Poetry – Day 2
Today’s poem was inspired by Andrew Peters, a fellow blues fan, occasional sparring partner on Twitter and general antidote to social media. Andy is the author of a series of novels featuring the “Blues Detective” – a Welsh private investigator living in Memphis – and other works including my personal favourite, “Joe Soap”.
Check out his work, you won’t be disappointed.
Opinion
“All poetry is shite!”
The Welshman yelled from exile
“It’s just random words,
in random places
On the page…”
Who am I to argue,
The assertion of a Sage?
I wrote this poem several years ago and if, while reading it, you experience a subterranean revolving sensation; that will be Edward Lear spinning in his grave…
The Owl & The Pussy Cat
(with apologies to Edward Lear)
The owl and the pussy cat went to sea
In a beautiful, pea-green boat
They sailed past Dover
And were swiftly pulled over
By HM Customs afloat
T’was a miserable caper
For they had no papers
To prove the land they were from
And with a brisk rubber stamp
They were sent to a camp
With others who seek asylum
The owl looked up to the stars above
And sang to a small guitar
“Oh customs man, oh customs official
What a stupid official you are, you are
What a stupid official you are.”
Official said to the owl,
“You ill-tempered fowl
You sewer-mouthed so and so
We had no way of knowing
Which way you were going
I’m just doing my job, you know
And oh how we laughed
at your pea-green craft
you must take us for mugs
a bird and a feline?
Adrift in a sea-lane?
We stopped you to search for drugs, for drugs
We stopped you to search for drugs
And then he took them away
For half a year and a day
To a place that they called Heathrow
He said “Oh prisoners of mine,
This is your quarantine,
For the next six months,
This is your home.
Now don’t cry like babies,
For we don’t want rabies,
In the land where the oak trees grow,
As pets with no owners,
On you is the onus,
I don’t make the rules, you know, you know,
I don’t make the rules you know.”
Protesting their crime
The two did their time
And the six months slowly crawled by
And on the last day at 3
They were finally set free
By a pig who lived in a sty
On the day of release-a,
They dined on a pizza,
And ice-cream that they ate with a spoon.
And then wing in paw,
Along the M4,
They danced by the light of the moon the, moon
They danced by the light of the moon.
