RSS Feed

Monthly Archives: November 2011

Martin

I saw a rat die so I wrote this ode in his memory.

He came up from the sewer, you ask me what for?

To have a look around, to come and explore.

He wanted to better himself, wanted to be free,

Martin was a different rat; a maverick was he.

As the bathroom flooded, the water rose,

The drain was the route that Martin chose.

With whiskers a-dripping and tail soaking wet,

 He was like a lone wolf, no other rat met.

 Martin wanted more than this life of his,

Lonely and dark, a rat’s time is.

And all of his friends laughed at his talk,

 Of light and openness, where it isn’t wet where you walk.

As Martin went forth with his quest for the new,

He heard a loud noise and hid in a shoe.

“Uh-oh”, thought he, he’d come the wrong way,

“Did you see something there?” he heard a man say.

 Martin looked around and saw ribbons and vests

 And a rat-hating, blonde girl perching on a chest.

She screamed once and again ‘til her face turned to wood,

Then ran out of the room as fast as she could.

With the door shut, it was dark, Martin was alone,

This is ironic, he thought, I could have stayed at home.

 But he had to think quick, as the door opened a crack

And a cat was thrown in, the door closed, all went black.

Martin dashed across the room and hid behind the bin,

He wasn’t coming out, the cat wasn’t coming in.

The cat attempted to reach him, extending a feeble paw,

But Martin made him jump back with his mechanical roar!

 Now I know what you’re thinking, this cannot be true,

A rat doesn’t roar, that’s what lions do!

But I assure, you my friends, whilst mice may squeak,

A rat is quite different, they are strong not weak.

But what Martin didn’t know, was that Russell that cat,

Had no interest in catching and killing a rat.

 In fact, he resented his owners laying down the law

Saying he wasn’t a real cat if he didn’t catch rodents and eat his meat raw.

So as he didn’t want to chew Martin or scratch him on the nose,

He just made lots of noise so that all would suppose

That out of catly duty he was ridding them of a pest

 Meowing loudly, they would think him the best.

Martin knew what Russell was doing, and he played along,

Ensuring that outside the room they knew a “battle” did go on.

Thought cat and rat, “This is fun!”

More more amusing than the chase and run.

But little did they know of the incoming caretaker,

Terry, the small and bald Londoner; a nightmare maker.

 The cat went out and Terry came in

Started removing furniture, on his little face a grin.

Martin didn’t know where to hide, so he dashed for the door,

And made it out across the living room floor.

But Terry was quick, and ran right behind,

Got Martin into a corner, shoes on the lino whined.

He went at him with his metal claws

But Martin wriggled away, looking for doors.

Now, I won’t go into what happened next,

For those who are fragile may become quite vexed.

All I’ll say is Martin met his end,

As Terry’s shoe went down on him again and again.

So let us learn, next time we see a rat,

They may want to end up as more than food for a cat.

Whilst rat worlds and human’s may never collide,

Let us try to live happily, underneath and beside.

RIP MARTIN

Martin the Rat

Advertisements

Nobody likes a Needy

A ditty penned by yours truly when I was feeling super needy and I couldn’t borrow a pet.  We’ve all been there.

You used to
look at me like I was it,

With a
capital letter, I was It, the Shit.

Not your
stars, you world or all of that,

but one who
held your interest, for a meal or a chat.

But something
has happened, I don’t know what,

Suddenly
that’s not the case, I don’t have a shot,

At getting
you to focus on me, notice me, have a joke with me

You’d
rather do something else, stare at my head over the TV.

How I wish
that you would stare at me, as if I were 4od,

Instead my face is tracing paper, not a window but not a tree.

My words
are not enough, it seems you’re in too far,

Instead you
shush me like my Dad did when I was noisy in the car.

It’s not
like you are deaf, you always have time for hip hop,

And isn’t
that just angry men moaning about money, guns and cops?

Surely my
words are nicer or at least easier to hear

My animal
noises are second to none and my jokes deserve a cheer.

But maybe
that’s where I’m going wrong, I don’t complain about the hood,

Eastbourne
wasn’t a ghetto and my rappings not very good.

But music
isn’t the food of love, sorry duke Orsino,

Rather FOOD
feeds your desire, from steak to a dorrito.

I wished
you looked at me like you do your kebab,

And even
when it gets messy, you don’t scold, you dab.

Oh to be
that greasy meaty mix, the one that you adore,

You would
hold me gently in a pitta, nibble my edges and gnaw.

You’d gorge
yourself on my flesh, my very scent you’d inhale

You’d
submerge yourself in my fatty embrace and rush to tell the tale.

I never
used to be like this, I used to be carefree,

But now I
find an early life crisis has found its way to me.

I thought
this happened much later in life, 40 years down the line,

When after
being married so long, its ok to stop trying.

I ate 4
toffee crisps today

Why, you
ask, I don’t know, I say.

Something
to do, something to mention,

It made me
feel sick but it got your attention.

Oh God,
that proves it, I’m mad as a frog,

I’ll out my
handbag in the over and start talking to the dog.

I’ll go out
in my pyjamas, like I’ve escaped the ward,

I’ll
believe I’m Micheal Jackson, or the Queen or a lord.