Here the mundane is not belabored, but we promise a writer's heart and soul. Check out the latest from Sandtrap in the Heart of Jawja, a place that never was but oughta be. Or, "I'm a man of great convictions, but never served time." That's paraprosdokian; find more at the "Paradoke Corner." The section called "Silly Poems" may make you chuckle or bring a smile. Content is added regularly. Thanks for your visit, and y'all come back now, ya' hear? To get started click the "Contents" tab above or links to individual articles in the right column.

"Phil Comer, on his 'All Write by Me' blog... Definitely worth a look-see." Chuck Sambuchino, Editor, Guide to Literary Agents, Writer’s Digest Books.

Monday, December 19, 2011



We're the Imperial Cat; that would be
 I-Cat to you.
Things are all a dither. We find ourselves
hot in a stew!

We are the Imperial I-Cat; we are not amused.
We are not impressed by Christmas.
We're Holiday abused!

We are not amused by Santa with all his
Ho Ho Ho.
We're sick and tired of Christmas.
It's high time for it to go.

Neither are we amused by strings dangled before our paws;
Nor by balls, rubber mice, or yet more tales of Santa Claus!

We're not amused by smashing Grandma's keepsake ornaments;
Nor by Mom, Pop and Junior in holiday adornments.

We are not amused by catnip sprinkled
in paper bags.
We're not amused by velvet ribbons,
lights or hanging tags.

We discovered our belly in sudden
need of washing;
That we couldn't finish; we spied bugs
that needed squashing!

We were diverted by arrivals knocking
at the door,
Then Lex, the neighbor's smelly dachshund, dashed across the floor!

We flipped our tail, ignored the beast;
a hairball we did cough.
We further were offended by the fruitcake
they'd dropped off.

In disgust, we sharpened our claws
upon the wicker chair.
We skittered when Papa shouted,
"No! No! No, Cat! Not there!"

We dove for our secret hidey-hole,
and crouched out of sight.
Momma started scolding too; we might be stuck here all night.

These folks have yet to learn how
to properly address we!
But we shan't yowl too loudly; the bed and board come scot-free.

We rearranged the manger and hid
the baby Jesus.
Perchance we'll think to put it back,
just before Hell freezes.

Cattle lowing, sheep and camels, we found the creche well set.
Junior shouldn't play inside with trike or
new crash helmet!

We were vexed by cats' pajamas from our Christmas stocking.
We're not amused by mistletoe; that we found quite shocking.

We sang no Christmas carols although
we know the lyrics.
The family blames our ill temper;
we fault atmospherics.

We were not amused by cuddles;
we struggled to be free,
But the jammies came with Velcro;
that's how it's gonna be.

We clawed to be let out; we felt
prerogatives denied.
Outdoors, the snow wet our paws;
we yowled to get back inside! 

For us, Santa left lumps of coal;
now those are some sick jokes.
Mom, Pop and Uncle Charlie just stepped out in winter coats.

That's when we lost our temper:
Junior yanked upon our tail!
We fluffed, hissed, fanged and spat; with our claws we sought to impale.

Junior is annoying when left to his own devices.
We've more important tasks: Tending shadows. Killing mices.

We're unimpressed by chestnuts toasting over open flame;
Now, chipmunks roasting over fire, that's our idea of game!

What's this? Mom and Pop are back with
Uncle Charlie in tow.
Yet another present, a basket with
a big red bow!

We pretend not to hear when informed,
this one is for we.
Snarl, spit and hissy fit! It's a kitten
under the tree!

It blinked. It purred. It raised a paw.
Heavens, that thing is bratty!
It blinked. It purred, "Are you my new Mommy? Or my Daddy?"

Though knowledgeable of the facts of life,
in the classics we've been tutored,
"For goodness sakes, Kitten, I don't know.
It's been ages since I was neutered!"

I flipped, sniffed and studied this kitten
from every angle.
Well, lo and behold, I mewed,
"I think I'll call you Angel!"

We went on a rip, raced all around
until we were exhausted.
Then a miracle! The tree's branches
all became frosted!

I showed our buffet; that Angel was famished was among my surmises.
At the litter box I advised, "Now, these people, they don't like surprises."

From the toilet I sipped, "The water is fine
for drinking."
Mom ran in stamping feet, "Cat, what on earth are you thinking?"

The kitten was tired; we were wiped out;
I groomed Angel's whiskers.
Christmas gone, something remains: Small purrs like elfin whispers.

In the end, when one's a friend,
Christmas is about caring.
"Snuggle close, Angel. My hidey-hole's
just right for sharing."


Still want more of the Holiday spirit?

Check out my rap tribute to Chuck Sambuchino, Gnome for the Holidays[go]

Text Copyright © 2011 Phil Comer.

Photo credits: O Tannenbaum Guy: Ryan Gosling "Christmas Lights"; "Lilly in Afghan" by Phil Comer; "Broken Ornament," unknown; "Fruitcake," unknown; "Creche Without Jesus," unknown; "Cat's Santa Pajamas," unknown; "Lump of Coal," unknown; "Christmas Kitten" by Catheryn Carcamo; "Cat Under Tree," unknown. Additional attributions will be made as available.

Unless stated otherwise, illustrations and links outside this blog are for information and are not the property of the author.

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