Oh, to live the life of a fashion faux pas
Cursed by the anathema of dress codes
Choosing blindly the closest hanger
The shirt on top of the pile
That lonely pair of shoes
Hidden amid
Those “too comfortable” to toss
Ratty sneakers and feral boots
Jeans that had holes
Before it became fashionable
T-shirts that mumble comments
In a far corner a shirt with a collar
A lonely pair of pants with a crease
A tie that has been in and out several times
A quiet sports fan he wears no logos
Although he roots loudly
Alone in a drawer somewhere
Are the many attempts at “conversion”
Sweaters, pullovers, and a few
Extremely “elegant” Christmas monstrosities
He wears jackets older than his children
Believing that fraying is the fashion statement
Of the flannel nation
Everyone knows that if he takes the children out
They are coming back dirty
With a new bruise or band-aid to brag about
His granddaughter once asked:
“Papa, why’d you wear that!”
He replied: “cuz it was on top”
Ratty cat, ratty cat,
old and alone,
sitting on a wood pile,
making it his own..
Ratty cat, ratty cat,
listening and wondering.
Why has the sky grown dark?
Could that be thundering?
Ratty cat, ratty cat,
here comes the rain..
Fur now soaking wet thru an
orange matted mane..
Ratty cat, ratty cat,
drenched as can be.
Are you waiting there for
a free meal from me?
I lie bedraggled, disheveled,
scrunched up and crinkled,
in a pile,
like ratty raggedy
rag doll,
besmirched,
defiled and exiled,
for being a
spineless,
limp
wimp.
Slip all batty zing ump ash
Flip ball catty bing bump bash
Clip doll fatty ding dump dash
Sip caul hatty bring chump crash
I stare at the speaker, wishing I knew what to do or say
Hip haul natty ping grump hash
Quip mall ratty ping grump rash
Strip paul slatty string stump slash
I hear the words but they make no sense
For I do not know the language or understand
My parents threw me into full immersion school
Where I do not speak the language in any form...
I do not understand, and I doubt I ever will.
My two pet rats so cheeky and bright,
one brown and one black and white,
who live only a short age
rattlin’ around in their cage.
I love their soft smooth furry coats
and large bulbous scrotes -
that long ratty tail that grows,
big eyes and ears and twitchin’ nose!
Jumpin’ and playin’ and runnin’,
so adventurous and so cunnin’.
Always fastidiously cleanin’ -
primpin’ and groomin’ and preenin’,
or on the loose goin’ AWOL
in the lounge room or down the hall
busy chasin’ and busy hurryin’,
and busy climbin’, hidin’ and scurryin’!
Hear them up the Christmas tree
jinglin’ and janglin’ - a joy to see.
Or on the sofa playful and bolder
huddlin’ on my shoulder -
scamperin’ down my shirt and sleeve
furry heads in and out weave.
And truly I am a lover of all
God’s creatures great and small -
my gorgeous little rats so loved by me,
one called Hunter and one, Karmy!
Written: December 2015
You’re chock full of kingsize bull crap
Though female you are not a chap
A well-practiced liar
Whose pants are on fire
Your vitriol I’d love to zap
Just little things make you so ratty
You’ll spit venom, gee you’re darn catty
With a scowl and a frown
You will put good folk down
With hindsight I think you’re quite batty
Your language you need to remodel
I’m fed up of reading your twaddle
You can’t leave folk alone
Like a dog with a bone
Try using that brain in your noddle
May I offer a little advice
If you cannot say anything nice
Keep your mouth fully closed
Your bull crap’s been exposed
Go back to your fool’s paradise
King-Size Bull Crap Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
01/05/22
All the way from my sitting room
I can hear my calico talking on Zoom,
Seems she’s looking for someone to exhume
Remains of a ratty old, worn-out broom.
I buried it because it smelled like a tomb,
Not realizing it was to her “eau de parfum.”
In her present state of utter, abject gloom,
She is now threatening me, I presume,
For I distinctly hear her saying, “Kaboom!”
A mushroom cloud could suddenly loom
It saddens me deeply this could mean doom,
If I don’t do something she’ll continue to fume.
If you have a cat, one with a nom de plume
Be careful to eavesdrop from your sitting room
And if you hear the dreaded word “Kaboom,”
Hurry, right then; go and shut off the Zoom!
FIRST PLACE WINNER
written December 3, 2021
especially for "'Z' - New or Old" poetry contest
sponsored by Constance La France
Unexpected or Unwanted
There arrival were always unexpected
With a string of curses never too far behind,
From the host, feeling particularly dejected,
Yet who’s always been able to have them wined,
And out the door without feeling affected.
With all that said they were quite kind,
Just chatty,
Simply put, they said anything in their mind,
Even so, they were never ratty,
But sometimes they were quite opined.
There visits were always quick,
They came, they laughed, they left,
And when they finally left it appeared to some as a trick,
Yet, alas, they were not that deft,
For something quite so sick.
The conversations were always filled with the same useless chatter,
Filled with their bottomless fake promises,
Where they reminisced on the days that we’re better,
Without ever asking themselves what that accomplishes,
And before you’re able to say see you next time they scatter.
(Quintain/Sicilian)
10/14/2021
Cold drinks in a wet heat,
The bindings of paper a silent retreat
Beneath the cool shade of a screened porch
Escaping the fiery torch
That is the Alabama summer.
I'll keep here between these lines of lovers
Immersed in worlds entirely other
I'd rather live among these brutes of men
Than have to venture home again
And face this Alabama summer.
From the comforts of this ratty chair
I'll ken love, loss, and despair.
Leafing and leaping through pages
One and the same as the heroes and sages
I could almost forget the Alabama summer.
I reside not upon this wretched mountain,
Walking instead through lush gardens with flower laden fountains.
Scent of wild lavender in the air,
In a land where I'm the maiden fair
There is no Alabama summer.
What is it to me if
The teenage girl next door
Leaves on a date dressed up
Like a downtown whore?
If her brother wears his cap
With the bill in the back
And their father drives up
In a ratty old hearse Cadillac?
Why do I let the smallest
Things annoy me so?
I think I would move away
If I had some place to go.
written July 27, 2021
Duck has been around eight years.
We call her “Baby” though.
A stuffed duck with a broken neck.
No longer squeaks. Ratty fake fur.
One eye.
We figured out seven years ago
It would be wise to purchase a spare duck.
We purchased two of them. Exact replicas.
The dog will have nothing to do with either.
When she loses Duck for weeks, we try, to no avail.
Duck is her baby.
When we say “where is your baby?” she brings Duck.
Like a toddler, this dog.
He had a dream one night that gave him such a fright
he was a Mexican laboring in a field that could not yield
sun beat hot, parched and hungry, he did not like his lot
he tossed and turned to no avail as worry began to assail
he awoke, to a steady drum in his heart rat tat tat !
Rolling out of bed he noticed that his sky was solid gray
instead of black shoes he owned a ratty pair of blues
suddenly a big wall message came to him as blessage
"feed the poor " said a voice he got the message
as he woke to a steady drum in his heart , ta ta tum
Vehicles: US$101.7 billion (24.8% of total exports)
Electrical machinery, equipment: $81.6 billion (19.9%)
Machinery including computers: $65.9 billion (16.1%)
"These are exports from my brethren kin, a precious peso
I'll invite them to my house, yes I will send them a text / reso
suddenly the Mexican sun began to shine and he felt fine
he realized that building a wall would be out of line
he awoke to the sound of rain as it fell through the drain,
with a tiny voice in his head, "Me a Mexican? thats insane!"
Feb, 6, 2019
Sponsor: Anthony Slausin
Olive and Pickle were two pet rats
As naughty as can be
Always up to mischief
And trying to climb free
The rats were cute with big round eyes,
And long thick wormy tails,
But not the kind you’re thinking of,
Cos they’re for boys and males.
Pickle had such love for Olive
She was her closest friend
She held her in such high regard
Yet drove her round the bend!
Olive was a cheeky rat
And always stealing food
Yet never kept it from her mate
For Olive wasn’t rude.
There was another person
In the girls’ equation
But not so ratty as the friends
Although a close relation.
Their human friend I’m talking of
Was their wise and clever owner
She was a lover of all God’s Beasts
A lovely hippy Stoner
Clarissa kept them warm and safe
And free from Ill infection
She gave them love and loyalty
And wonderful protection.
It must be like any other Sad day in Lonelyville
So bad
The last of the 6 mangy Cats
Have shuffled past her open window
Some call her Ratty
Some call her Tatty
But to most she is known as Spinster Batty
She gets her kick's daily from throwing
Brick's and Barbs
At passing Cars
Because her family gave up visiting long ago
She has no friends and neighbors avoid her
But its hard to ignore her
Because she gets her kick's
Behind the anonymity of a computer screen
She exists solely as a troll online
Because she can't interact with human kind
For she revels in causing suffering
It makes her feel like she is a big deal
But here's the thing
Those she bates
Can still await at knock at there front door
Or a well timed telephone call
From a real person who wishes them well
While all she has
Is her Avatar as a Sleazy Troll
So scroll away
Dig away you poor lost soul
If it in anyway fills your gaping hole
chatty
happy
ratty
batty
IT, if chatty, happy, my life friend.
IT, ratty, batty, it's friendships end!
8th December 2017
IT - Poetry Contest Sponsored by John lawless
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