Daily Archives: August 23, 2011

A Dog House Cat-Head Funnel

Recently I made a new friend of a very talented, very comical poet. When I navigated to his Facebook page I noticed that he kept as his profile picture a photograph of one of his cats, who must be suffering from some ailment because it is wearing one of those funnels over its head that veterinarians put there to keep them from scratching themselves. In any event, I find those funnels completely hilarious, especially on cats. So in my humorous stupor I felt like composing this whimsical short poem to my new found friend as a show of kinship.  So I hope that if you find this page that you will enjoy this little off-beat piece.  If not, then I hope you will take a moment to tell me why….  Thanks for visiting……

A Dog House Cat-Head Funnel

I saw the dog house
while rowing down main
in my pancake boat.
It was kind of soggy,
the dog house, I mean.
And it wouldn’t float.

The dog had to be
somewhere, didn’t he?
And I found him there.
He ate a hole
in my pancake floor.
Syrup was everywhere!

Silly dog. You can’t
eat the pancake boat!
I’ll have to row faster.
But heavens no!
That stupid dog just
turned to alabaster….

Well that’s just great.
I’ve got a foot of syrup
and he gets to just sink.
What am I to do?
Think, think, think….
Oooooo! Hit another link!

Now I see a funny looking cat
with a funnel on his head.                                                     
I want to throw popcorn in there.
Life is like a string of popcorn.
It’s always funnier when you throw
it into a cat-head funnel.

That didn’t rhyme.
But it’s still funny.
I tracked syrup on your carpet,
and it’s runny.
Now that’s not funny.
At all.

Have you seen my pills?

Do you think we could fill
that funnel with popcorn
before he could eat it all?
And just see his little whiskers
poking out through them,
like a little popcorn ball?

Let’s put some syrup in there too.
I think your cat ate my pills man.
Did he just wink at me?
Ok, where is his right ear?
It was there a minute ago.
Is his name Evander?

© 2011 John Richter

My Tender Waves

Very recently I spent a day at the Pensacola Beach with my grandchildren, Graicyn, Knighten, and Phanton, whom I have never met before. I can’t imagine any more words added to this introduction could help you have a better understanding of the emotion that inspired this poem.



My Tender Waves

Fathoms, Fathoms, waves break the sandy shore,
Crystal clear to blue to green,
As they did 10,000 years before.

Priding themselves as frothy acrobats,
twisting an opaline sheen
then rolling slowly to liquid mattes.

And others themselves quite definitely shy,
inconspicuously atween
the roaring waves so high.

Those are mine, I should think of all
the waves I have seen,
the whitecaps, the smoothies, the tall;

It’s the shy ones hiding amidst the surf
to make a beautiful scene
with their incremental kerf.

If you chance upon the gulf to play,
on any given blue or grey day,
and you find the waves hiding away,
please know I have already been.
And if your thoughts should ever come to weigh
the chance of claiming that wave astray,
then I should just obligingly say,
you may have it as philipeen.

For you can never own a wave, nor anything
other than a moment, you see.
And that’s why I shall always sing
of grandkids in those waves with me.

So the waves I gladly offer you and pray
those moments with the kids shall ever stay,
knowing timid waves can’t wash them away.

For that’s the reason, my dear friend,
as the moments live forever,
that waves begin and never end.




© 2011 John Richter