Imagine yourself living beneath the waves, and hence,
You might covertly cry but fear your flatulence.
But in the other plausibility, tell me, is it art
If your tears float as bubbles, and you make waves when you fart?

We All Need Be A Little More Cat

Image source: AllPosters.com

Meowed by Andrew Filmer

All we need be
A little more cat.
A little less flea
And all is down pat.

Smooth, sly, swooshy, demure
Cats have it all in one simple purr.
It be, as simple as that.
All who have fur
Must indeed concur
We all need to be
A little more cat.

We're not rats. Oh puh-leeze.
Who so often scream, "who moved my cheese?!"
Nope. We're not brittle or bitter.
Except perhaps if, well... someone poops in our litter.
Then, hell.
That's litter with a capital L.

But while others lick their wounds,
That us having a bath, ta-da!
How's that for multi-tasking?
We prowl, we stretch,
And yes, we might have just an ounce of diva
Thanks for asking.

So if your rat-race world is dog-eat-dog
We would suggest a different cuisine
We're lean, we're mean, and we're spotlessly clean
And its fish when we're downright agog.

Thus, a little less flea, yes?
All is down pat, is best.
With all in mind,
Settled and signed,
With not a regret
All we need be

Is a little more cat.

An Ode to That Bright Thing in the Night Sky

I hear a friend is having a poetry session with the moon as its theme which I will be, alas, unable to join as I will be on the other side of the planet. As such, I've decided to place a little contribution blog-wise. Photo credit: National Optical Astronomy Observatory/Association of Universities for Research in Astronomy/National Science Foundation. With thanks for suggestions by Sneexe.


The queen of cheese fears not the fire-faced goon
That parades as a Greek god in daily togas
No masquarade is needed for those with dairy yogas
When the cow flies exclusively over the moon.

Full, thou inspire tales of the furry who howl,
Till a munition gets a silvery bonus.
As a crescent thou endow a religion
Though as a verb you can rather be an onus.

Film and stage does the moon’s romance maintain,
Thou make man’s small steps and rocks special again
And though the sun commands the first of each week,
12 moon-ths that blanket the year are perhaps a tad more sleek.

Though your skill to beguile steadfastly stays
Your gentle example is stark:
As the Chinese make
the moon cake
You reflect the best in others from miles away
And bring out light in the dark.

Once More Around the Moon

In commemoration of 10,000 hits on marsupialmumbles.blogspot.com

On time I ride
Even when I'm not always on time.
Upon my stride that I confide
What can be ours and what remains mine.

And then there are hours, and then there's a line.
There's more than one, actually.
The line that's a fence is a fallacy.
Because the point of a fence is a point encased, this point, no further.
And then there's the real line. The one that has its purpose, in that in it ends in forever.

Which is why we have forwards.
As in the little button.
How we're gluttons.
Because we always want to know how it ends.
That we're not interested if the line is straight, or if it bends.

Maybe that's a good thing though. I'm sure the line wouldn't mind.
When one's sole purpose is just to go on, some company would be, you know, just fine.
I think so anyway. Even though I'm not exacly a line.
And even less often in a line. Though I try not to be out of line.

Though sometimes I whine. But that's ok too, so long as I do it with a little charm.
I mean, what's the harm?
I little twirl is always becoming.
It helps you hit the ground running.

I should swim soon. Though running isn't bad.
But you can't run around the moon.
But if you swim, you just might meet a line.
And on time, and in good company, we ride on time.
Even if you're not exactly on time.
Even if you're not a kangaroo.

And really, that's ok too.