, to make a fuss of life
And I've been scared, I've never dared
To push on your home gate
To ask if you remember where
We put these heavy things, and if
They can be disinterred
To celebrate our love again.
To England I returned, and watched the birds
Above you, as you hauled the weight of all
The expectation and uniqueness of your soul
Your back and talents hurt like hell.
My weight is less, don't be afraid, I'll bring
My new creations lightly to your side.
(For D.P.)
poem by Frank Bana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For My Boys - Dedicated to Brendan & Christopher
My life changed the day,
You came into this world.
The life that I knew,
Became unfurled.
In held you so close.
I looked in your eyes.
The joy that I felt.
And the tears filled my eyes.
My finger you took.
You grasped with your hand.
For your life I would fight.
For your dreams I would stand.
I then took you home.
My sweet little boy.
You were God's special gift.
My bundle of joy.
Time it passed on.
You started to talk.
Then within a few weeks.
Your first steps you did walk.
The first day of school.
It was then I did know.
One day I would have to,
Let my special gift go.
You scored your first goal.
Mom and I were so proud.
We cheered for you son.
We praised you so loud.
Time it marched on,
You had your first date.
You were growing so fast.
Time does not wait.
Then you drove the car.
You drove it away.
I remembered the little ones.
In which you used to play.
Now off to college.
My boys now a man.
I can't help to remember.
The day it began.
Then you fell in love.
You walked down the aisle.
The future you'd have.
Made mom and me smile.
Your first child was born
Now you and your wife.
Had your special gift.
And your reason for life.
I remember the Christmas.
That we had that year.
New memories to cherish.
The old ones still dear.
But I just want to tell you.
The days that I miss.
Toys in the rec room.
That sweet good night kiss.
Prayers before bedtime.
Watching my angels sleep.
These are the moments.
In my heart I do keep.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Sex And The Medical Profession
Sex and the Medical Profession
I’m sitting in my car waiting for my wife who is at mass
I find it impossible to believe in any religion, but I say
nothing it is important for my wife to believe in a merciful
god. Paris, and agony, my wife prayed but did call
an ambulance. Battling doctors, how young they are, I felt
like a low paid, reluctant actor in a hospital drama, one
who has to play the nurse when he really wanted to be
the famous heart transplant surgeon.
The doc asked if I smoked. No! She looked sullen since
I didn’t, it is so easy to blame the fag. I said I had smoked
15 years ago, she looked relieved and told me to keep up
the good, work: she removed the catheter a lovely pee
Is better than sex, if temporarily, now I feel like making
love, my wife tells I’m deluded, I say nothing but bid my
time, keep a blanket in my car in case I should meet
someone who is equally barmy.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Any Other Day
You want something corny?
You got it
Theres a house on my street
And it looks real neat
Im the chap who lives in it
Theres a tree on the sidewalk
Theres a car by the door
Ill go for a drive in it
And when the wombat comes
He will find me gone
Hell look for a place to sit
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
Cut off my fingers in the
Door of my car
How could I do it?
My wife is proud to tell me
Of her love affairs
How could she do this to me?
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
Throw down the morning papers
And spill my tea
I dont know whats wrong with me
The cups and plates are in a
Conspiracy
Im covered in misery
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnets of the boy who drew cats
I
A long time ago
when soldiers still carried spears and swords
a Japanese farmer and his wife,
had a string of children
and everyone got a task.
They milked cows, cared after pigs,
gathered chicken eggs
and ploughed the soil,
planted rice, wheat and oats,
but the youngest was too weak and small
to do any work
and time and again he neglected his duties
and disappeared
and drew cats.
II
The farmer scratched his head
and did not know what to do
with a child that disappears
and couldn’t complete a task and drew
big and small, white, black, ginger and pied cats
of each size and type.
So the farmer and his wife reckoned
to take the child to the nearest temple
to become a priest
and the farmer tied his sword around his side,
loaded the child on a horse
saddled his own horse
and maybe the men of God
would learn the child about duties.
III
The child studied well
but nobody could stop him
from drawing cats everywhere
and it happened
that the priest thought
that he couldn’t
become a priest and rather
be an artist.
The child was sent
to a temple farther away
and the priest instructed him
to avoid big places at night
and to find a sleeping place
in a small place.
IV
The temple was abandoned
because a evil goblin
coming from the dark earth,
expelled the priests
and the soldiers
that went to face him
had all disappeared.
At night a light burned
in the temple
and when the boy arrived
he went in and everywhere
that he found a white screen he painted a cat
and he remembered the words of the old priest
and went to sleep in a small cabinet.
V
That night he heard a big noise
of a great fight
and cats roaring like lions
growling angrily
while something tried to
smash and pierce them
and he heard them
ripping something to pieces.
The next morning
a goblin
with the head of a rat,
with a pronged whip and sword in his hands
was dead in the middle of the temple
where he lost the fight.
VI
l’Envoi
There was still wet blood
on the mouths of the cats
painted
on the screens
and they looked innocent
and vulnerable.
When the priests returned
they immediately saw
what happened
and they declared
boy a hero
and later he was renown
as a painter
that only paints cats.
[Reference: With thanks to “Japanese Fairy Tales, The boy who drew cats” by Lafcadio Hearn that gave me the idea of this poem.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Interactive Poetry
when i wake up this morning
sleep is still sleeping
and i slip out of the blanket
not to disturb sleep which
is still soundly snoring
last night we did not pretend
that we were two dead people
sleep was tightly curled upon itself
its arms were not around me
and i could not remember anymore
exactly
whatever happened
to me
or us
if there ever be
this morning
sleep is dead
and i survive
to meet another face of death
in the kitchen
and also in the rest room
and also outside the house
into the road and in the office
where i am working
there are so many faces of death
in my own world
and i am not the loyal subject of sleep
which is death's younger sister
neither am i a friend of death
nor its foe
for out of this everyday encounter
death becomes nothing
but another furniture in the hall
another rock in the garden
part of the numerous leaves in the air
one of those many ' its'
that does not
really disturb me anymore
tonight i will sleep with sleep again
(it is dead and unburied)
i do not name sleep for you
since i too does not know about its true details
or identity
its name its age
when it was born
though i know exactly when it really died
as i have already told you
and what totally is it exactly
the whole truth about its snores and sleep walks and talks
its secrets inside those thick blankets
for in truth in this journey
we sleep with sleep
most of the time
(do i hear ninety percent approving?)
we do not know much of it anyway
or frankly
much less
perhaps
at any rate
(and this may have bored you
to an ending that
bears no significance to your present work)
how can we be interested with such an ordinary matter
that occurs
every minute of the hour?
and what is it that is really worth
writing and
understanding in this world
that does not listen?
(do i hear 95% of you screaming?)
poem by Sebastian Soberania
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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