Big or small
Runt or tall,
Most are homey
And all purr,
How cats tell
Life’s a ball,
Quick to split
When put off,
They do spit
But won’t talk…
Always fussy
Often bossy,
Get their way
Else are pouty…
Stuck up moggies
None seen smile,
Quietly devious
And oh so agile,
But will connive
To stay alive,
As them there cats!
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 2,400 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 4 years to get that many views.
Easily they move
Despite the heat,
Yet mindful cool
Of body bare,
In errant dual
Fixed in a snare
On silken sheets,
Perpetuate
More hungrily
Nearing the peak,
Of paroxysm state
In soaring flight,
Now can but taste
Rapture’s delight,
In ultimate body heat!
a celebration of life
Who will know
The road, to go
To stay alive,
Fellow humans
Who opt survive,
Knowing not
If who we follow,
Find but bestow
A life made hallow,
By men from hell
Who so contrive
Destructive deeds,
To feed the well
Of power’s greed,
Thru our chosen lead!
I now excogitate
Man’s said progress,
And question why
One finds to bow
To held success,
When in the main
What holds endow
Be intuited excess,
Levying sad lament,
That its achievement
Be in the end
But road to loneliness!
You eagerly listen
To words aimed true,
And without doubt
Of integrity,
You can but hear
A voice at odds,
With opinion other
Than its apotheosis,
Evoking ambiguity
Adversely indecorous,
For so expressed
Oozes unfair
Lulling unwittingly
Uneasy tolerance…
Devoid of empathy
Words imparted
Be cause to reason
Narrative wanting,
As thus implies
Delusive motive
Of such invention,
Seeks to disguise
The malfeasance
That be the cause,
Of uneasy tolerance!
Sons of said biddies
Known as hillbillies,
Live in small minds
Of mean spirited ways,
While held imbecilic
Have manners blind
And divest of civility,
Where one soon finds
They’re from the sticks,
Of wits whittled thinly
Somewhat borderline,
These alleged hicks
In a country said hilly!
I’ve howled hurrahs
For varied causes,
Tho at times admit
Of dubious sauces,
When in my youth
I took few pauses
Before I jumped,
To lofty reasons
Short on seasoned,
Most hardly worth
A laudable hurrah…
Though on occasion
Did youth follies
Incite horrahs,
Wisdom did suffer
Urge such jollies
Of youth’s ways,
The while inspired
By its short stays,
Alas our desires,
Saw a last hurrah
Find its merry way!
A story of would
Speaks of a soul,
Said to be whole
Soon tired of good,
So mused he could
Choose to beguile,
Until he’d succeed
To cough up the child,
Who’d fashion seed
Ought turn the tide,
To that satanish spell
Where he might ride
The good’s other side,
So ye cads listen well
To Beelzebub tell
This tale of a ride,
For be damnably wild,
Sure to finish in hell!
I look to see
Who I’ve become,
Discovering shades
Of journey’s sum,
That led the way
Neath my old skin,
Thus so to find
Who I had been,
The while seduced
By fitful thoughts
Of indulgent sin,
Causing me seek
But one true friend
Who’d think to tell,
If I chose bold
He’d help set free,
To find my way
Passed current hell!
Poetry on a Canapé 