The Pigeon And The Pussycat …

The other day I came down with a nasty cold, it had been a long time coming (as a hypochondriac, it always is.) I made the most of it, really maximised that good lurgy time. I snuggled up in bed, ate pumpkin soup and watched an Edgar Allen Poe documentary. As I had with Earl Grey tea recently, I rediscovered Edgar Allen Poe – I’d forgotten how much I loved him and how much I had enjoyed writing brilliant (appalling) poems and rhymes at school.

The week before one of my best friends from school wrote me an incredibly sweet and timely letter, topped off with a mix tape. As my iTunes library is pretty limited on this computer I decided my offering in return would be a Poe-inspired poem in time for Halloween. I wrote it on the tube from Old Street to Balham and was pretty pleased with the result; just enough clichés to make it a recognisable homage to Poe and enough in-jokes so my friend could feel an affinity with it.

Recently I have found nothing I want to blog about and as this has been the first thing I’ve wanted to and had time to write, so I thought it might as well go on here.

A bit of back story to help you understand the poem more – Peter Kettle or PK or Pete Kitten, looks like a little kitten, he has little eyes and a cute bobbin nose, he loves cats, he taught me how to play guitar – cool guitar, I used to call him Pete Kitten and he used to call me Crazy Pigeon Lady (God knows why, I’m not in the slightest bit unhinged.)

Oh and Edgar Allen Poe’s dead gothic, in case you haven’t encountered him …..


The Pigeon and The Pussy Cat

Once upon a grey dark evening,

Through trees the moon came beaming.

A pigeon stood upon a branch like bone,

Through the trees the wind did howl and moan.

Then from a distance came a song,

The pigeon tilted her head and listened long.

The notes drifted through the air like spring,

The pigeon had to investigate this din.

So using the crochets and the quavers as a guide,

Towards the song the pigeon did glide.

As the pigeon came closer she made out a silhouette,

A feline shape, yet she felt no threat.

She fluttered down by the side of the pussycat,

And cooed “You’re just a kitten, how can you play like that?”

The pussycat looked at her and smiled,

And with his feline mouth replied …

“I have tiny eyes but dextrous fingers,”

“I have a button nose and little ears where songs do linger.”

Every night for weeks and weeks,

With the cat on that balcony the pigeon did tweet.

The cat would teach the pigeon country chords,

And they would dream of warmer shores.

One day as they danced and played ‘Jolene,’

A crazy lady approached with fox-tails in her hair and breath like bream.

She snatched the cat and smashed the guitar,

Threw breadcrumbs at the pigeon and coughed up tar.

The pussycat did squeal and screech,

But his smashed guitar was out of reach.

The pigeon hesitated for a beat,

Looked in to the dark forest and at the breaded treats.

But as the pussycat was dragged away,

She realised without him she could not stay.

And so she followed the crazy lady and the cat,

And with that breath, never looked back.

To Pete Kitten Love Crazy Pigeon Lady


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