Tag Archives: pets

“Wealth”

[Some amenities in the House of Fame] [A new stanza from “Part II” of The New House of Fame by Paul Burgess]
II.?
If Fame becomes the house you call your home,
You’ll have the goods that make the Muses sing:
Garages full of cars with rims of chrome
And limbs adorned with shiny, sacred bling
[To best the richest priests in holy Rome.
Perhaps the Pope will even kiss your ring…]
You might decide to own exotic pets
Like tigers, kangaroos, or marmosets.
II.?
If tired of whitish teeth inside your jaws,
Have braces made from rare, expensive ores—.
For work by one’s cosmetic dentist awes
As much as that of normal Nature bores.
The House’s newest set of tacit laws
Proclaims that teeth must shine like cans of Coors
And ev’ry gaze into your looking glass
Remind you of your economic class.
II.?
When products please you at a shop,
You’ll say, “I’ll take at least a thousand more!”
A star enamored of a vendor’s crop
Might soon decide to buy the chain or store.
The cash will flow and never slow or stop–
Your luxuries will fill a nation’s shore!
Much time and thinking will be wisely burned
On finding ways to spend the wealth you’ve earned.

If you enjoy these stanza, please read the larger, ever-growing poem of which it is a part:

https://paulwhitberg.wordpress.com/2014/06/24/an-introductory-guide-to-becoming-rich-and-famous-2/

“Lost Cat” Revised

While watering the plants today, I heard
The ring of metal tags then saw a cat
And wondered whether he’d pursued a bird
Too far and gotten lost. He was as fat
And clean, from furry head to furry paw,
As any loving person’s treasured pet.
A little like one running from the law—
Eluding officers’ circling, dragging net—
He’d often hide in bushes and in trees.
His eyes appeared to say, “It’s not a game.
I’m scared and want again my life of ease.”
He fled before the tags revealed his name.

I hope his face won’t soon appear in signs
That children post on wooden power lines.

A sonnet by Paul Burgess

“Lost Cat” an Elizabethan Sonnet by Paul Burgess

While watering the plants today, I heard
The ring of metal tags then saw a cat
And wondered whether he’d pursued a bird
Too far and gotten lost. He was as fat
And clean, from furry head to furry paw,
As any loving person’s treasured pet.
A little like one running from the law—
Eluding officers’ circling, dragging net—
He’d often hide in bushes and in trees.
His eyes appeared to say, “It’s not a game.
I’m scared and want again my life of ease.”
He fled before the tags revealed his name.
I hope his face won’t soon appear on pines
In “Help-Me-Find-My-Precious-Kitty” signs.