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The Poetry of Famous
(Mostly Victorian) Cats
Sponsored By
By Dakota Balmore
MY MICE POSED TWICE [OPUS 517]
My mice posed twice before I posed
To pounce upon their breed.
If Immortality exposed
A third attempt by me,
So huge, so hopeful a leap,
As these mice twice befell.
Eating is all I know of rodents,
And all I need to tell.
From the anthology Feles Maximus
Dakota Balmore 9-13-97
Edgar Allan Poe's cat "Nevil Moore"
THE KITTEN [OPUS 168]
"Of my master's writing"
Once upon a morning weary, while I wrote poems sleek and leery,
I wrote many a faint and furious poem forever sure.
While I plotted, sometimes drawing, suddenly there came a clawing,
As of something gently pawing, pawing at my study door.
"'T is some visitor," I muttered, "pawing at my study door.
Only this and nothing more."
Then a sudden sound, screeching, rustling inside brain stem reaching
Thrilled me. . . .filled me with felinely terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still my beating heart, still repeating,
"'T is some visitor entreating entrance at my study door;
Early visitor entreating entrance at my study door,
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Cat," said I, "or kitty, truly your audacity I implore;
But the fact is I was drawing, and so rudely you came clawing,
And so rudely you came pawing, pawing at my study door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you". . . .here I opened up the door;
Darkness there and nothing more.
Back into my study writing, all my soul within me fighting,
Soon again I heard a pawing somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window pane;
Let me see, then. . . .how insane. . . .and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;
'T is the wind and nothing more.
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there pawed a sprightly kitten of the sinful times of yore;
Not the least resistance made I; not a minute stopped and stood by;
But with prude of lord or lady, pounced above my study door,
Poised upon the bust of Edgar just upon my study door,
Poised, and preened, and nothing more.
Much I marveled this bodacious cat who interrupted working,
Who careened into my writing time, where no relevancy bore,
For I cannot help agreeing that no writing human being
Ever yet was blessed by having cats above his study door.
"Tell me what thy lordly name is on this morning I implore!"
Quoth the kitten, "Annoyance more."
Startled by the stillness broken by reply so rudely spoken,
I conjured up my pride and spoke so boldly wide,
"Wretch," I cried, "Pestilence has sent thee, in keeping far from me
Precious moments of the writing of my sweet poetic lore!"
What did this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, outrageous cat of lore
Mean by crackling "Annoyance more."
"Prophet!" said I, "Do not disturb me as I work!"
I then sat down to freelance writing as I had before.
While I pondered, feline snubbing, suddenly there came a rubbing,
As a feline rudely rubbing, rubbing on my legs for sure.
"'T is some pest," I muttered, "rubbing, at my legs for sure.
It's a bother. Nothing more."
"Let me be!" said I, "Go off somewhere to leave me be."
I place pen to page again, yet remaining sore,
While I scribbled, still denouncing, suddenly there came a bouncing,
As a feline rudely pouncing, pouncing on my paper store.
"'T is a pain," I stammered, "pouncing on my paper store.
Irritation! Nothing more."
"Fly away!", said I, "Go away somewhere and leave me free."
Back to work again I plod turning sideways as I swore.
While I conjured, a time bomb ticking, suddenly there came a flicking,
As a feline tongue starts licking, licking on my facial pores!
"'Tis the limit!" I revolted, "Licking on my facial pores?!
Resignation!" I did roar.
Dakota Balmore 10/12/96
Clement Moore's Cat "Blitzkrieg"
HAVE A MERRY KITTY XMAS [OPUS 203]
It was the night before Xmas,
And all through our place,
Both the parents were wrapping
The presents with lace.
When pouncing by bedside,
Came four creatures that stirred.
With cat curiosity,
To see what's occurred.
They saw Mom in her nightgown,
And Dad in his briefs.
As the cats planned and plotted,
Like four little "thiefs".
On Andra, on Cara, on Camy and Peppi,
On tortie, on tabby, tuxedo Giuseppe.
Bounce away, pounce away, disturbing it all.
Shred papers and ribbons. . . .make Mom caterwaul.
As they flew down the stairs
Towing satin and lace,
They went straight for the socks,
Hung by firey place.
After tugging and pulling
Most all the socks down.
They pulled out the presents,
And then went to town.
After chasing and playing,
And running 'round free.
They proceeded to climb,
The Yule Xmas tree.
As Mom and Dad rounded the stair,
They stood appalled in their underwear.
And as the cats gave a glance and dashed out of sight,
It didn't feel a merry Xmas or to them a good night.
From the anthology Feles Maximus
Dakota Balmore 12/24/96
John Keats's cat "Urnest"
ODE ON AN OATMEAL PACKET [OPUS 516]
You unravished bride of quietness,
Bag of mystery sitting upon the fridge.
Calling me on...desiring to be the mess,
Sprawled upon the living room ridge.
How can I ignore thee?
With your beckoning, you do call
My feline instincts into action.
Then, as I leap myself free,
Past the aire of mightiest gall,
I land with determined compaction.
Sitting upon the washbasin shelf,
Your nearness gives me the urge
Of deepest admiration of thyself.
It's your essence I need to purge.
The mystery that lies inside your bounds,
Draws me like the daintiest scent,
Of my favorite weed...that nip for cats.
I ask myself upon what grounds,
Of this feline quest of which I'm bent
Gives me the right to slits and slats?
It is thee! Oh, oatmeal packet.
It is thee! And the simple reason
That you exist. . . .is my racket.
To let you be is simple treason,
To a catly, selfless or selfish instinct,
That was born in my ancestral bed.
That lay wed, host to all my kind.
How can I make it more succinct,
In the light of explanations shed?
I must rip you to shreds...just to unwind.
One more leap atop the box of ice,
An adroit steal, then down to floor
Of kitchen and off to enjoy the spice,
That makes my life completely soar.
To bite and chew. . . .and chew and bite.
And leave kernels in sight of man.
With no grand plan I enjoy my time
Punching holes to shed the light
Into your perforated packet span.
There is no reason. There is no rhyme.
I don't make such a furry fuss.
I simply do what a kitty must
Do to enjoy a felinely sup,
And let the master clean it up.
From the anthology Feles Maximus
Dakota Balmore 9-7-97
William Blake's Cat "Lambchops"
THE MOUSE [OPUS 521]
Little mouse, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
In the hole at base of wall,
To list' unto my caterwaul;
Gave thee such a tender taste;
Made thee morsel not for waste.
Little mouse, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little mouse, I'll tell thee,
Little mouse, I'll tell thee,
The heavyside ones in sky,
Made thee not to fly,
So when you scurry past,
You are there to stem my fast.
Little mouse, I give praise to thee,
Little mouse, I do graze on thee,
From the anthology Feles Maximus
Dakota Balmore 9-13-97
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's cat "Sinewy"
MASTER SMITHY [OPUS 522]
Under a spreading chestnut tree,
My Master Smithy stands,
Calling up aloud to me,
With wide and outstretched hands.
How could I have forthwith seen,
Ascending trip up tree,
Would strand me here amongst the green,
Of leafy garden sea.
With dirty look...sinuey glare,
He throws at me words that swear.
I suppose he'll need a ladder,
And, when home, he will be gladder.
I don't know how I wound up here.
My only interest is up the tree.
When it comes to getting down I fear,
The thought did not occur to me.
From the anthology Feles Maximus
Dakota Balmore 9-13-97
Edgar Allan Poe's cat "Dicey"
THE SMELLS [526]
Whiff the wafting of the smells---
Rancid smells!
What a world of detriment their odor foretells!
How they tingle a cat's fine nose.
In the icy air of night!
While the master takes a tinkle,
All of olfact'ry seems to wrinkle.
With a reeking dislike;
Smelling rank, rank, rank,
As a sort of septic tank,
To funkyfunkylation that aromatically swells
From the smells,---
From the smells, smells, smells, smells,
Smells, smells, smells---
From an inkling and the stinking of the smells.
From the anthology Feles Maximus
Dakota Balmore 9-14-97
Alfred Lord Tennyson's cat "Grapeshot"
THE SIX FELINES OPUS [527]
Half a strut, half a strut,
Half a strut onward,
All in the alley of dogs
Strode the six felines.
Forward, the kitty raid.
Clawing at canines strayed.
Into the alley of dogs
Strode the six felines.
Forward the kitty raid.
There was not a cat dismay'd!
And every feline knew
Canines had blundered:
There's not to reason why,
There's but to claw butt
And snouts awry.
Into the alley of canines
Strode the six felines.
Fangs to the right of them,
Fangs to the left of them,
Fangs in front of them
Hissed by designs.
Dogs caught off guard,
Clawed from yard to yard.
Into the alley of dogs,
Into their midst unmarred
Strode the six felines.
Six hard and tough kitties.
Made alleys safe for cities.
And if ever a dog should doubt,
Then let it be on their scary snout
That on that fateful day,
The cats were here to stay,
And into the alley of dogs
Strode those six felines.
From the anthology Feles Maximus
Dakota Balmore 9-18-97
Julia Ward Howe's cat "Glory"
MY TEETH ARE MUNCHING ON [OPUS 531]
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the bird;
He is caged among the felines, and his singing can be heard.
I shall loose my sharp fangs down upon this feathery songbird.
My teeth are munching on.
I have watched him from atop my secret highest perchy loft,
I have known beneath the feathers he is fat and juicy soft,
And to put him in a stew he'd make a fine bird Stroganoff
My teeth are munching on.
I have sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
Oh, be swift, my pounce, to bounce on him! be jubilant my feet!
I believe that every kitty should digest a bird to eat.
My teeth are munching on.
From the anthology Feles Maximus
Dakota Balmore 9-21-97
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