ocean
canoe
When the birds walked away from the sky
There was no time for wondering why
They folded their feathers and wrapped them up tight
They packed up their perches and turned out the light
There was nothing to say but goodbye
When the birds walked away from the sky
they couldn't use my voice
everything else, they used
I fed them, made their clothes
wrapped my hide around their homes
made their weapons of my bones
they worshipped me
after their fashion
and they left my voice
so still it sings
it sings and rings
and rides the winds
across the sacred earth
hear my song, my voice
everything else, they used
Cats are like the French.
They appreciate you trying to speak their language
but they still think you're an idiot.
All your cats who went before her
form a ghostly guard of honour.
Your old cat glides away with them
and your old heart just breaks again.
I am the cat who had cancer
You are the people I found
Our time was cut short by my illness
And now I am laid in the ground
I wanted to send you this message
I'm so sorry I had to depart
But I hope that you knew that I loved you
And I hope I may stay in your heart
Yes, I hope that you knew that I loved you
And I hope I may stay in your heart
The owl and the pussycat went to sea
And the pussycat ate the owl.
(with apologies to Edward Lear. And to the owl.)
It was Lady Chatterley's Lover
That they sold in a brown paper cover
But it didn't seem to matter
When they sold Lady Loverly's Chatter
The great cities of Europe, on their day off,
gather for gossip at the Field of All Sorrows.
Old tales are retold in the rain and the cold,
and Paris has a cat now.
Venice doesn't miss the Ocean. Too big for her boats by far.
Nineveh has leave of absence, invitation left ajar.
Rome remembers the rain and pines.
Brussels dissembles, Athens declines.
The rain remembers them all of course,
attending each with equal force.
London, first to lose her sights.
Berlin, still hugging imagined slights.
So who succumbs and who survives?
It's a terrible time. It's the time of their lives.
Way over there, beyond the Steppe,
the raingoats mumble their nonsense.
Robert Frost
Found himself lost
When his road less traveled
Completely unravelled
Richard the Third
Was a man of his word
But Shakespeare decided
Dick would be derided
Delmore Schwartz
Was no good at sports
He wrote some verse
But things kept getting worse
Samuel Pepys
Wrote heaps and heaps
But being contrary
He called it a dairy
Stonewall
Has some gall
Its theory wrecks
Biological sex
Rosa Parks
Deserved full marks
She stood her ground
By sitting down
Digby was a big bee
He married all the flowers
And on their anniversary
They went to Alton Towers
The flowers went on all the rides
While Digby ate some honey
They probably would be there still
If Digby had brought more money
t f i r dthere it goes