March Birthday Dogs

Bella and Coco: A Plaintive Plea and Most Reasonable Response

 

We, Bella and Coco, humbly and respectfully ask that you write a poem for us:

We have been quite patient
But you've been complacent
We have asked you nicely
We won't ask thricely

We will do whatever you ask;
Any mundane quotidian task
Fetch your sock; fetch your shoes
Wash the dishes, if you choose.

 

Only just a simple verse--
Things could get a whole lot worse--
Pee on the carpet; despoil the rugs!
But seriously, we aren't thugs.

Coco and I are reasonable dogs
We don't want to act like hogs.
For other curs you've penned an ode,
Do it now or hit the road.

 

Gentledogs,  please see below response to your plaintive plea:

 

Sweet ragamuffins, I will comply

With your request, and shall reply.

Snaggle-tooth and lazy tongue

Odes to you are barely sung
 

Perhaps there’s a reason, have you thunk?

Look at the depths to which you’ve sunk.

Rude, obnoxious little foundlings

Throwing dirt like nasty groundlings.
 

But alas, you love my friend

To her feelings you do attend

You coddle her when she is down

Cheer her up when you see her frown
 

Leap and bark at her every word

Make her laugh when you chase a bird

You come from the street like a broken toy

Into her life you bring true joy

Thank you both for your love and care

I have to say it… I must be fair.

 

But, now it is my deepest wish

That next time Dorothy find a fish.

 

 

Minions' Lament

Thanks to a writers' workshop and some excellent feedback from my fantatstic husband, below I present the lovingly polished poem about those hapless twins, Cecily and Gwendolyn:

Minions' Lament

“Psst, Gwendolyn, what is the deal?

Neglected and ignored I’m beginning to feel.”

“I’ve tried mewing and winking and wriggling my rear

but, Cecily, I think, no one cares that we're here.”

There's a new cat in town; nothing's the same

He makes us so mad; Punim's his name

They kiss him and coddle him and bedeck him with jewels

They fête him with sushi; he follows no rules.

We owned this house before he arrived

We strutted and feasted and both of us thrived

Now, no more kisses, no more creamed caviar

Punim, the prince, is the one shining star

“Cecily, my dear, a plan must be hatched

In which Punim, the prince, is forthwith dispatched” 

“Gwendolyn, my twin, do you have a plot?

'Cause, my tiny brain has not any got.”

“At midnight on Tuesday while Punim relaxes

In the crook of an arm that is working on taxes

We will creep o’er the ceiling in paws covered with ink

From his bed up the walls until reaching the sink

 

All in the house will think Punim’s gone mad.

When he’s tossed in the street, who could feel bad?”

“A genius you are, my Gwendolyn girl

I can’t wait til the night when the plan will unfurl…”

 

***

 

A midnight home, quiet and still.

A nefarious plot unfolding at will.

But, a furtive sentinel guards his house

Ready to pounce on the twins (or a mouse).

 

***

 

Screech, splat, slurgle, sproing; cats in a heap

Did someone yell “Catnip” while Gweny did creep?

Ink on the curtains and ink on the ground

Snickering was heard, but there was no sound…

 

Now, Gwendolyn and Cecily, felines so fair

Can be found every day combing Punim’s soft hair

The new cat in town is a most regal beast

He has two mewing minions that lead him to feast.