Animal – KensView

My Highness

In a bright room where the sun beams dance,
there I sit perched on a cushioned throne,
regally aloof and unperturbed by the clutter
of a world not suited to my august stature.
My eyes are impervious orbs, chill crescents
that gaze through tight lids at the current scene
filtering out the chaos of my subjects’ souls—
fond, but fumbling denizens of my domain.
Their human voices, symphony of uneven notes,
fall like scattered autumn leaves all about me,
with coochies of affection, swoons of adoration,
failing to budge me from my afternoon scheme.
I just stretch in a languid arc of feline grace,
feigning boredom while my humans croon
their crude, ear-grating paeans of devotion,
soundtracks to my staid and patient resignation.
And as day wanes and heat leaves the room,
I will purr out a “Meow,” a calculated bridge
between the sacred space of my solitude
and the clumsy affection of human hearts.
In that certain moment, when I deem it so,
I may settle in closer, perhaps just an inch,
to signal that, “I acknowledge your presence,
but remember, I’m still master of this realm.”
My subjects, ever grateful for this fleeting gift,
stroke my coat with hands trembling in awe,
clueless that tolerance is my boon and grace,
and affection a crown I wear lightly, if at all.
Thus, in ordained tandem, rule is maintained:
a sovereign planet alongside faithful moons,
each tethered together in a perpetual tango
by the gravity of my immutable indifference.

Wow, A Pup Deified!

As I pee, sir, I see Pisa
Dog doo? Good God!
Desserts, I stressed!
God saw I was dog.
God’s dog.
Dammit, I’m mad!
Step on no pets.
Go deliver a dare, vile dog!
Dogma in my hymn: I am God!
Dog’s God.
Was it a cat I saw?

I Shot the Puppy

I shot the puppy
And then I shot my dumb billy goat, oh yes, yes
I shot the puppy
And then I shot my dumb billy goat, oh yes, yes

Yeah! All around in my home state
They’re tryin’ to hack me down, yeah
They’re saying that I am clearly guilty
For the killing of a mere puppie
For the life of a mere puppie, but I say
Oh, now, now, oh

(I shot the puppy) I shot the puppy
(But I swear I had rightful pretense) oh yes, oh, oh, ooh
Yeah, I say, I shot the puppy, oh, Lord (and they say it is a capital offense)
No, no! Hear that

Critics both Left and Right now hate me
For what, I don’t know
Every time I make my plea
They all shout that I’ve got to go
They all shout that I’ve got to go, and so-and-so
Read it in the news!

(I shot the puppy) oh, Lord!
But I swear I had rightful pretense
Why’s this such a biggie? (Ooh, ooh, ooh)
I say, I shot the puppy
But I swear I had rightful pretense, yeah! (Ooh)

My pup pissed me off one day
And I lost my freakin’ mind, yeah
All of a sudden, I see all these pundits aiming to shoot me down
Yes, I shot, I shot, I shot it down, and I say
Even if guilty, I won’t pay (pay, pay, pay, pay…)

(I shot my puppy) and I say that I also shot my dumb billy
And I also shot my dumb billy, yes (ooh, ooh, ooh)
(I shot my puppy) I agree
(And then I shot my dumb billy goat) oh
(Ooh, ooh, ooh)

Reflex they say got the better of me
But I won’t say that to be
Every day I’ll just keep saying “oh well”
And you critics should wash your mouths out
And you critics should wash your mouths out

I say
I, I, I, I shot my puppy
Lord, then I shot my VP chances, yeah
Lord, then I shot my VP chances, yeah
I, I (shot my puppy)
And then I shot my VP chances, yeah
So, yeah

An Orange Cat Got Tom’s Tongue

In a sleepy village far from Iran
Lived a wise old man, weathered and tan.
He spoke with ease, with grace and flair;
But one day, his voice vanished into thin air.

A phantom feline, stealthy and sly,
Played a weird prank on this wonderful guy,
Inflating his tongue when he was asleep,
Leaving him silent, not a word to peep.

The man tried to talk, but no sound would come,
A strange phenomenon, quite cumbersome,
His friends and family soon gathered ’round,
To find out what had caused the dearth of sound.

Hour turned into day, and day into week,
Still, the poor man could barely eke a squeak,
But deep inside, he kept his faith strong,
That his voice would return before long.

One day, while abed waiting for a godsend,
A miracle happened, his throat was opened,
His voice returned, a bit weak but clear,
And from then on, he had nothing to fear.

The minx slinked away, feeling so ashamed,
For causing this man such high worry and pain,
But the man forgave the rascal, for he knew,
That life is full of twists, both strange and new.

The Smallest Grinder

Life’s no beach, no bones about it;

The old bones ain’t what they used to be.

Day after day, week after week,

Forever tethered, he drags me over here.

Then just when I get settled in, he says,

“Move over, make room for one more.”

It wouldn’t be so, so terribly bad,

But I’m subjected to all that verbal abuse.

Those Grinders, a noisy, smelly bunch,

Grate my ears with their endless whining

Of prices rising high, politicos going low,

Nyah nyah nyah, which I pretend not to hear.

While I do have a lot to complain about,

It’s not as bad as the ASPCA shows on TV.

His training took me too long to trade him,

And there’s something about him that I lap up.

It’s a dog’s life, but somebody’s got to do it.

Keep those cups of Joe coming, Dave.

Thanks for your steadfast loyalty.

Going Goodnight

When night goes knock, knock at our house door,
It’s time to take my toys from the floor.
Although sometimes I make a deep frown,
I soon agree to wind myself down.
Next I get ready to eat my food
To make sure I am in a good mood.
Up the stairs, there are my teeth to brush;
Then comes a warm bath with little rush.
This is followed by comfy bedclothes
That in winter may cover my toes.
Really close to Neny/Ninga I huddle,
So I get a very good cuddle.
As she reads with me now under sheet,
Her voice becomes soft and very sweet.
She whispers and bellows as the wind,
And buzz, buzz, buzzes like bees that spin.
One time growling, she’s a big, big bear,
She then purrs like Fennel with no care.
Dragons yodel and a castle floats,
With dancing grandpas and smarty goats.
Soon my eyes begin to grow bleary,
And my head gets heavy and weary.
Drifting off gently in Neny’s/Ninga’s arms,
I dream of rainbows and pretty charms.

Perch

Beneath a Great Lake’s breadth,
the lake perch prowls,
its scales a flash of golden sheen,
a silken shimmer between rock and reed.

It moves like a whisper,
a dart of yellow amid ink-dark depths,
touched by the secrets the waters hold
in their cool, profound embrace.

The waters speak in waves,
and the perch listens
to the call of the river, the push of the wind,
the arc of the sun’s reach over cold stone.

It is both hunter and the hunted,
finding home in tangled beds of weeds,
sliding through the dark to feed,
then back to the depths where it belongs.

And then alas,
it encounters the world of man,
stopped short by nets or hooks
for the cook’s clever craft.

Steamed, fried, baked—
its delicate flesh, tender and sweet,
is served on the plates or fine china
of a restaurant table.

Rodeo

On a dust-filled ground where cowpokes abide,
A pageant unfolds for a thrilling ride.
As patrons wait for a sight yet unseen
Within the stands, their interest grows keen.

With bated breath, attendees gather near,
Stirring up excitement, raising a cheer.
The arena transcends, emotions run high,
Anticipation boils, reaching the sky.

The majestic dance between man and beast,
Struggle for dominance, tension increased,
It’s a show of will and courage to share,
Where the fearless on mighty bulls do dare.

The gate bursts open, the beast is unleashed,
Raw power, fury, bulk, muscular feast.
Its hooves pound the earth with thunderous sound,
As a brave soul holds on, no fear to be found.

In a medley of chaos, strength, and grace,
Man and brute lock in dangerous embrace.
Surfing a tempest, adrenaline floods,
Rider contra bull, the battle bluebloods.

They twist and turn, defy gravity’s pull,
Their spirits aflame, their resolve so full.
Within eight seconds, the contest complete,
Overcoming odds, a feat so very sweet.

Battered and bruised, yet he never faltered,
Chasing the thrill, he leaves our hearts altered.
In this rhumba of brawn, his skill displayed,
He who lasts longest, wins top accolade.

Epilogue

Now unhappily all did not end there,
Which is something I believe you should hear.
The angry bull sought to apply some heat
On the fallen not yet back on his feet.

A rodeo clown jumped to intervene
A brave act ending up breaking his spleen.
He sadly absorbed all the toro’s force
And was sent to the hospital, of course.

Though for a budding fan of eleven,
The rodeo tricks seemed close to heaven;
That he’d seen a man there nearly fall dead
Made him seek saner diversions instead.