[Marion Shore]

John's Cat Replies

Don't gloat too much, my dear friend John,
that I've got five years to your one.
For though your life may outlast mine,
Remember, I've got nine.

[Martin Elster]

This is not a funny one, but ...

Dialogue With an Old Acquaintance

A photo of the way I used to be
sits on a shelf and often talks to me.
He peers across the dusty glass to say,
“Remember how I’d practice tirelessly,

learning piece after piece? And then I’d play
for mom and dad and brother, sis, aunt Kay.
“I do. They thought you had some talent.” “Yes,”
the picture says, “but I felt like the prey

of some great raptor when, in formal dress,
I’d get on stage. I couldn’t bear the stress
of all those eyes and ears. How they would peer
into my core of jelly!” “What a mess

you were!” I say, “fear ruined your career.”
And then I walk away. Year after year
he endlessly complains through the veneer,
his gripes like dulcet airs to my old ear.

[John Whitworth]

Worth a tea-set, Martin. A tea-set? What's with this tea-set?

Marion, we calculate cat years as times seven, but your calculation is better. By your reckoning he's only eighty-five, a mere slip of a thing. But I have to say he's gone crazier than me. AND he pisses in the utility room. I don't do that yet.

[Mary Meriam]

Yet, John, yet? You have plans for the utility room?

I haven't spent much time at The Oldie - do they want humor only?

[Martin Elster]

Originally Posted by John Whitworth

Worth a tea-set, Martin. A tea-set? What's with this tea-set?

Thanks, John. I always wanted a tea-set.

AND he pisses in the utility room. I don't do that yet.

But you're planning on it?

Martin

[Martin Elster]

The Old Mutt Converses With His Puppy Photo

“Hey, you,” the former snapshot of me yaps.
I woof to the young whippersnapper, “Pup,
what’s up?” “Remember all those snarly scraps
I used to have? Eugene would break them up,
but not before I’d wup the shabby cur.
Remember how I’d snatch a scrap from dinner
when Gene would leave the room a minute?” “Sure!
You clearly were a peerless canine sinner.”

“But now,” my photo barks, “you lag behind
and pant like a steam engine on a trail.
You beg instead of steal. You’re nearly blind
as an olm. I’m glad I’m still a pup!” “My tail,”
I bay, “wags often as it did for you,”
then walk into an oak just out of view.

[John Whitworth]

Mary, they don't say, but the feel of the entries in the last two numbers is much the same as in the Speccie, quite a few of the same names, even my own very occasionally. I should treat it in the same way.

Re utility room. I don't think the cat was planning it. I think it was raining outside. I don't have the same hard choices in that respect. In this regard I might point out that it was commonplace for Oxford students of forty years ago and more to use the washbasin because they didn't fancy crossing a wet quadrangle at night to the only comfort station. Auden did it. Not me of course. I was made of sterner stuff.

And while I'm here I might suggest that some of you glance at something called The Plough Prize (poetry) to be found by googling The Poetry Kit. There are, beside the usual Open competition, categories for children's poetry and short poems of ten lines. Not as many prizes as I could wish but a single judge, Alison Brackenbury, who is a proper poet who rhymes and scans herself. Entry forms are downloadable and the deadline isn't until 30th November.

[Marion Shore]

Yep, John, seven years. We live longer than dogs. Maybe because we meditate. And pee where we choose.
--Tiger and Jessie

There you have it, John. They talk too. And they help me write. (A piece by them was recently published in Light.)


Back to the matter at hand:

"The acne, the hormones, the angst--"
"Don’t you miss feeling sexy and flirty?"
"Be your age again? Well, no thanks!"
"Me, I’d rather be dead than turn thirty!"

"The ardor of youth swiftly flies,
but the spirit grows wiser and deeper."
"Yeah, but who wants to be deep and wise,
if it means looking like the crypt keeper?"

[Roger Slater]

DIALOG

When someone took this photograph
my age was somewhat less than half
my current age, perhaps a third.
"Young Me, may we two have a word?"

"What is it, Old Me? Make it quick.
Don't give me geezer rhetoric.
I see that we survive. That's great.
There's no need to expatiate."

"There is, I tell you!" "No, you're wrong."
"I promise you, this won't take long."
"What is it?" "Listen. Do not whine!
Sell all of our stocks in ninety-nine!"

[Janet Kenny]

Not Me


Well look at you! Those glued on lashes
make you look like Dusty Springfield.
Don’t you know that real panache is
effort hidden, not revealed?

Listen sister, in the sixties
no one bothered with good taste.
On the stage these little tricks ease
stress where dress is all two faced.

You looked older then than I do
now with only half the paint.
You were young and fresh so why do
all that being what you ain’t?

Swinging London made me do it.
PVC and Mary Quant'd
set the style and if you blew it
you were not what casting wanted.