Let's Cat Serious

Whence and wherefore,
who, what, why,
whereAT
the frabjous Cat?!

Does he lie around the house all day,
yawning and sleeping life away,
not giving a doggone, as they say, 
or a DRAT?
The complacent Cat.

Does he turn his nose up at his food?
Subject you to his offended mood?
Adopt a superior attitude
just like THAT?
The disdainful Cat.

Does he always want out when he's in?
Can he caterwaul a horrid din?
Is it true the beast has always been
such a BRAT?
The impertinent Cat.

Does he concert nightly on the picket?
Will he gladly eat a roach? A cricket?
Does he think you really ought to stick it
in your HAT?
The insouciant Cat.

Does he think that dogs are pathetic fools?
Lacking-in-self-respect human tools,
slavishly following nitwit rules
for a PAT?
The disgusted Cat.

When it's time for his esteem to woo,
will he offer up the deference due,
or make it clear he thinks less of you
than a GNAT?
The dismissive Cat.

Does he love you true, or merely feign?
Can he purr to soothe, when you're in pain?
Will he stick by you come snow or rain,
getting FAT? 
The pragmatic Cat!

(Note: The form of this piece is, of course, "borrowed" --ahem-- from 
Edward Lear's incomparable nonsense poem "The Akond of Swat". In my 
dreams, I fancy that Mr. Lear might've liked it.)

Nitwits

Nitwits wrangle,
English mangle
all the live-long day.

Wasting time and
wasting money
in their nitwit way.

Max the plastic,
blather, spastic
till their final breath.

Clack the keys
until they freeze
in final on-line death.

ICUR12B Shallow

Oh, how could I live without aerosol fat?
Microwave zappers
Gold-plated crappers?
What would I do if the champagne was flat?
I'm so callow, puerile, shallow,
And I never stop to Think!

Oh, what would I buy without Calvin Klein?
Billy Blass
Steuben Glass?
What would I wear but some fool's design?
I'm so callow, lightweight, shallow,
And I never stop to Think!

Oh, what would I read except PEOPLE mag?
Now let's see:
SELF, or ME?
How could I stay such a bore and a drag?
I'm so callow, hollow, shallow,
And I never stop to Think!

Oh, where would I be without plastic plants?
Fido's Super
Pooper-Scooper?
Polymer doubleknit Hagar pants?
I'm so callow, useless, shallow,
And I never stop to Think!

Who could we flummox besides ourselves?
Here and there
Pursuing air
Buying identities off the store shelves
We're ALL shallow, mental tallow,
'Cause we never stop to Think!

Fussbudget

Compulsive, compulsive... Why, could that be me?
I am prone, now and then, to obsess.
My home's not just tidy, it's crazily clean;
I will NOT co-exist with a mess.

The flatware is polished, the linens are crisp,
and the kitchen's maniacally neat.
My living-room curtains hang razor-edge straight.
I get fussy, so please wipe your feet.

I alphabetize all my spices, of course,
because cumin can't be next to thyme.
I'll not write with pencils unless they are sharp,
or compose an unnatural rhyme.

I can't abide clutter. One stain on the rug,
and it's Valium City for me.
(I swear, if that mutt goes to sleep on my bed,
we'll have dog-gumbo dinner, you'll see!)

My hair's always perfect; if one's out of place,
I must coif it all over a-gain.
Despite this, I am a nice person; although,
there are times I'm a terrible pain...!

That 'P' Word

There's just one thing I'd like to know:
What's WRONG with being perky?
My disposition's sunny, so
those cynics grin all smirky.

They sneer I've got an empty head
just 'cause I'm fun and happy.
They'd rather frown all day instead,
sardonic, sore, and snappy.

Since when do giggles mean you're dumb?
Who says that smiles are foolish?
(Why, those whose brains have gone all numb
stay mad and mean and mulish.)

I'd like to know why some folks find
my cheerfulness so galling.
In fact, their gloomy states of mind
strike me as more appalling.

They'll call me "twit" or "bubble head",
and think I'm vain and fluffy.
Well, this is how they seem to me:
impatient, old, and stuffy...!

A Curmudgeon's Springtime

Spring has sprung:
The birds... the bees...
The red-eyed wheezing allergies
as ragweed brings us to our knees.
Enough of all this rapture, please.
Who cares that Spring has sprung?

Spring has sprung:
Clear blue-sky days
with unseen ultra-violet rays
burn scars in patchy pinks and grays.
So what if Spring has sprung?

Spring has sprung:
The driving rain,
the pushy tourists such pain,
enough to drive one quite insane.
Alas, that Spring has sprung.

Spring has sprung!
At college break
hormonal youngsters on the make
are simply more than I can take.
Too bad that Spring has sprung.

Spring has sprung.
I like it not.
It causes me to sneeze a lot.
Egregious sentimental rot.
I wish Spring hadn't sprung.