"moggy" poems
The ginger Tom.
He started to wail.
As the winsome ***** willow swung on his tail.
The black lass became rather familiar.
Made friends with the witch who lived over the hill.
Gave moggy pal a sharp shot of contraceptive in her ***
Didn't want familiar friend to become a mum.
Tom,
Well my dear friends,
Tom never wanted a wife.
Just be a player all of his life.
Thought all his queens were just trouble and strife.
He'd take what he could whenever chances arose.
The tom cat who wasn't wanting romance,
Just left an aroma wherever he went.
Perhaps all his queens need a peg on their nose!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
THE LONELY KITTY
I AM A STRAY KITTY
PLEASE DON'T LET ME ROAM
I NEED A LOVING FAMILY
AND A PLACE TO CALL HOME
I HAVE BEEN ROAMING THE STREETS
SO VERY LATE AT NIGHT
ALL THE PUPPIES BARK AT ME
AND GIVE ME A FRIGHT
THE DOGGY MOGGY
A CAT IS A KITTY
A DOG IS A DOGGY
A DOG IS NOT A CAT
AND A CAT CAN BE A MOGGY
A CAT IS CUDDLY
A DOG IS CUTE
BUT WHEN BOTH ARE TOGETHER
IT IS A REAL HOOT
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 9:11 PM UTC
Munster was his name,
after Herman Munster
of TV fame cause,
he was so big.
But not scary, feral big,
just double dose of cat big.
He was predominately
sleek, shiny black,
with a white bib
and crooked muzzle,
like he had his moustache
painted on in a hurry.
Oh, and he had one white paw.
Poppajack used to say,
he had been caught by God
stealing cream.
Munster was sleek, sinuous
muscle,
he rippled when he walked.
In stalk mode he was, panther incarnate.
Albeit, dressed in a tuxedo.
In cat term's he was vain,
always preening, or finding
a vantage point to show
himself off to the best photographic angle.
But just occasionly,
if we were lucky
and the butterflys
were on the wing,
he would, kitten prance
like a pixie, at the birth of spring.
He was a hunter,
not of bugs and lizards.
A ratter of renown,
he could take a bird
from it's early flight
without a care.
I once saw him, come home
and drop a rabbit,
at Poppajacks feet, before
finding the evening sun
for a well earned nap.
Munster loved Poppajack,
with dedicated flair
would follow him about
the garden, bulter-like,
dignified tail, straight and tall.
They would parade
in regal state,
to check on the vegetable serfdom.
He was not a cat of lap,
but,would sprawl over Poppa's feet like,
black satin slippers
with a purring engine beat.
Majestic Moggy Munster, was felinetity in it's prime.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
The little vacuum wished it would
Grow up and be like its cousin, the
Bag less wonder, he could clean
Places where others couldn,t dream
Of, he was the three wheeled wonder,
The little vacuum wanted to be like
So much and more.
He was taken out of his box twice a
Week, his mother was the toaster his
Dad was a fridge, she made him toasty,
But he gave her the shivers, but in a
Good way my family are like others for sure.
Buttons pressed on and off, his hose was
His nose all kinds of things he sniffed up
From crumbs to socks. But the smell always
Blocked his nose and he did sneeze, out
Come the sock, dust and all, where once
Their was clean carpet there was dust and
Mouldy apple core.
Was it the sock or the apple moldy with
Colour of boggy green and rottern black,
How long had that been inside rotting at
His core. He felt not so good, every time
Turned on he would blow a cloud of dust,
Not ******* it back.
He was down, his hose was not at its best,
He felt like he,d ****** up a cactus, and
The taste was like a soggy moggy or the
Stinkest cheese mixed with a wet sock could
You imagine that.
His mother said you need to keep toasty,
His dad gave him the cold shoulder and
Said son man up, that was the end of that.
So they took him out of the box, thoughts
Went through the little vacuums switch,
Would he end up like uncle larry. He was
A proud drill but one day he could keep it
In, it feel out they said a ***** was lose, that
Was the end of that. Last I heard he was
Recycled, his parts now used everywhere
Scary is that.
So I was lifted out, my nose off it came they
Were washing it under the tap,They opened
Me up to look inside, I felt air in my insides
A weird feeling is that, a bag they took out
Looking worse for wear, had that been inside
Me since they had first unboxed me, gross they
Said was it me I thought, but it was the bag in fact.
They were gentle as they washed my insides,
It tickled me I let out a giggle, they looked at
Each other was that you, not me could have
Been the cat.
Refreshed I felt as they put my hose on
I could breath once more and fresh scents,
Not the smell of a wet moogy, how much
Better was that. A new bag they put in me,
Then closed the cap, I waited for the switch,
Nothing happened, was I to be like uncle
Larry, but they hadnt plugged me in how
Silly is that.
So a whoosh and a sound and I sounded great,
I felt like I was new out the box, so proud was
I, that I cleaned the whole house in record time
In fact. So this is my tail of the little vacuum,
Who was under the weather, but if he,d only
Washed regularly but he cant be blamed for that.
He was a happy and knew one day he would
Grow up to be like his bagless cousin and
Make his dad chill out be proud of him, his
Mother she was already proud of what he did
Around the house.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
You are not my master
But you are my friend
And just because you love me
My time with you i'll spend
You can call me moggy
Or if you like just .. cat
And i will sit beside you
Or by the fire , on the mat
I can't promise not to make a mess
Or not to bother you
But mostly i just sleep allday
Thats what i like to do
And when it comes to evening time
Thats when i like to play
And when i'm feeling hungry
Meow' to you i'll say
No .. you are not my master
But you are my friend
And as long as you will love me
My time with you i'll spend.
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 1:45 PM UTC
She opened her eyes early this morning,
Her hand smoothing Betty's *****
It writhed and wriggled at the touch of her hand,
It was very, very fluffy.
She loved the feeling of the human hand,
Her best friends moggy, made no demands.
(C) Livvi
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
i come home
to
a mexican standdoff
of
sorts
on the inside
of
the window
the
little blucat
with
firebrush tail
and
arched back
facing off against
the big
busterfer jones
tom
from 3 doors
down
black
and white
persian
moggy
more than
twice
the size
of gus blucat
pressed
up
against
the outside
of the glass
normally
the
best of buds
but
there is
a
new girl
in town
and
she sings
a siren song
so it is
bared claw
at 3 paces
as i
put down
my keys
there is a
muted
thump,
thump.
they have
rushed
each other
forgeting
the magic
of glass
and now
as i
finish
r.o.l.f.ing
i see
they
have
retired
to their corners
with that
was'nt me
that did that
dumb thing
look
as they
wash their
paws
with backs
speaking volumes
and eyes still
crossed.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
I look at my home
At my furry friends in pictures
Who have shared my life
At different times
In different places
The feisty moggy who lived until twenty years
To annoy and perplex
But most of all to beguile
And my dusky shy little feline girl
Who left too soon with just her place in my heart
My dogs who lived with from youth too old age
And left me together unable to survive without each other
My own years are measured in these pictures
From sadness to smiles
And back again
What new friends of a soft and pet-like persuasion
Will share my hope and sorrows next
For surely the next is in sight.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
The fabric owl.
Eyes wide open.
Deep in thought.
He really ought to do something to escape.
He's rather old.
Doesn't want to be caught.
Not up to flying away.
Can't anyway.
His wings are stitched.
Ginger mate sat next to him.
Eyeing him up.
He's thinking.
The moggy that is.
He supposed to chase birds.
Isn't he?
Who's going to make the first move?
Old fabric owl.
Her bedside company, since childhood.
When days weren't stressful.
Always good.
Vicki's loyal confidante
Around longer than Ginger Tomas.
Tomas looks and thinks and thinks some more.
Thinking that Mortimer, the owl that is.
Must be very bored never moves a muscle.
Doesn't go anywhere, ever.
Tomas wants to play.
Mortimer, well he's not up for it today.
Just wants to sleep some more.
Listen very closely.
You may even hear him snore.
(c) Livvi
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
Whiskers twitching, sharp and keen,
prowling silently, slinking, unseen.
With curious eyes, so alert and bright,
investigating all within their sight.
So lithe and nimble, quick to pounce,
on playful paws as they bat and bounce.
A skilful mouser, stealthy predator,
a beast of surprise and graceful wonder.
Yet gentle too,
when snuggled up having a nap,
curled up and content in my cosy lap.
As comforting purrs soothe my weary soul,
making me feel loved, at peace and whole.
My treasured companion and loyal friend,
Aloof yet loving, wild yet tamed,
my mysterious moggy a master of might,
endlessly captivating me with pure delight.
©️Lizzie Bevis
Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 1:42 AM UTC
What is the gulf
Between moggy
And doggy?
Why is it that
The cat
Is an autocrat?
And the hound
Is renowned
As nice to have around?
Some people make a beeline
For the feline
Others show elation
On ‘spotting’ a Dalmatian
Though each may rejoice
In their choice
The cat will embrace
His rightful place
Above the human race
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 2:22 PM UTC
McKenzie sat, the feral cat
a ginger tom, a ***** brat,
he’s on the slab, he's at the vet,
he's innocent of the threat;
as scalpel steel –prepares to lop
his precious assets – for the chop.
He smirks and thinks of bowls of cream.
An instrument now stops his dream
while measuring his body’s heat:
a gross insult to his seat
that turns his grin into a pout
as he pushes the probe out.
This wicked cat – who seems serene,
his outward visage looks so clean
external dirt can never stick,
but succumbing to his lick
it passes through that moggy’s gut
and out of an unblemished ****
The player fears the game is up
he sees the proffered poisoned cup,
now he's exposed: the ***** rat.
Dies Irae for that cat –
the stoneless subject of our mirth –
as ball-less he departs the Earth.
Dec 6, 2024
Dec 6, 2024 at 2:51 PM UTC
Clouds on Dreams
To believe what we see is often a fallacy on a video
a rat attacked a cat; the moggy scared ran away but was it so
I think not video and pictures can be doctored so we are
left with a sceptical mind
Yet in the Sahara, I saw in the sky a ship sailing upside down
I know what I saw yet it was a mirage so therefore I can
talk about it without being made fun of like the day I saw
a flying elephant it was slow and met a crocodile
that loved me, of course, it was a mirage
That is why I'm fearless telling you this; you will think mirages,
was whisky involved?
There mere suggestion will send me into a rage and I will
never speak to you again.
The cat ashamed, turned around and killed the rat, just in case
you were curious. In the world, the strongest win just looks to Brazil
and what the heck was I doing in the Sahara?
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 4:28 AM UTC