It little profits that an idle pooch, on this old porch, on such a paltry street, Wifeless and alone, I but dispense Reproof and caution to mere passers by, That, deafened by their earbuds, pay no mind. This idleness offends my soul: Slurp Every final drop I will from out life’s bowl; Each day I’ve […]
To Strive, To Seek: by Alfred, Lord Zigmund Read More »
Who is Sylvia? Just a cat Infesting my domain; Master put out the welcome mat, Declared her chatelaine, Despite my urgent caveat. Which proved, I own, groundless at best; Our Syl’s a gentle queen, Instructs us all in peaceful rest, Is very seldom seen Or heard, and always self-possessed. Such qualities, in a word, define
Who Is Sylvia? Zigmund Shakespeare (from Two Greyhounds of Altoona) Read More »
My neighborhood’s an endless source of news, And I’m hard pressed to keep on top of it. Each detail on each street I must peruse, So I’m confused by those who do the opposite. A few short years ago when I would hear Some human talking to the air around, I’d think them mad, and
All the News That’s Fit to Sniff, by Zigmund McCollum Read More »
We’ve got the sun to warm the morning We’ve got the moon to light the night We’ve got cans of chicken livers When we need a little bite We’ve got baskets full of chew toys To help the time elapse What ain’t we got? We aint’ got naps. We get dragged off to the dog
There Is Nothing Like a Nap, by Zigmund Rhinelander II Read More »
Whose lawn this is I neither know Nor care, for from his bungalow He will not see me stooping here To decorate new-fallen snow. His window glowing blue, I fear, Means he will only see and hear Recordings from some distant site, Nothing alive and nothing near. Within his cave of flickering light On this
Stooping by Lawns on a Snowy Evening: Zigmund Frost Read More »
Falling and falling from the once living trees, Green leaves gone ocher, then gone brown; Life’s coming down and soon will come to naught; Death and dismemberment at every turn, The wind brings cold and makes day dark as night And every living thing succumbs to it; I, myself, am tempted to give in To
“The End of the World” by W.Z. Yeats Read More »
