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Doggone Comfy!

Plush fur.

Kitty's purr.

Snuggle, nuzzle,

cuddly bubble.

Lovely, toasty.

Doggone comfy!

poem by Philo Yan
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A Bubble In My Heart...!

There's a bubble in my heart
A bubble that floats
Like it is made out of soap
There's a bubble in my heart
A bubble that dance
Like it is riding on the breeze

A bubble a bubble in my heart
A bubble a bubble that fills my heart

There's a bubble in my heart
A bubble that sings
Like it knows how to sing
There's a bubble in my heart
A bubble that roams
Out of my heart in to the storms

A bubble a bubble in my heart
A bubble a bubble that fills my heart

There's a bubble in my heart
Baby can you see that
Yeah the bubble in my heart
There's a bubble in my heart
A bubble that shines
Much more than sunshine

A bubble a bubble in my heart
Yeah baby, there is a bubble, a bubble in my heart....!

poem by Rowving Smith
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Old Spookses' Pass

I.
WE'D camped that night on Yaller Bull Flat,--
Thar was Possum Billy, an' Tom, an' me.
Right smart at throwin' a lariat
Was them two fellers, as ever I see;
An' for ridin' a broncho, or argyin' squar
With the devil roll'd up in the hide of a mule,
Them two fellers that camp'd with me thar
Would hev made an' or'nary feller a fool.
II.
Fur argyfyin' in any way,
Thet hed to be argy'd with sinew an' bone,
I never see'd fellers could argy like them;
But just right har I will hev to own
Thet whar brains come in in the game of life,
They held the poorest keerds in the lot;
An' when hands was shown, some other chap
Rak'd in the hull of the blamed old pot!
III.
We was short of hands, the herd was large,
An' watch an' watch we divided the night;
We could hear the coyotes howl an' whine,
But the darned critters kept out of sight
Of the camp-fire blazin'; an' now an' then
Thar cum a rustle an' sort of rush--
A rattle a-sneakin' away from the blaze,
Thro' the rattlin', cracklin' grey sage bush.
IV.
We'd chanc'd that night on a pootyish lot,
With a tol'ble show of tall, sweet grass--
We was takin' Speredo's drove across
The Rockies, by way of "Old Spookses' Pass"--
An' a mite of a creek went crinklin' down,
Like a "pocket" bust in the rocks overhead,
Consid'able shrunk, by the summer drought,
To a silver streak in its gravelly bed.
V.
'Twas a fairish spot fur to camp a' night;
An' chipper I felt, tho' sort of skeer'd
That them two cowboys with only me,
Couldn't boss three thousand head of a herd.
I took the fust of the watch myself;
An' as the red sun down the mountains sprang,
I roll'd a fresh quid, an' got on the back
Of my peart leetle chunk of a tough mustang.
VI.
An' Possum Billy was sleepin' sound
Es only a cowboy knows how to sleep;
An' Tommy's snores would hev made a old
Buffalo bull feel kind o' cheap.

[...] Read more

poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Kitty McCrae - A Galloping Rhyme

The Western sun, ere he sought his lair,
Skimm’d the treetops, and glancing thence,
Rested awhile on the curling hair
Of Kitty McCrae, by the boundary fence;
Her eyes looked anxious, her cheeks were pale,
For father was two hours late with the mail.

Never before had he been so late,
And Kitty wondered and wished him back,
Leaning athwart the big swing gate
That opens out on the bridle-track,
A tortuous path that sidled down
From the single street of a mining town.

With her raven curls and her saucy smile,
Brown eyes that glow with a changeful light,
Tenderly trembling all the while
Like a brace of stars on the breast of night,
Where could you find in the light of day
A bonnier lassie than Kitty McCrae?

Born in the saddle, this girl could ride
Like the fearless queen of the silver bow;
And nothing that ever was lapped in hide
Could frighten Kitty McCrae, I trow.
She would wheel a mob in the hour of need
If the Devil himself were in the lead.

But now, in the shadows’ deepening
When the last sun-spark had ceas’d to burn,
Afar she catches the sullen ring
Of horse-hoofs swinging around the turn,
Then painfully down the narrow trail
Comes Alex McCrae with the Greytown mail.

"The fever-and-ague, my girl," he said,
"'Twas all I got on that northern trip,
When it left me then I was well-nigh dead,
Has got me fast in its iron grip;
And I'd rather rot in the nearest gaol
Than ride to-night with the Greytown mail.

"At Golden Gully they heard to-day -
'Twas a common topic about the town -
That the Mulligan gang were around this way,
So they wouldn't despatch the gold-dust down,
And Brown, the manager, said he thought
'Twere wise to wait for a strong escort.

"I rode the leaders, the other nags

[...] Read more

poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
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Pinkle Purr

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A little black nothing of feet and fur;
And by-and-by, when his eyes came through,
He saw his mother, the big Tattoo.
And all that he learned he learned from her.
'I'll ask my mother,' says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A ridiculous kitten with silky fur.
And little black Pinkle grew and grew
Till he got as big as the big Tattoo.
And all that he did he did with her.
'Two friends together,' says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An adventurous cat in a coat of fur.
And whenever he thought of a thing to do,
He didn't much bother about Tattoo,
For he knows it's nothing to do with her,
So 'See you later,' says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo is the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An enormous leopard with coal-black fur.
A little brown kitten that's nearly new
Is now playing games with its big Tattoo…
And Pink looks lazily down at her:
'Dear little Tat,' says Pinkle Purr.

poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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The Nightingale

NO easy matter 'tis to hold,
Against its owner's will, the fleece
Who troubled by the itching smart
Of Cupid's irritating dart,
Eager awaits some Jason bold
To grant release.
E'en dragon huge, or flaming steer,
When Jason's loved will cause no fear.

Duennas, grating, bolt and lock,
All obstacles can naught avail;
Constraint is but a stumbling block;
For youthful ardour must prevail.
Girls are precocious nowadays,
Look at the men with ardent gaze,
And longings' an infinity;
Trim misses but just in their teens
By day and night devise the means
To dull with subtlety to sleep
The Argus vainly set to keep
In safety their virginity.
Sighs, smiles, false tears, they'll fain employ
An artless lover to decoy.
I'll say no more, but leave to you,
Friend reader, to pronounce if true
What I've asserted when you have heard
How artful Kitty, caged her bird.

IN a small town in Italy,
The name of which I do not know,
Young Kitty dwelt, gay, pretty, free,
Varambon's child.--Boccacio
Omits her mother's name, which not
To you or me imports a jot.
At fourteen years our Kitty's charms
Were all that could be wished--plump arms,
A swelling bosom; on her cheeks
Roses' and lilies' mingled streaks,
A sparkling eye--all these, you know,
Speak well for what is found below.
With such advantages as these
No virgin sure could fail to please,
Or lack a lover; nor did Kate;
But little time she had to wait;
One soon appeared to seal her fate.
Young Richard saw her, loved her, wooed her--
What swain I ask could have withstood her?
Soft words, caresses, tender glances,
The battery of love's advances,
Soon lit up in the maiden's breast

[...] Read more

poem by La Fontaine
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Taming The Tiger

I stepped outside to breathe the air
And stare up at the stars
Big dipper hanging there
Over the rented car
Over the rented car
Im a runaway from the record biz
From the hoods in the hood and the whiny white kids
Boring!
The old man is snoring
And Im taming the tiger
(you cant tame the tiger)
Tiger, tiger burning bright
Nice, kitty kitty
Tiger, tiger burning bright
Sophia says its hard to catch
And harder still to ride
The time to watch the beast the best
Is when its purring at your side
Purring at your side
Accolades and honors
One false move and youre a goner
Boring!
The old man is snoring
And Im taming the tiger
(you cant tame the tiger)
Tiger, tiger burning bright
Nice, kitty kitty
Tiger, tiger burning bright
In the forest of the night
The moon shed light
On my hopeless plight
As the radio blared so bland
Every disc, a poker chip
Every song just a one night stand
Formula music, girly guile
Genuine junkfood for juveniles
Up and down the dial
Mercenary style
I watched the stars chuck down their spears
And a plane went blinking by
And I thought of anna
Wild and dear
Like fireworks in the sky
Fireworks in the sky
Im so sick of this game
Its hip, its hot
Lifes too short, the whole things gotten
Boring!
The old man is snoring
And Im taming the tiger

[...] Read more

song performed by Joni Mitchell
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Pretty Kitty

A Pretty Kitty
Written by Wilfred Mellers, Tuesday, October 6,2009

I love the kitty so pretty I am aware
People stop and gaze, but I didn’t care
Thought I, many more out there to spear
I should not have my kitty to share, clear!

How I love the kitty’s sent
Stroking the night so long I’ve spent
Tasted the jelly from her belly between her hips
Nectar ran down slow my fingertips

Poked, stroked, and petted my kitty sweet
Fed her all she could ever eat
Unadorned lying in the summer’s heat
At the head of my table she had a seat

Her taste satisfying down to the last morsel tender
Juices flowed as waterfalls I remember
Late nights well past the first of September
Heaven’s gates opened entered chocolate member

Presents given late December
I was the only suitor and number one contender
Nocturnes of pink bliss I grew fonder
Joyful sounds from vanity’s splendor

As Trojan race down crooked tracts on horseback at a canter
Flash-forward faded words now forms useless banter
Inhaled the cream from the center
Moisten walls I hope one day to enter

The ball drops and the crowd starts to cheer
Happy thoughts inside for the new-year
Wrapped that kitty around my love
Plastic hat fits snuggly as a glove

Spanked, drank, and spoiled kitty rotten
Alas all things now she has forgotten
Flower fragrances tend to remind
Cherry blossoms of the succulent kind

Longing to get back to the nitty-gritty
Still yearning to kiss that vivacious kitty
I would sing songs, dance, and do a little ditty
A sight so gorgeous and temperately pretty

Passionate evenings of benign surrender
Miraculously shaped Kitty’s petite and slender

[...] Read more

poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Kitty Reid's House

Air - 'Country Bumpkin.'

Hech! hey! the mirth that was there,
The mirth that was there,
The mirth that was there;
Hech! how! the mirth that was there,
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
There was laughin' and singin', and dancin' and glee
In Kitty Reid's house, in Kitty Reid's house,
There was laughin' and singin', an' dancin' and glee,
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.

Hech! hey! the fright that was there,
The fright that was there,
The fright that was there,
Hech! how! the fright that was there,
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
The light glimmer'd in thro' a crack i' the wa',
An' a' body thocht the lift it would fa',
An' lads and lasses they soon ran awa'
Frae Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.

Hech! hey! the dule that was there,
The dule that was there,
The dule that was there,
The birds an' beasts it wauken'd them a',
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.
The wa' gaed a hurly and scatter'd them a',
The piper, the fiddler, auld Kitty, an' a',
The kye fell a routin', the cocks they did craw,
In Kitty Reid's house on the green, Jo.

poem by Carolina Oliphant
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Why Doherty Died

It was out on the Bogan near Billabong Creek
Where the sky shines like brass seven days in the week,
Where the buzzin' mosquitoes annoy you all night
And the blowflies come wakin' you up at daylight;
Where the people get weary and sad and forlorn
Till they wish they had died long before they were born;
There's a flat near the river, I knew the place well,
For ‘twas there Dinny Doherty kept the hotel.

Dinny Doherty died. 'Twasn't aisy to say
Just the cause of the trouble that tuk him away;
If 'twas measles or whoopin' cough, croup or catarrh,
Or the things docthers pickle and put in a jar.
Not a dochter was nigh when he come to his death
So we reckoned he died just through shortage of breath —-
We didn't know how these fine points to decide;
What we did know for certain was: Doherty died.

The coroner came up from Bottle-nose Flat,
And twelve of us wid him on Doherty sat.
The hate was intense; there was whisky galore —-
When we'd finished we weren't as wise as before.
We were roastin'; yet there, wid a shmile on his face,
Lay poor Dinny, the only cool man in the place.
Yet divil a one in the crowd could decide
Or even imagine why Doherty died.

The old pub it seemed lonesome whin Dinny was gone,
Lavin' poor Kitty Doherty grievin' alone.
Every time that I called she cried: "Phwat will I do?
Darlin' Dinny, come back to me, Cushla! Wirroo!
Faith it's lonely I am today, Dinny, asthore!
Don't be sayin' you're dead, that I'll see you no more."
Whin I tried to console her, she bitterly cried,
"I have no one to love me since Doherty died."
"I kape pinin'," says she, "till I'm mere shkin and bone."
(Poor Kitty! She only weighed siventeen shtone.)
"Sure, life widhout love is like bread widhout yaste."
Poor Kitty! Her heart was as big as a her waist.
And what is the pain? — 'tisn't iveryone knows
Whin a big heart like Kitty's wid love overflows.
Kitty's love was as broad as the ocean is wide,
But she'd no one to share it since Doherty died.

'Twas a hot sumnmer's day when a visit I paid,
For the hate was hundhred and tin in the shade;
Poor Kitty looked sad as I inthered the gate,
And her cheeks were quite moist wid her tears (and the hate):
But 'twas cosy she looked as she sat in the bar,
And I whispered, "Poor girl, is it lonely ye are?"

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas E. Spencer
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’Tis So Lovely To …

’Tis so lovely to be born a Christian;
’Tis so lovely to be a Roman Catholic;
’Tis so lovely to follow Jesus Christ;
’Tis so lovely to know the one, living God;
’Tis so lovely to read the Holy Bible;
’Tis so lovely to have Christian parents
’Tis so lovely to walk in the shadow of the Holy cross;
’Tis so lovely to spread the Gospel;
’Tis so lovely to obey God’s Ten Commandments;
’Tis so lovely to abide by the precepts of the holy Catholic Church;
’Tis so lovely to receive the Holy Sacraments;
’Tis so lovely to confess sins and gain forgiveness from God;
’Tis so lovely to receive the Holy Eucharist;
’Tis so lovely to be an example of Christ unto others;
’Tis so lovely to be a “Fisher of Souls”;
’Tis so lovely to do miracles like Christ;
’Tis so lovely to heal the sick by prayers;
’Tis so lovely to console the sick and the dying;
’Tis so lovely to live a life like that of Christ;
’Tis so lovely to keep the soul pure;
’Tis so lovely to be filled by the Holy Spirit;
’Tis so lovely to take the road to heaven;
’Tis so lovely to die a holy Christian death;
’Tis so lovely to resurrect after death;
’Tis so lovely to be spared of eternal damnation;
’Tis so lovely to have eternal life;
’Tis so lovely to live in commune with God
Forever in Heaven thereafter!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-16-2006

poem by John Celes
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Now You Want To Bust 'My' Bubble

Don't trouble me with your own needs.
Don't trouble me with that you see.
Don't trouble me with your beliefs.
You've got your troubles,
Now you want to bust 'my' bubble.

Don't trouble me with your own needs.
Don't trouble me with that you see.
Don't trouble me with your beliefs.
You've got your troubles,
Now you want to bust 'my' bubble.

You feel quite affected.
Now you want to bust 'my' bubble.
You feel unprotected.
Now you want to bust 'my' bubble.
You feel you're rejected.
Now you want to bust 'my' bubble,
'Cause I'm not the one in trouble.
And you think I want to double up...
On your humbling done by rubble.

You feel quite affected.
Now you want to bust 'my' bubble.
You feel unprotected.
Now you want to bust 'my' bubble.
You feel you're rejected.
Now you want to bust 'my' bubble,
'Cause I'm not the one in trouble.
And you think I want to double up...
On your humbling done by rubble.

Don't trouble me with your own needs.
Don't trouble me with that you see.
Don't trouble me with your beliefs.
You've got your troubles,
Now you want to bust 'my' bubble.

You feel quite affected.
Now you want to bust 'my' bubble.
You feel unprotected.
Now you want to bust 'my' bubble.
You feel you're rejected.
Now you want to bust 'my' bubble,
'Cause I'm not the one in trouble.
And you think I want to double up...
On your humbling done by rubble.

No not me,
I suffered all alone with troubles.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bashful Gleeson

FROM HER HOME beyond the river in the parting of the hills,
Where the wattles fleecy blossom surged and scattered in the breeze,
And the tender creepers twined about the chimneys and the sills,
And the garden flamed with colour like an Eden through the trees,

She would come along the gully, where the ferns grew golden fair,
In the stillness of the morning, like the spirit of the place,
With the sunshafts caught and woven in the meshes of her hair,
And the pink and white of heathbloom sweetly blended in her face.

She was fair, and small, and slender-limbed, and buoyant as a bird,
Fresh as wild, white, dew-dipped violets where the bluegum’s shadow goes,
And no music like her laughter in the joyous bush was heard,
And the glory of her smile was as a sunbeam in a rose.

Ben felt mighty at the windlass when she watched him hauling stuff,
And she asked him many questions, ‘What was that?’ and ‘Why was this?’
Though his bashfulness was painful, and he answered like a muff,
With his foolish ‘My word Missie!’ and his ‘Beg your pardon, Miss.’

He stood six foot in his bluchers, stout of heart and strong of limb;
For her sake he would have tackled any man or any brute;
Of her half a score of suitors none could hold a light to him,
And he owned the richest hole along the Bullock Lead to boot.

Yet while Charley Mack and Hogan, and the Teddywaddy Skite
Put in many pleasant evenings at ‘The Bower,’ Ben declined,
And remained a mere outsider, and would spend one half the night
Waiting, hid among the trees, to watch her shadow on the blind.

He was laughed at on the river, and as far as Kiley’s Still
They would tell of Bashful Gleeson, who was ‘gone on’ Kitty Dwyer,
But, beyond defeating Hogan in a pleasant Sunday mill,
Gleeson’s courtship went no further till the morning of the fire.

We were called up in the darkness, heard a few excited words;
In the garden down the flat a Chow was thumping on a gong;
There were shouts and cooeys on the hills, and cries of startled birds,
But we saw the gum leaves redden, and that told us what was wrong.

O’er ‘The Bower’ the red cloud lifted as we sprinted for the punt.
Gleeson took the river for it in the scanty clothes he wore.
Dwyer was madly calling Kitty when we joined the men in front;
Whilst they questioned, hoped, and wondered, Ben was smashing at the door.

He went in amongst the smoke, and found her room; but some have said
That he dared not pass the threshold—that he lingered in distress,
Game to face the fire, but not to pluck sweet Kitty from her bed—
And he knocked and asked her timidly to ‘please get up and dress.’

[...] Read more

poem by Edward George Dyson
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Shitty Kitty City

There's a lobby by my study where my visitors may enter
which, since we got the kittens, has a dirtbox at the centre.
They're still too young to go outside, that's why I ask for pity:
they've turned my quiet oasis into Shitty Kitty City.
Pity, pity, isn't it a pity?
They've turned my quiet oasis into Shitty Kitty City.

Their mother trained them very well to go into the tray.
They do their stuff and cover it - that's fair enough, you say;
but litter gets flicked everywhere, so underfoot is gritty:
you need your wellies on indoors for Shitty Kitty City.
Pity, pity, isn't it a pity?
You need your wellies on indoors for Shitty Kitty City.

Mind the crap... Mind the crap... Stand clear of the turds, please.

I scoop the jobbies off the floor: the cats think I collect 'em,
so each one keeps on squeezing me a present from its rectum.
There's steaming heaps all over, and it isn't smelling pretty -
it's best to wear a gasmask when in Shitty Kitty City.
Pity, pity, isn't it a pity?
It's best to wear a gasmask when in Shitty Kitty City.

Ip dip dog shit, you are not it.

But soon they will be big enough to do it in the garden.
I'm putting out my begging bowl, for which I beg your pardon.
And now you see, good people all, the reason for my ditty -
a whipround for a catflap door for Shitty Kitty City.
Pity, pity, isn't it a pity?
I need to buy a catflap door for Shitty Kitty City.

poem by Wild Bill Balding
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The Girl Is Mine

(WITH PAUL McCARTNEY)

EVERY NIGHT SHE WALKS RIGHT IN MY DREAMS
SINCE I MET HER FROM THE START
I┬┤M SO PROUD I AM THE ONLY ONE
WHO IS SPECIAL IN HER HEART

THE GIRL IS MINE
THE DOGGONE GIRL IS MINE
I KNOW SHE┬┤S MINE
BECAUSE THE DOGGONE GIRL IS MINE

I DON┬┤T UNDERSTAND THE WAY YOU THINK
SAYING THAT SHE┬┤S YOURS NOT MINE
SENDING ROSES AND YOUR SILLY DREAMS
REALLY JUST A WASTE OF TIME

BECAUSE SHE┬┤S MINE
THE DOGGONE GIRL IS MINE
DON┬┤T WASTE YOUR TIME
BECAUSE THE DOGGONE GIRL IS MINE

I LOVE YOU MORE THAN HE
TAKE YOU ANYWHERE

BUT I LOVE YOU ENDLESSLY
LOVING WE WILL SHARE

SO COME AND GO WITH ME
TWO ON THE TOWN

BUT WE BOTH CANNOT HAVE HER
SO IT┬┤S ONE OR THE OTHER
AND ONE DAY YOU┬┤LL DISCOVER
THAT SHE┬┤S MY GIRL FOREVER AND EVER

DON┬┤T BUILD YOUR HOPES TO BE LET DOWN
┬┤CAUSE I REALLY FEEL IT┬┤S TIME

I KNOW SHE┬┤LL TELL YOU I┬┤M THE ONE FOR HER
┬┤CAUSE SHE SAID I BLOW HER MIND

THE GIRL IS MINE
THE DOGGONE GIRL IS MINE
DON┬┤T WASTE YOUR TIME
BECAUSE THE DOGGONE GIRL IS MINE

SHE┬┤S MINE

song performed by Michael Jackson from Thriller
Added by Lucian Velea
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15 Selected Love Poems in Scots

1.Ballad

Oh cauld's the doonrush o a burn
In winter's iron thraa,
Bit caulder still's a merriage bed
Fin luv has stolen awa.

Far niver gowden sun luiks doon,
Sae derk's the gairden booer¬
Bit derker yet's the hairt o man
Far skaith an sorra cooer.

Oh deep's a dreich an dowie loch
Far salmon niver sweems,
Bit deeper still's the cruel mire
That smores a bairn's dreams.

Oh I wad don the goun sae green,
Wi lilies hap ma head
An like Tam Lin the elfin knicht,
Step ower the burn o bluid
That rins between this eirdly warld
An kingdom o the fay,
Far niver mortal feet may gyang,
Nor mortal thochts bring wae.

2.Eve

Bird o Paradise,
Spirk o Original sin,
An efterthocht.
A rib o the yird
Rowed up in a cutty claith;
A wanton, a limmer,
The hurly-gush o the river's
Nae fur ye.

Strae-dallie, a peach, a leech,
Ye're the stank o a gairden puil!
Quine, ye're a chaip bawbee,
A vessel, a vassal haudin the
Wine o yer Lord's creation.
Spunk that kinnelt temptation,
Ye war framed fur the fire,
Fur the Fa,

Frae the verra first.
Ye an the serpent
Scapegoats.
Baith accurst.

[...] Read more

poem by Sheena Blackhall
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Bubble Pop Electric

I'm empty, I need fulfilling, yes I do love
To the ceiling, when I do love
I get this feeling when I'm in love
I'm restless, can't you see I try my bestest
To be good girl, because it's just us
So take me now and do me justice
I'm waiting patiently
Anticipating your arrival
And I'm hating
It takes so long to get to my house
To take me out
Tonight, I'm gonna give you all my love in the back seat
Bubble pop electric, bubble pop electric
Gonna speed it down and slow it up in the back seat
Bubble pop electric
Uh-oh, in the back seat
Ok now, I understand he's on his way now
But jeez Louise, I mean today now
I can't wait, I wanna play now
I'm antsy
Bubble pop electric pansies
My sweet tooth, I want your candy
The Queen of Eng would say it randy
I'm itchy
I wish you would come and scratch me
Tonight I'm falling, won't you catch me
Swoop on by, so you can snatch me
And take me out
Tonight, I'm gonna give you all my love in the back seat
Bubble pop electric, bubble pop electric
Gonna speed it down and slow it up in the back seat
Bubble pop electric
Uh-oh, in the back seat
The need to be satisfied
Come pick me up, I want a ride
Hurry, hurry, come to me
Drive in movie
Drive in, move me
Drive into me
Bubble pop electric
You've gotta get it
(Straight to me, drive in movie)
Take it to the back seat
Run it like a track meet
(Come to me, drive in movie)
[2x]
Tonight, I'm gonna give you all my love in the back seat
Bubble pop electric, bubble pop electric
Gonna speed it down and slow it up in the back seat
Bubble pop electric

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song performed by Gwen Stefani
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cuddly Toy

La la la la ...
Youre not only cuddly toy that was ever enjoyed by any boy
Youre not the only choo-choo train that was left out in the rain
The day after santa came
Youre not the only cherry delight that was left out in the night
And gave up without a fight
Yourre not the only cuddly toy that was ever enjoyed by any boy
Youre not the kind of girl to tell your mother
The kind of company you keep
I never told you not to love no other
You must of dreamed it in your sleep
Youre not only cuddly toy that was ever enjoyed by any boy
Youre not the only choo-choo train that was left out in the rain
The day after santa came
Youre not the only cherry delight that was left out in the night
And gave up without a fight
Yourre not the only cuddly toy that was ever enjoyed by any boy
Youre not the kind of girl to tell your mother
The kind of company you keep
I never told you not to love no other
You must of dreamed it in your sleep
Youre not only cuddly toy that was ever enjoyed by any boy
Youre not the only choo-choo train that was left out in the rain
The day after santa came
Youre not the only cherry delight that was left out in the night
And gave up without a fight
Yourre not the only cuddly toy that was ever enjoyed by any boy
La la la la ...

song performed by Monkees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Kitty Collar Tight

watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
i hold your history
and i kiss the map
i'm looking back forwards
your tap drips, i...catch
watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
your skin, my nails
your mirror, my face
your skin impaled
for your scars are my grace
watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
watch how i put it on
kitty collar tight!
make it sing its song
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
make it fight
make it fight, fight!
make it fight

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song performed by Queen Adreena
Added by Lucian Velea
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Epistle to an Orphan after William Mackworth Praed A Letter of Advice

They tell me you're promised a mother,
to cuddle, to cosset, to care.
Take care for she may try to smother,
to cover her inner despair.
The experts agree that another
could just as well clinch the affair, -
and beware that you never discover
the father who's no longer there.

(Parody William Mackworth PRAED - A Letter 31 October 1990)

A Letter to PH from a Disappointed Writer

Dear PH, I leave you this letter
after writing from ten until nine
for a site I'd delight to know better,
for a smile that my heart can't decline.
Yet one finds after wearily pacing,
for replies in the cold, for some sign,
that that heart which with hope had been racing
to darkest despair must incline.

Dear PH from twelve to eleven
each night I would knock at your door
in hope that an angel from heaven
could show me the light, - but no more
will I screed in my need if no answer
effective can echo joy's store -
I can't act as a puppet-stringed dancer,
not even for one I adore!

Dear PH the time have I waited
day in and day out by grief torn,
all write up down written, ill-fated
as my consonants vowed my vowels scorn.
The wonder my dunderhead brought you
tonight may steal thunder at morn,
but the blossoms whose beauty besought you
fade as fast as last season's drenched corn.

As on Thursday applauseless, defeated,
so on Friday all clauseless I'm spurned,
is the cycle of love thus completed,
is this all the thanks that I've earned?
It is hard for a fool to be taken -
its a sign that one's soft in the head, -
but the reason that slept must awaken,
and the spirit, restored, won't be lead!

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poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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A Letter

After W. M. P.
Dear Kitty,
At length the term's ending;
I 'm in for my Schools in a week;
And the time that at present I'm spending
On you should be spent upon Greek:
But I'm fairly well read in my Plato,
I'm thoroughly red in the eyes,
And I've almost forgotten the way to
Be healthy and wealthy and wise.
So 'the best of all ways'—why repeat you
The verse at 2.30 a.m.,
When I 'm stealing an hour to entreat you
Dear Kitty, to come to Commem.?
Oh, come! You shall rustle in satin
Through halls where Examiners trod:
Your laughter shall triumph o'er Latin
In lecture-room, garden, and quad.
They stand in the silent Sheldonian—
Our orators, waiting—for you,
Their style guaranteed Ciceronian,
Their subject—'the Ladies in Blue.'
The Vice sits arrayed in his scarlet;
He's pale, but they say he dissem-
-bles by calling his Beadle a 'varlet'
Whenever he thinks of Commem.
There are dances, flirtations at Nuneham,
Flower-shows, the procession of Eights:
There's a list stretching usque ad Lunam
Of concerts, and lunches, and fetes:
There's the Newdigate all about 'Gordon,'
—So sweet, and they say it will scan.
You shall flirt with a Proctor, a Warden
Shall run for your shawl and your fan.
They are sportive as gods broken loose from
Olympus, and yet very em-
-inent men. There are plenty to choose from,
You'll find, if you come to Commem.
I know your excuses: Red Sorrel
Has stumbled and broken her knees;
Aunt Phoebe thinks waltzing immoral;
And 'Algy, you are such a tease;
It's nonsense, of course, but she is strict';
And little Dick Hodge has the croup;
And there's no one to visit your 'district'
Or make Mother Tettleby's soup.
Let them cease for a se'nnight to plague you;
Oh, leave them to manage pro tem.
With their croups and their soups and their ague)
Dear Kitty, and come to Commem.

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poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
Added by Poetry Lover
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