Po-ems by OperaKait:

 

 

1. Prologue

 

Of course I’ll write about myself,

there’s nothing more important,

except perhaps a Double Fudge

and decaf from Tim Horton.

 

I’ll talk about my parents –

those were my generators –

one was called an opera ghost,

and one a moderator;

 

to me they are just Mum and Dad,

numbers joined in cyberspace,

the zero hid within dark walls,

the one was always in your face.

 

One night among the cosmic glow,

their paths were thrown together,

and so I came into this place,

far lighter than a feather;

 

I learned to write my letters

by pounding on resplendent keys –

well, yes, they once were splendid,

before the messy birth of me;

 

but that was then and this is now –

I shall regale you with my poems,

and then, before you know it,

I’ll ship you many turgid tomes,

 

in which I’ll talk about my life,

the trials of being only three,

and by the time I disappear,

you will have had enough of me!

 

 

 

2. Boris Zarloff

 

My mommy gave to me a cat,

a stray that wandered by our house,

I had to beg and plead and cry,

and even say I saw a mouse!

Of course she crumbled at my tears –

a temper tantrum helped a lot –

I held my breath, and, turning blue,

what I demanded, well, I got!

 

Boris Zarloff – now that’s a name!

Not that he looks very scary –

he’s cute and cuddly as can be,

though his prey must now be wary:

for he thinks he is a hunter

born to slay all household dragons,

so first he slew a tennis ball

and then set upon my wagon.

 

He battered every table leg

and clawed through Mommy’s underwear,

then shredded all the woollen stuff

that she had packed away with care;

a hunter brave would never cease

to seek out every waiting foe,

and so he chewed the plastic leaves

that on our fakus ficus grow.

 

The table was his battlefield,

where evil plates and vases stood,

and curtains just called out to him,

like every piece of fine-carved wood;

but Mommy held her tears in check

as Zarloff ran from place to place,

for all the wreckage left behind

was cancelled by my grinning face.

 

 

 

3. Sleepless in Halifog

 

Brahms wrote lots of lullabies

to put kids like me to sleep,

but when Mommy tries to sing them –

well, it makes me want to weep;

 

her voice is like a razor

that shaves away my dreams,

I hear her start to warble

and produce prodigious screams –

 

the neighbours start to holler

as our cat takes off in fright,

fearing evil canine monsters

are afoot again tonight.

 

I wish she’d take some lessons,

maybe learn to sing on key –

it would cost my Daddy money,

but he’d do anything for me!

 

Till then I’ll use these earplugs

I found in Mommy’s drawer –

did I tell you that my Daddy

is the king of midnight snorers?

 

No wonder I’m in need of sleep,

so I’m begging, Mister Brahms,

please play your music loud enough

to drown out these alarms!

 

 

 

4. The Diva Next Door

 

Late last night I heard a roar

unlike any I have heard before:

a scream that woke me up from sleep –

a monster rising from the deep

to lie in wait under my bed

for little kids on which it fed!

I cried to Mommy, “rescue me!

There’s some creature I can’t see,

it’s growling and howling outside,

a prowling lion with its pride.”

My dearest Mom came right away

to save me from this evil bray,

she took my hand and told me “hush”,

then to the window did she rush!

It opened wide into the night –

the howling gave me such a fright –

but in her hand she held a shoe

and clearly knew just what to do:

she threw it out with deadly aim,

this fearsome creature she would maim!

No more was I some helpless peon:

gone the voice of Feline Dion.

 

 

 

5.  Mommy’s Day5.  Mommy’s Day

 

Someone thinks my Mommy

deserves a special day,

with lots of yummy chocolate

for which I had to pay;

I bought the best at Forrest Gump’s,

a selection she’ll remember,

so when I next disrupt her life

she’ll hold her Irish temper,

not scowl at me for little things

that really are not serious –

like the day I drank her vodka

and ended up delirious;

or when I fed the kitten

the steak she’d bought for dinner –

why, if she’d eat just spinach

at last she would be thinner;

or when I broke the window,

dripped paint on all the floors,

pulled down every curtain rod

and banged nails in all the doors.

 

My Mommy needs to mellow out,

and so I wrote this ditty,

in hopes that when I screw up next

she’ll show a bit more pity,

take me in her loving arms

and say that all is right,

that if I see a monster

I can sleep with her tonight;

I promise to be extra good

and even clean my room,

of course it may takes ages

to find our long lost broom –

so here’s my box of chocolates,

and I’m as thankful as can be –

for even though she’s slightly nuts

she dared to bring forth ME!

 

 

 

6.  Chipmunk Motors

 

We took a drive on Sunday

to visit Mommy’s Mum,

I made the Caesar salad –

which was a lot of fun –

Mommy boiled the turnips

and asparagus as well –

though Daddy looked dejected

at the thought of how he’d smell.

 

We got into the old blue Ford

and Daddy turned the key,

but still within a block of home

a puzzled chipmunk looked at me –

he’d jumped out of the engine

to grasp at window wipers –

he stared right through the glass

as if he saw some vipers.

 

Mommy screamed to Daddy

to stop the car real fast,

while Chip clung to the wipers

in hopes that he might last;

then Daddy went into reverse

and drove backwards on the street,

until, back in our driveway,

poor Chip regained his tiny feet.

 

He jumped back down and ran

as fast as he could go,

away from human monsters

and back into his hole;

I saw him later on that day --

at bird seed did he pick –

and I could tell with but a glance

that cars just made him sick.

 

I didn’t think I’d ever know

why on earth he climbed inside,

cause it gets very hot in there

and Chips can get fast fried,

but Mommy got a bill today –

and you should see her boil –

three hundred bucks for Mr. Moe,

for changing engine oil!

 

 

 

7.  Saint Patrick’s Day

 

The Irish think Saint Patrick

should have a special day,

for bringing Christianity

and driving snakes away,

the patron saint of Ireland,

who once was just a slave,

now has parades in Boston

so far from Erin’s waves.

 

And so I’ll wear a green hat,

and try to look real keen

to celebrate his legacy

each March the 17;

but my Mommy told a story

that really is a scream:

forget the snakes and shamrocks –

‘twas the beer that made him green!

 

 

 

8.  A Troll in One

 

My Mommy found a TROLL last night –

it was hiding beneath my bed –

I cannot now repeat to you

the wild and woolly words she said!

 

She chased him with her driving club

(I pursued him with the putter),

he looked as if he’d seen a ghost,

but it only was my mother.

 

She hopes that he is gone for good,

perhaps he’s found another house –

if something hides beneath my bed

I’d rather it be Mickey Mouse;

 

but if he comes to play again

she’s given me a solemn pledge:

to blast him out of our front yard

with her unbeaten bunker wedge!

 

 

 

9. On Sail

 

I drifted blissfully along

and heard the music of a song

that told of wonders yet to see,

of precious gems awaiting me.

 

A Siren sounded her alarm

but promised me no body harm --

“just come and look”, she cried aloud,

“for what I offer makes me proud.”

 

So to her island I did steer,

to see more treasure coming near --

bright rings of silver and of gold,

more than my tiny craft could hold.

 

Another Siren caught my eye,

her beacon shining in the sky –

so many islands in my view

I hardly knew what I should do!

 

But Mommy seized my vessel’s helm

and turned my barque away from them,

to bid farewell just broke my heart --

the Aisles of Wal-Mart to depart.

 

 

 

10.  Pindaric Ode to a Hard Drive

 

O Zeus on High, what have I done

that troubles woeful to me come,

have I displeased your majesty

so that the Furies fly to me?

For on this day my trusty friend

has met a most untimely end –

one who served me day and night

now lies afar in fatal fright,

waiting for the god of health

to soar within the cloak of stealth

and fix the heart that beats no more,

that it return through my front door.

A hard drive prays unto the gods

in spite of most oppressive odds,

and as I long to learn its fate

my troubled mind doth hesitate:

what shall I do if he comes not,

what other hardware must be bought?

For funds are running very low –

O Zeus on High, a tragic blow!

 

 

 

11. Bills, by Edgar Allen Moe

I see the Postie with the bills -
Christmas Bills!
What a world of misery the delivery fulfills!
How they crinkle, crinkle, crinkle,
In the debt-bound air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to crinkle
With a dramamine delight;
Keeping cash, cash, cash
In a sort of fevered rash,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically trills
From the bills, bills, bills, bills,
Bills, bills, bills -
From the springing and the crinkling of the bills.
I see the yellowed debtor bills,
Christmas Bills!
What a world of misery their delivery fulfills!
Through the debt-bound air of night
How they sing out their delight!
From the spanking, banking notes,
Portending my ruin,
What a liquidator floats
To the indebted that listens, while she gloats
to the moon!
Oh, from out the fev'rish chills,
What a gush of sweating bankruptcy wills!
How it spills!
How it chills
At the Future! how it trills
Of the raptors that it fills
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bills, bills, bills,
Of the bills, bills, bills,bills,
Bills, bills, bills-
To the whining and the climbing of the bills!


Hear the loud not-paid bills-
Brazen bills!
What a tale of terror, now, their insolvency spills!
In the wax-blocked ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Far too overdue to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to a payment rather dire,
In a mad expostulation that the debtor not expire,
Leaping interst, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now–now to pay or never,
By the time of the January moon.
Oh, the bills, bills, bills!
What a tale their presence trills
Of Despair!
How they clang over cash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the tintinabulating ear!
Yet the ear, it foully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the interest ebbs and flows:
Yet the ear distinctly fills
With the jangling,
And the wrangling,
As the danger stinks and spills,
By the sinking or the stinking in the anger of the bills-
Of the bills-
Of the bills, bills, bills,bills,
Bills, bills, bills-
In the clamor and the clangor of the bills!


Hear the trilling of the bills-
Christmas Bills!
What a world of gloomy thought their monody fulfills!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the debt within their throats
Is a groan.
And the taxmen –ah, the taxmen-
They that hide among the waxmen,
All Alone
And who, trolling, trolling, trolling,
In their muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who bowls;
As he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A ball paid by the bills!
And his merry bosom fills
With the paean of the bills!
And he dances, and he thrills;
Counting time, time, time,
In a sort of Roma rhyme,
To the paying of the bills-
Of the bills:
Counting time, time, time,
In a sort of Roma rhyme,
To the robbery of the bills-
Of the bills, bills, bills-
To the sobbing brought by bills;
Counting time, time, time,
As he wills, wills, wills,
In a happy Roma rhyme,
To the trilling of the bills-
Of the bills, bills, bills:
To the trilling of the bills,
Of the bills, bills, bills, bills-
Bills, bills, bills-
To the crabbing and the grabbing of the bills.


And my mistress, Oh, my mistress,
is feeling oh so listless,
from the pain, pain, pain
of her mi-graine, graine,
contemplating bills, bills, bills,
as she swallows pills, pills, pills.