Boot+Kitty=Poetry in motion
There has been much ado over the tales of fiendish deeds,
Perpetuated on our ‘Deer while he sailed the seven seas.
But you can rest assured my friends that I have never mocked
The flashy spandex tights he wears beneath his schoolgirl frocks.
And its not me who criticizes his outlandishly styled hair,
(Though I must admit his toupee needs some spirit gum up there.)
And, I’ve ALWAYS been respectful of the volume of his wit,
(Although, for some strange reason the ‘half’ part seems to fit).
No. I’ve felt that he’s truly a kindred spirit of the seas,
For there is honor amongst us pirates, like that amongst the thieves.
I’ve seen the way he trims his sails and brings his ship about,
When that wily Toerag tries to shoot ‘Deer’s headlights out.
I’ve also witnessed the romantic side of this man called Balladeer,
Of how he scores with all the ‘chicks’ in the diner he sails near.
And its never ceased to amaze me how clever he is with lines,
And how he brings in accomplices when he falls on harder times.
I’ve never been surprised at the volleys that he’ll exchange,
When Toerag tries to board him (now there’s a man deranged!).
The part that takes me aback is how both of them have brought
This loveable old sailor into the skirmishes they have fought.
Now, Toerag, I must admit, has often been maligned,
But by me? A loud ‘NO’ I say. It wasn’t me who signed
All those beautiful lines of prose that make the damsels sigh,
(Sigh?!! They were that good?) OK! I admit that it was I.
But Toerag had it coming because he’s a devil in disguise,
And all us angels know, therefore, his wings should be denied.
Sure he writes some poetry tender ladies hold to their breasts,
(But I wonder if they’d hold them that close if they smelled his breath.)
And I’ve got to wonder at the branches of his family tree,
For when my friend Darwin looked, there wasn’t much to see.
There was one really long long branch that represented him,
Oh! Wait, that was the trunk. ‘Deer’s right! There are no limbs.
As for Poetwheel (that cad) and the way he’s taken sides,
Writing with his gifted pen as he spreads his dirty lies,
He ought to be more careful in describing my trousseau,
I get most of my fashion sense from his choice of clothes.
And the way he eviscerates me so gleefully o’er and o’er,
Makes me wonder if he really originates from any shore.
Perhaps he is a great white shark wearing poet’s garb,
Or maybe a Man O’ War, with about ten thousand barbs.
It doesn’t really matter because everybody else can see,
That I am the most WONDERFUL sailor of the seven seas.
And while these vicious poets stand toe to rag each day,
I’ll peacefully stand to one side and steal the women’s hearts away.
For every woman in here can tell what a gentleman am I
For I always respect the ladies as I look them in the eye.
I never steal secretive glimpses down their low-cut dress,
(Although I might peek just a bit. OK! I gawk I confess).
And in the past when ladies have gone out to dine with me,
I’ve held their door, their chair, their coat, and all of it for free.
I’ve never expected even a kiss in payment for their meal.
OK! I admit it! I may have tried to cop a feel.
And when they have offered me a hasty good night peck,
I never tried to extend the night by asking them to neck.
Oh sure! You’ve been talking to the dozen (maybe two),
Women who had to use their mace to say our date was through.
And so, dear ladies of the Forum, I’m sure that you’ll agree,
Those nasty boys Toerag, Balladeer and Poetwheel,
Have really gone overboard in vilifying this poor old man,
Who writes as Long John Silver, the angel of sea and land.
Now - aren’t you meanies ashamed of picking on me???