Catching up with my backlog on the poem-a-week project, here first of all is Zenbunny’s ‘prize’ poem, which I offered a while back to the first person to spot the hidden secret in Tactical Cat-Tricks.

Zen correctly spotted that every line contains the syllable “pi” or “per” alternating—and the poem is about a cat named Piper. (Read Zen’s comment carefully.) I hope the following is prizelike enough for that startling bit of detectivework.

Old Book

written 18 Mar 2008

I

Eyesight be damned: it’s your spine that you’ll miss.
Worst of infirmities coming with age.
(Cliché; one never believes them, and now…)
Joinings that stiffen and crackle on flexing
An effortful venture, the turn of a page.

II

My offspring—I’ve many, by numerous authors;
A marriage of minds, evolution of memes
(Barring the reprints, the spit of their dad)—
Slight disappointments, the lot of them. Written
In language so modern it dates within minutes.
A paperback culture. Disposable reams.

I unashamedly stole the structure from one of my old, old poems. This reads as awfully brief, but I can’t make myself go back and pad it. Someone tell me if it sucks, please; I’m at the “can’t look at it” stage.

I had a few thoughts about the other theme Zen suggested, so we may see a pumpkin poem showing up; no promises…

And the next one is for Cerhn.

Mountain lion (source)

Mountainbank

completed 24 March 2008

From the wonderful wavering glass-bottled range
Of Montgomery P. Concolore,
Can discerning enquirers discreetly exchange
For their myriad ailments, a cure.

He has patented nostrums for fever and gout,
For neuralgia and asthma and mumps,
He’s electrical girdles in case you are stout
And an ointment to spread on your lumps.

Just confide in this cat the amount of your ill
And elixirs he’ll grant without fail—
And present you a neat little itemised bill
Which he’ll sign with the tip of his tail.

Monty’s fishberry tonic refreshes the brain
Though with adverse effects on the breath,
While his ligament liniment soothes every sprain—
And he claims he can cure even death.

Gingivitis and ulcers Montgomery treats
With a poultice of olives and tar;
Disquisitions he’ll give upon sugary sweets—
They have called him the feline Fauchard.

In a drab-coloured coat stands this pantherine sage;
He is white round the muzzle and ears.
But his youthful performance belies his great age
For he boasts over two hundred years.

He has troches for tetanus, bitters for boils
And some gauze for your knee, should you skin it.
Monty makes this great claim of his copious toils:
That a succour is born every minute.

How This One Came About:
Mutt mugged the lovely Cerhn and asked him to gissa theme.
“Mountain lion mountebanks?” suggested Cerhn.
“Catamount quackery! I’ll give it a shot,” said Mutt.
And there was much disbelief.

Writing this one was like pulling teeth, but I think it turned out ok in the end. I HAD to force “cat amount” in there somewhere, which was a nigh-impossible job given my structure. (Anapestic tetra/trimeter. I deliberately went for You are Old, Father William, only more strict with the line beginnings.)