How do you like my poem about a dead mole?Don’t you think it eclipses that hamster claptrap?
Ode to a Mole
In that dark hole,
Mole was a miss
In that love/hate thang
Death was a kiss
Hang yourself Judas!
You pushbutton abuse us,
You take our fond wishes,
And simply get vicious.
A li’l roley poley
A sweet guaca-moley
She terrorized farmer
But no troll should harm her
Too bad that the misery
Should love that sad company
You blasted…you bled her
I n’er shall forget her.
Memories? I gottem,
When I see a fat bottom,
I cannot avenge thee
Butt, honor your memory
A hank of mole bone
And a hunk of blue hair
To me, just like Elvis,
You are everywhere.
RIP….Moley
August 18th 2007
glgjns: Sarcastic? I think not. Maybe nonplussed at the mole’s killers, but, I maintain that I maintained reverence and respect. Now remove your hat, when you read this ode. I will however consider odes to living things in the future. What about inanimate objects?
Mr. Dog,: Shouldn’t your name be “Salty Ball o’ Cotton”? You hamster
gangstas don’t scare me…bring it on!
If an owl who said who
did a poo in ur shoe
u would say ooo look at the goo
The fat cat s
ate the fat rat
then sat in the fat hat
and shat
slpat and that was that
i like ur poem do like mine
love hurts i guess
Lots of sarcasm there. Are you trying to compete with the baroness von Molskie, or whatever, whose love of these creatures and those of similar ilk has inspired many a question on here? If so, I’d say he/she has definitely met his/her match. However, since you are obviously so gifted, why not spend your time writing odes to more upbeat, live subjects, such as monkeys, fish and pigs, just as starters?
Seriously, though, I liked your ode, sardonic as it was….He-ho!
Stupendous, revelatory, marvelous a Triumph and lesson in the form known as Goodbooksgetinnery. I am printing it out on dried Hamster hide parchment to present to her moleyness when she awakens.
Now yore makin’ me sob like a woman!…that ain’t right. I feel empty now…no purpose in life…Like Elmer n’ Bugs, I didn’t really want the dang mole to die!…gotta go beat my mole traps into plowshares now…why am I sad?? Yer poem is purty!
Moley’s not dead! She’s just resting (juggling with devil sticks and tampering with Mitch Craft) after writing things down her poison pen, poisoned her. She said, someone had moulded the end out of a piece of Rhubarb which make her feel quite sick after a few chewing sessions.
Said, she adored that them verses, and will be baking cakes for you and Farmer Crabtree, but don’t go mixing up the two as they will have a very different essence in each.
However it would take a lot of poison and gunshots to pop her off, as she chants, “Yullets can not harm me” like the late and great Jerryonimo who sadley got shots to bits, by some idiots in the making, all them years ago.
A very touching piece, it warmed the ole cockles by Jove!
Only sorry I can’t thumb up yet.
The hamster has his mouth full at the moment to comment.