Paw Prints at Large

Cried a luscious young lady from Dijon:
‘I don’t mind if you make eyes at me, John.
If you say “Voulez vous?”
With a smile and a moue
I’ll answer demurely: “Mais oui, John.”‘

A knight-errant who hailed from the north
To his squire said: ‘Go thaddle my horth.’
Though he spoke with a lisp,
His orders were crisp,
And the squire said ‘Yeth, Mathter, of courth.’

There was a young man from the West
Who liked to go out underdressed.
He’d call at the vicar’s
Wearing nothing but knickers,
A smile and a grubby string vest.

Thursday the twelfth day of May
Is national limerick day.
Let the poetical clique
Pour scorn on the ‘rick:
We who write ’em cry hip, hip hooray.

There was a young man from the East
Who ate forty figs at a feast.
He didn’t suspect
That his tum would object
But the poor chap’s now sadly deceased.

Well who’s the cat that got the cream? Ingénue Magazine has just given ‘Paw Prints in the Butter’ a most blush-making review. Here’s a sample: “As with all good writing, this collection of poems can be returned to and enjoyed and shared again and again…. It has certainly earned its place on my bookshelf.” Prrrrrr!

Bird watching

The seagull on the roof is a menace,
And I hate the wood-pidge on the fenace.
But blackbirds I love
And the odd collared dove,
Though damned if I know where the wren is.

While walking one day in the Bois
Marianne and Jean-Paul went too far.
Now she nurses the bébé
Saying ruefully ‘Mébé
I should have retained my sang froid.’

There’s a fine seaside town called Collioure
Where a maiden exceedingly pure
Met an ardent young swain
Who’d come up from Spain –
And the rest of this story’s impure.

If you like reading short short fiction, or if you’d like to try your paw at it yourself, check out The Drabble at https://thedrabble.wordpress.com. They publish stories and poems of a strict maximum 100 words every day, straight to your email in-box. Here’s my latest offering:

Cave Canem

I little know of Stout Cortez
Or whether, as the poet says,
You can descry the blue Pacific
From Darien. To be specific,
I only know one thing – to whit:
You’ll surely get your ankles bit
Should you unwisely vantage seek
By trying to stand upon a Peke.