29th October 2012

The ferry that transported souls

Way across the river

Was anchored in the harbor

Where anyone would shiver

Who saw it through the mist;

I hope it's not your name

That's on the boarding list,

O pussycat afflicted

In a manner odd and strange,

In my case, not seen before,

Yet it's hoped your luck might change

From bad to good or even more

As what were you but a cat
And a kitten too at that

And if bad things are from God

For the bad things we have done,

Pray, tell me, pussycat,

Of all the bad things you have done,

This judgement passed on you is for which one?

8th September 2011

It seems to me that I cannot decide
Exactly what it is that I desire;
It might be that I can no longer hide
This need to light this big poetic fire
Embodied in this embryonic verse
Whose seed has taken root inside the womb
Which shall should it fall victim to a curse
Be not its incubator but its tomb
But only if the curse involved a death
And death kept to a schedule of its own
When targeting somebody's final breath
Which till today has no way to be known
Except when pointing gun at someone's head
And shooting twice to make sure that he's dead.

[contd. @ www.leokarlos-longest-sonnet-chain.blogspot.com]   

16th June 2011

The children have all eaten, their bellies quite content.

The bedsheets that were soiled have been changed without comment;

The washing up's been done but no need to thank me, ma'am,

As domesticated, aye, that I am.

The children have all eaten, their bellies satisfied,

The garbage has been taken out, the dishes washed and dried;

The pantry's been re-stocked but no need to thank me, ma'am,

As domesticated, aye, that I am.

The children have all eaten, the washing up's been done,

Here comes bedtime knocking on the door for everyone;

Hot water's in the flask but no need to thank me, ma'am,

As domesticated, aye, that I am.

9th June 2011

It's the curse of the clan

That has befallen you,

O Pussycat Afflicted,

As has befallen others before you

That were born into this household

Which your mother,

And the gang of seven behind,

Have thus far escaped

By the skin of their teeth

In general

But which I wouldn't be too confident about

In time to come

As all have fallen victim

To the curse of the clan,

Every single one,

One way or the other.

Not even your mother,

Who has led a charmed life thus far,

Can be lucky forever;

What then makes you so special

That you will be the first?

Already I haven't much hope

In your recovery;

Such was the severity,

And complexity,

Of your affliction

As well as my lack of faith

In a God

Who no longer watches over us

As a shepherd watches over his flock

But now uses each one of us

For target practice,

Myself included.

9th March 2011

Old paint containers in the front porch,

Covered with rags,

Upon which you used to curl up and sleep

Serve as memorials to you,

O Pussycat Departed.

The paint contained within had a strong, foul odor,

The last time I checked,

And it's about time they were discarded.

But somehow, if I look long and hard enough,

I still see you there,

All curled up and fast asleep.

So, tell me,

How am I gonna accomplish something like that

When, apart from some photographs,

Those old paint containers in the front porch,

Covered with rags,

Upon which you used to curl up and sleep,

Were all I had left of you?

21st February 2011

Two rats and seven cats waiting to be fed,

The cats - extended family,

The rats - uninvited guests

But tolerated nonetheless by the cats

Who probably grew up thinking that the rats

Were nothing more than funny-looking cats

And therefore learnt to share the food they ate

Instead of giving vent to the hate

Cats naturally have for rats,

Israelis for Palestinians,

India for Pakistan,

Al Qaeda for the West

And so on

And so forth.

Perhaps we could all learn something from this;

After all, is there not to be found,

All over the world,

To name but one example,

Cats and dogs,

Sworn enemies by nature,

Living harmoniously in the same house together?

21st January 2011

Why should I stand on stage and sing

When others cannot talk

Or do the hundred-meter thing 

When others cannot walk

But in a wheelchair sit

With hands that cannot knit

Or even hold a piece of classroom chalk?

Hence, be silent, tongue of mine

And, feet of mine, be still

Till the waters of the Rhine

Stand up like a hill

Or till the phone next rings

And answer it I must

Or once again sprout wings

Whilst shaking off the dust

Of a good night's sleep

To start anew the day tomorrow always brings

Beginning with a beep, beep-beep, beep-beep,

As does a clock that sings

Or cock-a-doodle-doo's

In its own clock-like way,

Yes, cock-a-doodle-doo's

In its own clock-like way.