“So that is that” replied the cat,
We sit alone and mew.
She looks so bored, I sit ignored
we don’t know what to do.
It all began a while ago
On this accursed night.
I sat by her, and tried to purr
And croon, in pale moonlight.
She looked at me, so ruefully,
and said, “I want some fish
A salmon steamed, or caviar creamed.
Some quaint exotic dish.”
I was so hurt, I looked aghast
At her great deceit
For here I sit, romantically,
And she just wants to eat!
I was so torn, I was so rent,
And quite heartbroken too
I looked at her, and mournfully
Let out a poignant mew.
She looked at me, disgustedly,
And said, “You foolish twit,
I asked you for a bit of fish,
Why can’t you go get it?!”
I tried to kiss and make up,
I kissed her furry paw.
She looked at me so viciously,
And punched me in the jaw.
“I ask you for a little thing,
You inefficient cad.
And yet you won’t give it to me
My god, you drive me mad!”
It had a little glitch.
‘Cos though she was a cat, I swear
She could be such a bitch!
I walked away, in dull dismay,
Tonight was not my night.
‘Cos she was rude, and I was screwed
There were no fish in sight.
And so you see, my feline friends,
That Love’s not good for you.
The woe and pain, drives you insane
Just like the women do.
By Maurice and me.
This is the new one with changes by Maurice. It's wriiten almost completely by him anyway, so whatever he says goes.
18 comments:
hey,thats so nice! sweet!
Haha! I love this! Even the picture!
@ Saptarshi - Thanks.
@ Ate - Thanks, I love the picture too. It's so cute isn't it?
Yes, very. You're brilliant. The both of you.
Thank you...
This is a poem by A.A Milne. It's very charming and rythmic, so Ate, pay attention and sing it. Princess will, in all probability, enjoy it (but she must have read it before).
The Friend
There are lots and lots of people who are always asking things,
Like Dates and Pounds-and-ounces and the names of funny Kings,
And the answer's always Sixpence or a Hundred Inches Long.
And I know they'll think me silly if I get the answer wrong.
So Pooh and I go whispering, and Pooh looks very bright,
And says, "Well, I say sixpence, but I don't suppose I'm right."
And then it doesn't matter what the answer ought to be,
'Cos if he's right, I'm Right, and if he's wrong, it isn't Me.
I haven't read it before, but I do like it. By the way, Maurice, do you realise I get deleted comments as well?
It was probably written by him. The deleted comment, I mean. Maybe another poem. I like them, though. They're delightful.
O - and, Psycho? I did sing it. And then I realised that you had asked me to in the, well, introduction to it.
Um, well, I made a mistake in the copy-paste deal of the first comment. It was the same, you know.
And princess, I'm offended. And terribly hurt.
Anyway...i dropped in to say again that I absolutely adore this poem...kudos to Psycho(and Luthien)
i tried calling you Maurice. I'll try again. To figure out why you're hurt by the way..
okay i kinda liked the poem and it reminded me of something else i had recited a long time back in school..check it out.......
Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw -
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air -
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!
Mcavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square -
But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!
He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair -
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!
And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair -
But it's useless to investigate - Mcavity's not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
`It must have been Macavity!' - but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long-division sums.
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spaer:
At whatever time the deed took place - MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
Have you read any other of T.S. Eliot's poems, Guitar George? You ought to. They're very good.
brilliant,
(again, i might add)
really nice
i like it.
i liked it even before i read it.
i like it more than all of you put together can like it.
@ Feanaro - I wish you'd like some poem completely by me the way you you like this one, instead.
@ guitargeorge - I've heard Macavity being recited too many times guitargeorge. It doesn't hold that charm anymore.
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