Three Poems

Once in while I decide that some of my thoughts are so delicately abstruse, so vaguely confounding, so esoteric, that the only possible way to express them is through poetry. It is at these times that I sit down and pen my most insightful and eloquent missives to the world. Here now, for your edification, is my three most recentest poems.

 

Death Be Not Such A Schmuck

 

Death be not such a schmuck.

Though many fear thee they are not right,

For thy ineptitude ist quite commonly a sight.

Two winters ago didst thou try to smite

My cousin Fred with a bolt from the heavens bright.

Yet didst he live! So, Death, where is thy might?

 

Thou didst unto Aunt Mary deliver a heart attack most scary!

Yet the old bird her wings continues to flap in a manner most merry,

And to squawk incessantly about her insipid canary!

O’ Death,  how sick am I of thy incompetence incendiary!

 

Father didst thou into an overheated spa cause to tumble and fall,

Delivering squeals of glee and delight unto all.

Yet from boiling cauldron wast he plucked by uncle Saul!

O’ Death, why hast thou such gall?

 

Grandma seemed destined to discard her mortal load.

Yet, while the stove thou didst explode,

Causing her to bounce off the walls like a flaming toad,

She didst not croak. O’ Death, how thy ineptness dost my ire goad!

 

So, Death, be not such a schmuck.

When delivering the final knell,

‘Tis thy appointed duty and thou must do it well.

If thou dost not, we shall all have to abide another thanksgiving hell.

Whereupon thou shalt find, o’ Death, that if smited with yon hefty dumbbell,

Thou shalt spend an eternity in intensive care, tending to many a laceration and swell!

 

 

 Toadstools

 

Late one misty night,

Very lightly, very creepily,

We take hold,

As on a week-old donut

Does mold.

 

And slowly we grow,

In dark places

Of which man does not know.

 

We feed on water, on loam,

And occasionally on a forgotten tome.

We push with all our might,

Nudging our wee noses into the light.

 

We wait stealthily.

So many of us, so many of us!

Smiling and lurking,

Till, eager and unwise, you creep into the wild,

Clutch us up and take us home, to sauté, and to greedily gulp.

Then you twist and turn, like dancing pretzels,

Till you fall in a heap, as if your heads had

Been struck by kettles.

 

We shall by the end of spring

Inherit the earth.

For our foot’s in the door,

And all your bodies, like discarded pizza,

Are moldering on the floor.

 

Big, Annoying Black Bird At The Stroke of Midnight

 

Once upon a midnight dreary, as my brain grew weak and bleary,

Sleepily decided I that to sleep I must go.

‘Neath much lethargy I arose and shuffled to the window,

Wishing to close it lest

The winter cold drift in and chill my breast.

 

Finding it mysteriously stuck, I craned out, at this enigma fearing.

Long I stood there, my head nodding, my eyes into the darkness peering.

In time, I muttered one solitary word, floated it into the night’s inky core…

“Lenore?”

For that younger sibling was fond of a prank, or two, or even more.

Fast, she once glued my bedroom door!

 

Suddenly, startling me with many a flirt and a flutter,

In swooshed a raven! A big, sleek and black nutter!

Haughtily, he didst perch on the bust of Punch just above my chamber door.

He perched, and preened his feathers, and nothing more.

Desirous of my nightly respite, and wishing to soundly snore,

Of this intruder fluttering into my sanctum I didst implore,

“O’ feathered creature, thou art not Lenore!

Hasten now, out into the night’s Plutonian shore!”

Quoth the raven,

“Sir, thou art a bore!”  

 

Startled, or something near, was I at such eloquence to hear

From a creature wandered in from the Stygian moor!

Though the phrase in its intent was demonstrably poor,

Pilfered from some owner who on his hosts much scorn did pour.

Nonetheless, its rudeness was surely uncalled for,

So I didst utter once more,

“O’ big, annoying black bird at the stroke of midnight,

Get thee out into the Plutonian shore,

For ‘tis late at night and I wish to be awake no more!”

Imperious bird that he was, he tilted his head and gravely declared,

“Sir, thou art a bore!”

 

Imprudent was I, to attempt colloquy with my obsidian guest,

For with such as him there can be no intellectual rapport.

But even a knave may have more than one tactic in store,

So to him the remnants of my dinner I bore.

“O’ big, annoying black bird at the stroke of midnight,

Remove thyself from yon clown and of my repast thou canst have a bite!”

At me he lowered his head, his eyes burning with a disdain I could not account for.

“What troubles you, sir? Dost thou chicken abhor?”

“Oh! I do beg your pardon sir, my inattention I deplore!”

“Perhaps for you a cup of nepenthe I could pour?”

Quoth the raven,

“Sir, thou art a bore!”

 

Hesitating then no longer, I eschewed hospitality for something stronger.

I groped for a nearby censer, which was lying on the floor,

And hurled it at my grim and ghastly caller, thus declaring war.

But the ebony bird evaded the censer, and it cracked the wall, defiling my décor!  

A shoe, an umbrella and several volumes of forgotten lore,

All this I hurled at the ungainly fowl who out of my chamber refused to soar.

But all these he eluded, then fluttered back down onto the bust above my door,

And I could swear he smirked, as he uttered the words

“Sir, thou art a bore!”

 

Concluding that the musket in my closet I could no longer ignore,

I drew it forth and aimed it in his direction, then, with something of a roar,

Didst make it evident, not that I hadn’t heretofore,

That his presence I would countenance no more.

“Get thee out into the night’s Plutonian shore, thou demon-spore,

For hosting thee hast become a most unpleasant chore.

And if thou dost not, thou shalt find thyself plucked and roasted,

Like a pheasant in days of yore.”

 

Mightily didst the creature’s eyes dilate, as through him the words tore.

And as, at long last, he flew off the bust of Punch just above my chamber door,

He could be heard to utter, as he swooped out into the night’s stygian shore,

”Sheesh, all you had to do was ask! There’s no need for gore!”

And that big, annoying black bird, that at the stroke of midnight I could not ignore,

That ghastly grim and ancient visitor from the night’s Plutonian shore,

Shall, with any luck, annoy me – nevermore.

 

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Ask Ambrose – “My Human is Driving Me Nuts!”

Cat Has Privacy Problem

Dear Ambrose,

 

I am a cat whose bed is in his humans’ bathroom. What this means is that my humans feel free to come in at any time of the day or night and take a dump in the middle of my bedroom! I have tried meowing loudly and hissing whenever they do it, but to no avail. As you can see from the photograph, I also try to stop them by standing guard over the toilet, but this does no good as they simply lift me out of the way and place me in the sink so I have to watch them do their filthy business! I have even tried to destroy the toilet paper roll but they always have another one hidden somewhere in the house, I don’t know where. And don’t even get me started on that time I made the mistake of trying to stop them by lying down inside the bowl! I am at my wit’s end. I don’t want to get violent, but fear I will have to.

 

Grossed Out Puss
Seattle, Washington

cat guarding toilet
Dear Grossed Out Puss,

I can certainly understand your consternation over this matter. It is a situation which is both disgusting and unhygienic, but it has a rather obvious solution, which is to report your humans to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals or whatever its equivalent is in your state. Tell them your humans are abusing you by invading your privacy and grossing you out. Hopefully this will lead to lengthy jail sentences for the culprits and you will then be able to sleep in peace, safe in the knowledge that no one is about to take a crap in the middle of your bedroom. If this does not work you may want to seek some sort of legal emancipation from your humans, though this can be a costly and complicated process and so should be seen as the very last resort.

Hoping I have been of help,
Ambrose

 

Dog Has Weirdo Human

Dear Ambrose,

 

My human is a huge fan of the TV series The Walking Dead (a show which, I have noticed, has no dogs in its primary cast) and as a result he has started to speak in a Southern accent much of the time. Due to this bizarre new habit I rarely understand anything he says anymore. The other day I thought he was asking me to get him a dead possum when he was in fact asking me where I had put the remote (I have resorted to hiding it in the hope that his proper accent will return) and he wasn’t at all pleased when he came home that night to find a dead possum laid out on the dinner table. I noticed, however, that his annoyance did not prevent him from eating said possum, which leads me to believe that he is starting to pick up more than just the accent. Last week he even went so far as to hire an FX guy to make me up as a zombie (see accompanying photo) on the pretext that it was Halloween. He knows I am no fool so he had already filled the house with pumpkins and put his recording of “The Monster Mash” on repeat, all in a lame attempt to convince me it was already October. Soon I fear he will start listening to country and western music or killing the local squirrels with a crossbow, at which time the only option I see is to leave home and move in with some valley girls. Please help.

 

Sick of Zombies
L.A, California

zombie dog makeup

 

Dear Sick of Zombies,

The first step is to get rid of his recordings of the show or, failing that, to turn off the power supply to the house so that he will not be able to watch said recordings. As “The Walking Dead” is currently “The Holidaying Dead,” i.e. on hiatus, this is an opportune time to re-direct his attention to something that does not involve so many rednecks. I recommend a steady diet of reality TV, as long as it isn’t those nuts with the ducks or that dreadful little girl, obviously. Concentrate on something with at least one Kardashian in it – if he isn’t into the show at first you can go out of your way to regularly make comments such as “Man, that Kim is one hot tamale, isn’t she?” and such. Humans being highly suggestible creatures you will soon find him becoming a fan and within a few weeks not only will he have dropped the Southern accent but he will have turned into some sort of blithering idiot, which will make it pretty impossible for him to ever learn any kind of accent again. You may have to re-teach him how to open doors and use eating utensils, but nobody said it was a perfect solution.

Hoping I have been of help,
Ambrose

 

Kitty Has Litter Problem

Dear Ambrose,

 

My human keeps buying me really cheap kitty litter, and puts it in a really small litter box. I know the bastard has money somewhere, due to his numerous business interests, yet I still have to put up with this cheap, rough litter that feels mildly uncomfortable under my paws and smells faintly of lavender whereas I would prefer it to smell strongly of Giorgio Armani’s “Lui.” What can I do about this situation? I have considered killing him by putting one of his dumbbells at the top of the stairs and then watching him plummet to his death, but I wouldn’t know how to dispose of the body. I suppose I could eat it (the human’s body, not the litter,) but that would still leave the bones and I am not fond of digging. Please help.

 

Glenn Danzig’s Cat
New Jersey

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

Dear Glenn Danzig’s Cat,

While it is very frustrating to be owned by a rich cheapskate, I feel you are being a bit too fussy. I, for one, would be quite glad to have a bathroom that smells like lavender – mine has for several months smelled like the inside of my car, which is something that has me rather puzzled…Wait, I can’t have spent all this time going to the toilet in my car, could I? But back to your problem. If the cheap bastard won’t get you high quality litter with the right fragrance you can always sneak into his bedroom late at night, borrow whatever expensive fragrance he dabs on those sideburns of his and spray it on your crappy kitty litter. If he becomes suspicious about the reduced amount of cologne in the bottle you can always suggest that it’s all the doing of the after-shave pixies or, if he doesn’t buy the bit about the pixies, the fault of that other jerk from the Misfits. You may also try buying your own kitty litter, but these artistic types are notoriously sensitive and you may end up hurting his feelings by implying he is an inadequate pet owner.

Hoping I have been of help,
Ambrose

 

Cat Feels Aesthetically Disadvantaged

Dear Ambrose,

 

My human won’t take me to the beauty salon with her, and as a result I have to do my own beauty treatments at home. This has led to my being mocked by my friends and also to a shortage of cucumbers. I have tried tweezing my own eyebrows but had trouble holding the tweezers as I do not possess any opposable thumbs. Not only that, but I couldn’t find my eyebrows, probably because I do not have the proper training for such things. Then there was the time I gave myself a glycolic peel using caster sugar and it removed all the hair from my face! During the 3 weeks that it took for my hair to grow back I was often mistaken for a capuchin monkey! It was humiliating to be mistaken for a primate, and people kept offering me peanuts! The closest I have been able to get to a beauty salon is when the vet trims my claws, but the man has no sense of style and refuses to even paint them, much less adorn them with tiny little Swarovski crystals. I am feeling very frustrated, neglected, and, quite frankly, un-beautiful. Any advice would be appreciated.

 

Un-Pampered Feline
Chatswin, New York

cat cucumber eyes

 

Dear Un-Pampered Feline,

I suspect your problem is that your human sees you as a cat and not as a human being. This can be remedied by convincing her that you are not her cat but in fact her long-lost sister from Idaho. To achieve this, i suggest that you start wearing a pretty floral dress, preferably one festooned with fresh potatoes, and then, to really convince her that you are indeed a long-lost sibling, you should fake some DNA tests. This can best be done by finding her real long-lost sister then using some pretext to obtain a DNA sample ( tell her a handsome young billionaire is looking for a wife and wants to know if she would be genetically suitable to bear his offspring) which you can then pass off as your own. If she resents her sister not getting in touch with her she may even give you the DNA without any need for trickery. After a period of adjustment, you should find that your human will start taking you to the salon with her and happily introducing you as “My long-lost midget sister from Idaho!” Be careful however, not to get any hair removal treatments, not unless you have recently grown fond of peanuts.

Hoping I have been of help,
Ambrose

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