1851, Ireland, a cat , by Neal O'Carroll

Into the west rode the brave young cat
Not one to balk at a crisis like that
On and on ran the brave little mite
Fearlessly fighting the potatoe blight

A hundred years later he lay undisturbed
In his grave, a death which left most unperturbed
For nobody knew or cared or remembered
How one little pussy's life got dismembered

Mrs Proctor's Prescription, by Neal O'Carroll Take twice daily, says the doctor Handing them to Mrs. Proctor Don't forget to try a packet Of these ones - they're quite a racket All the young ones swear by them They make  you feel more feminine And frankly you could do with some Unless you want to be a nun The Count Perishes, by Neal O'Carroll I see a purple man on stair Despite the overwhelming glare He calls at me amidst the white To please turn off the painful light I turn and look and see and shudder Hate and evil spill, I blubber Apocalyptic is the scene He drowns in brightness, his breath weans Seconds pass, he's disappeared The whole vampire, and his beard Immersed in whiteness, doomed to die There but for his grace go I (Any similarity between the character portrayed in this poem, and the puppet character "The Count" from Sesame Street, are entirely coincidental) Untitled (Recently republished on novelty cards given to my wedding guests. Lucky them) A cat or a puppy - oh what a choice One brings you walkies, the other kills mice If only the breeders could open their eyes And come up with some sort of a compromise The Seller, by Neal O'Carroll Central heating's overrated Said the salesman as he baited Two new buyers for his fires Electric ones – they're powered by wires Try these melons said the seller Forcing them on Mrs. Weller Two a pound, there's nothing cheaper Other's prices are much steeper Try some of this, the pusher whispered It'll really get you withered Free this time, until you're netted No doubt you'll have had them vetted By a friend who knows these things He'll tell you that they'll give you wings He'll look quite a bit like me Except disguised with toiletries He'll entice you back to me That's when I can up my fee Ah this job, it's such a bliss Perhaps I shouldn't tell you this Puppy on the roof, by Neal O'Carroll Once upon a slated roof A tired puppy rested hoof He sat atop the summit's crest And faced his weary eyes out west He spied a gasworks, lit and smokey "Gosh" he cried out "Be the hokey" Up atop the gasworks chimney Sat his second cousin Jimmy "What you up to?" he did shout And cousin Jimmy turned about To find out who was calling him And why they thought his name was Jim "I'm sorry" Jimmy hollered back You've confused me. My name's Jack The puppy did apologise Something had clouded his eyes "So what you up to anyway?" To his new acquantance he did say "I'm crapping down this warm gas pipe About to give my ass a wipe Any other questions, shithead?" "No" said puppy, then he fled And nothing further 'twixt them said Till the day when both were dead

Sojourn to Nibit, by Neal O'Carroll Every Monday afternoon without a deviation I climb aboard an army tank and ride it to the station On arrival I dismount and purchase me a ticket Then off I go along the track to destination Nibit Nibit is a city of which very little's known But for the last decade or so I have there weekly flown It might be for the discount stores which sell cheap toiletries More likely it's because I like to go there to catch bees

Fungal Reflection, by Neal O'Carroll

As I sit and ponder why An ostrich ever tries to fly I deviate and think of times I've spent looking at railway lines I've always wondered how they stay So firmly parallel, no stray They must be blessed, those engineers With very powerful inner ears To balance themeselves accuratly Atop an overlooking tree And peer down at their long day's works To make sure it aligns like forks And while I ponder and I muse Fact and fiction start to fuse And I imagine tales of old Of William Tell and legends bold An apple hangs upon said tree And underneath is little me The engineer he shoots a bow And over I do start to go Falling far through open air Until I wake up fine and fair Amazed at how I dreamt so clear The mushrooms are fantastic here The Bet, by Neal O'Carroll Several years ago I met a gentleman who claimed That any scheme to win a bet on horses was hair brained I challenged him to wager on which foal would win the cup And halfway through the race got interrupted by a pup The dog ran out upon the track and made his presence felt The organisers looked so hot it seemed like they might melt One horse tripped over, then another, followed by the rest It goes to show, I always say, that puppies are a pest The Cat Lottery, by Neal O'Carroll Eleven cats of diff'ring sizes Ran a lottery with prizes Thereby breaching section twenty Of the Gaming Act (1990) Some were jailed, while others pleaded Ignorance, and were believe-ed "Cats are stupid, so it's credible" Said the judge, "that they'd be gullible" That been said, they did get cautioned Not to offer people fortunes Scratch and sniff, but not on cards Or else you'll end up behind bars

 

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