The Cow and the Alley Rat

Back when my kids Cookie and Teebo were growing up, Little Golden Books were staples in our playroom pantry.  Among those, I especially loved reading "The Owl and the Pussycat," that classic of children's nonsense poetry that Edward Lear penned in 1871.

So a couple weeks ago, when I needed to come up with a love poem to read at a performance of the local poetry group I belong to (see more at www.spofest.com), a parody of Lear's timeless masterpiece took shape.  The result was the following poem about another quite unlikely romantic pair (pictured below courtesy of my Beanie Baby collection).

I hope you will enjoy it, and, perhaps, share it with a little person you love.  Cookie, try it out on Sooby, Pooh, Bootsie, and Zoomba, and let me know what they think. Personally I think Pooh will identify well with the alley rat.  Here goes:

                                          The Cow and the Alley Rat

The cow and the alley rat took to the sky
In a polka-dot hot air balloon.
They took some Spam and blackberry jam
Just in case they got hungry at noon.
The rat looked out to the clouds about
And sang to a walking bass,
"You are udderly beautiful, Bessie, my love,
And those lovely black spots on your face,
     Your face,
     Your face,
You wear with such elegant grace!"

Cow said to the rat, "Though you're just a bit flat,
With some practice, you could sing better.
I think I am ready right now to go steady,
But how can I fit in your sweater?"
The winds whispered soft and kept them aloft
'Til they reached a castle aglow;
And there on a ray from the sun far away
Stood a stork with a bundle wrapped so,
     Wrapped so,
     Wrapped so,
And the rat told the cow THEY MUST GO!

"Dear Stork, we're quite harried 'cause we're not yet married!"
Said Rat as he mopped up his brow.
"Whether girl or a boy, this bundle of joy
Won't fit with our planning right now!"
So with handle of spoon, he popped their balloon,
Which sped up their trip back.  Oh dear!
They left the stork standing, then looked toward their landing
With great trepidation and fear,
     And fear,
     And fear,
And the rat said, "We're dead meat, my dear!"

The rat aahed and oohed, and Bessie just mooed;
They were certain they both were quite dead.
But before they met fate, the stork said, "Hey wait--
This bundle is just homemade bread!
In your hurry to fly your balloon to the sky,
This is what you neglected to pack."
With his expertise flying, he saved them from dying,
And they paid the favor right back,
     Right back,
     Right back:
They shared all the food in their sack.


 

Just the Birds

It is quiet at Googie's house this morning.  Pa-pa is off at a conference, so at the moment, my cup of coffee keeps me company and does a pretty good job of it.

The morning lends itself to reminiscence and a somewhat pensive state of mind.  I think about my aunt who has just passed and contemplate the events that, this weekend, will honor that life lived long and well.

It is also the calm before the sweet storm of summer grandkid visits, which Sooby will kick off in a couple days.  The end of the week will bring a whirlwind, no doubt.

As I sip the last lukewarm drop of coffee, I look down at my mug and smile.  The mug advertises our local poetry group, SpoFest, organized just over two years ago by a friend and former creative writing student of mine.  Once again, I marvel at the fruit of this man's vision despite his physical blindness.  I lean back, close my eyes, and wonder what it would be like to be blind.

And so, out of all this, comes this short lyric poem, with which I will bid you good morning on this gorgeous late-spring day.  I hope you like it.

                   Just the Birds

I close my eyes, and I hear just the birds--
a solo first, and then a chorus swells,
a redbreast maestro setting tone and pace
from his director's stand upon a branch.
With open eyes the music fades away
to only faint and random background notes--
the neighbor's yellow cat stalks prey so loud;
her laundry flaps so noisily on the line.
I close my eyes against these raucous sights,
and when I do that, I hear just the birds.

What Bootsie Saw

I swear, it was the cutest thing I had ever heard Bootsie say.  It happened last Sunday night, after she had seen me dressed in a Halloween costume earlier that day.  "Googie?" she said with no small amount of incredulity in her little two-year-old voice.  "I saw you a boy."

She had indeed.  That afternoon, I had stuffed my hair under a short black wig, slathered the area around my eyes with dark shadow, spirit-gummed on some eyebrows and a mustache, and velcroed a fake bird to the shoulder of my mortuary-black jacket.  Why?  For three hours last Sunday, I became Edgar Allan Poe.

My other major writing interest, apart from this blog, is to help a former student of mine, known this time of year as "Joseph Nightmare," to produce poetry/prose readings every couple months at various venues in and around our town.  We call our organization "SpoFest."

In October, we become "SpookFest," complete with scary material, costumes, and special effects.  This year, in an effort to increase audience involvement, we added a three-round Edgar Allan Poe trivia contest.  Emceeing that contest was yours truly, outfitted to look the part from head to toe. (If you are interested, you can see our readings and trivia rounds on our website at www.spofest.com.)

Googie as Edgar Allan Poe

 

I saw Bootsie eyeing me curiously as I left the house for SpoFest.  I was glad she didn't seem frightened or unduly alarmed.  She just kind of took in the sight, processed it during the evening, and, I think, was glad to see me morph back into the real Googie later.

 

I have always been fascinated by the way children use language to describe new experiences.  They take the limited vocabulary and syntax they know, and find a way to adapt it to an event or situation not yet in their repertoire.  People often think of these adaptations as "cute."  I think they are the brilliant epitome of creativity.  My baby girl saw me a boy, and, thanks to the photo, you can see me a boy too. 

 

We are thinking about Stephen King trivia for SpookFest 2013 (that is, if we are still around after our "Doomsday" SpoFest, set for Dec. 4, 2012).  That costume will probably be a little more challenging to put together, but I guess I had better prepare to see myself another boy.

 

I wonder what a then three-year-old will have to say about that?