Puss In Boots

Poetry

No more writing poems,

Staying up til dawn,

In and out of Denny's.

The dream in me is gone.

What always was a burden

Has now become a chore.

A novelty at 20,

Passe at 64.

I'm lonely and I'm tired,

Though I don't want to die.

The earth may really end,

And heaven's just the sky.

Everyone gives answers,

But no one wonders why.

5-14-14

 

Subjects

I can write a poem.

There isn't any doubt.

It's difficult to know

What to write about.

A little Noel Coward -

Humor in the lines -

Searching for a phrase

In old abandoned mines -

Crack a nasty whip

At misbegotten laws -

Write a pretty tune

On slumber just because -

My head may swarm with notions

Like a comb with bees -

But can I really write

Any one of these?

Quoting Oscar Wilde

In France at last unknown,

“Merci, Monsieur, for listening.

I am much alone.”

5-14-14

Amazon

I said his rhymes were true,

Which I considered praise.

He said I was a idiot

For using such a phrase.

For reasons such as this

No more will I go near

An Amazon reviewer.

The hawk's a chanticleer.

5-14-14

 

Charlie's Poem

Swimming round my skull

Like a school of sharks

Are a lot of voices

Making critical remarks.

Charlie long ago

As much a shark as they

Asked if they were right.
What was I to say?

Nonetheless I'm braver.

Am I getting well?

There's nothing in this country

As ridiculous as hell.

I am very old,

Ignorant and gay.

I make dumb remarks.

There's nothing else to say.

Charlie went to Patton

Crazy as a djinn.

He came out as crazy

As he was when he went in.

Charlie knew the answers.

I never thought I did.

Why can't I wake up?
It's funny. Oh, you kid!

5-14-14

A poem that is pretty

A poem that is pretty

Casts a clever spell.

A poem will retrieve you

From the deepest pit of hell.

A little nursery jingle

My purposes defeats,

Like the inhuman beauty

Of the icy lines of Keats.

A poem that is warm,

Ingenious and true,

Written for the saints

And given just to you.

5-14-14

Puss In Boots

The giant was an ogre.

He hid among the wheat

Seeking tender Englishmen,

A lovely thing to eat,

A ripe and juicy treat,

Succulent and sweet.

Pussy mocked the giant

From whom all others fled.

“You do metamorphosis.

At least I've heard it said.”
“I can grow enormous.

Larger than a house.”
“Piffle!” snorted Puss.

“Change into a mouse!”
“Are you mocking me?”
Incensed the ogre roared.

“Only just a little.

You make me very bored.”

“Bored?” the hapless ogre

Roused himself to say.

And of a sudden hidden

Beneath a stalk of hay

Where the giant stood,

Stood a mouse that ran away.

The mouse was very grey.

“Don't run so fast!” cried Pussy.

“You're such a tiny mite

That I could eat you up

With just a single bite.”

And that is what he did.

And for the clever few

I'll add, Before he swallowed him

Puss bit the mouse in two.

Lest the little mouse

All whole inside the cat

Turn back into a giant.

No. I can't have that.

5-13-14