Thursday, July 29, 2010

It's amazing what sort of things can move you to poetry

The cat puked on the modem
The cat puked on the floor
Underneath the kitchen table
Underneath the bedroom door
She puked twice in the hallway
And then she puked some more
And now she's curled up on the couch
While I'm mopping up the gore.

Not doggerel exactly. More like it's opposite - caterwauling. Speaking of doggerel, though, I was on the telly with my poodle poem, along with some of the other Dan poets. Look! Here! The bit to avoid is probably at the three minute mark. I'm not saying any more than that because I'm a man of mystery...


BwcaBrownie said...

drat I don't have a wave plugin.
poodle pleasure postponed.
I did own a poodle for years and not only do they come in 3 sizes and 5 colours, they are totally human.
*goes off reciting doggerel*...
"in Hans' old mill his 3 black cats
watch the bins for thieving rates.
Whisker and claw they crouch in the night -
their 5 eyes burning green and bright

TimT said...

Ooh, is that poem De La Mare?

Now I sound like a wine snob, drat it.

BwcaBrownie said...

I couldnt think of his name while typing it - I had Thurber wafting about. I love that rhyme. primary school 50 years ago.
'Squeaks from the floursacks
squeaks from where
The cold wind stirs on the long dark stair.
Jekkyll, and Jessup, and One-Eyed Jill' is the punchline.

I knew it as FIVE EYES -
The interwebz has disempowered 'knowledge'. anyone can look anything up and it is no longer necessary to have a cultural frame of reference so i went away and now i'm back wit:
In Hans' old mill his three black cats
watch his bins for the thieving rats.
Whisker and claw, they crouch in the night,
their five eyes smouldering green and bright.
Squeaks from the flour sacks, squeaks from where.
The cold wind stirs on the empty stair,
squeaking and scampering, everywhere.

Then down they pounce, now in, now out,
at whisking tail, and sniffing snout.
While lean old Hans he snores away,
till peep of light at break of day.
Then up he climbs to his creaking mill,
out come his cats all grey with meal.
Jekkel, and Jessup, and one-eyed Jill.

Walter (John) De La Mare (1873-1956

isn't it fabulous?

TimT said...

Just about anything old Walter (Wally to his friends?) did was fabulous.

Ann ODyne said...

Ms Bwca begs me to inform on her behalf that she has no education, and has improved slightly by now searching for more, and that he didn't like Walter and was Jack to friends like Lady Ottiline Morrell whose photo of him adorns the wiki.

On through his 'quotes' all sad and lovely, and then to another Walter, the only other schooldays poem Bwca can recite "The King sits in Dunfermline town, drinking the blude red wine ..." and she remembers well, the 4th Form moment when Miss Scott (possibly descended from the poet) was up to the "maidens with their gaud kaims in their hair" and snapped at the inattentive Philip Blencowe
"what are gaud kaims Philip!?" and he replied
"I dunno ... rollers or something".
it was An Education I guess.

I once knew all the lyric of Dylan's 'Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands', about as long as Sir Patrick Spens, and very similar. Miss Scott would have been impressed - timing, unfortunately, is everything.

Alexis, Baron von Harlot said...


It's fun to vomit on the floor,
To retch and puke catfood.
We all know that fur-balls
Are best when they are spewed.

Alexis, Baron von Harlot said...

Not to make light of this very serious subject.

Ann ODyne said...

oh Your Grace, not at all, I thought your catterel was a beautiful thing.

Alexis, Baron von Harlot said...

You're a nice sort, O'Dyne.

Ian said...

To a cat, in all manners of speech,
Spitting, hissing, and the occasional screech:
Dear cat, I know you are able,
So please!
Get off the table.

I cannot let you outside,
And if you do,
I think I must chide
So please! dear cat,
I must implore:
Move away from the door!

Email: timhtrain - at -

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