Hooked
Copyright (c) 2009 by Tabby Cat
The Cat will scratch for whiff of 'nip;
The Wino moans for but a sip
Red or white he doesn't care
Of the dog he needs a hair.
The Junkie screams for China White;
The Player curses at the sight
Of anything but twenty one
He'll still be there at rise of sun.
The Smoker stands out in the rain
What a loser, sneers are plain
On all the faces passing by
The smug ones clean and warm and dry.
Though she's maxed out her credit cards
The Shopper begs just let me charge,
Let me buy just one more pair
Of shoes I know I'll never wear.
The John surveys the darkened street
A lady cop, disguised, on beat?
But never mind he'll chance his luck,
It's getting late - he needs his fuck.
The Vampire will suck you dry
Because there is no greater high
Than slurping scarlet crimson blood
From jugular in spurt and flood.
I'd dearly love to keep on going
The poetry is easy flowing
But so far tonight I've had just two
Of what, you ask? I thought you knew...
I NEED MORE GODDAMN MOUNTAIN DEW!
==================================================
Tabby on the Mat
by Tabby Cat
(c) 2009
(With apologies to Ernest Thayer)
The prana wasn't sparking for the Tabby Cat that day:
His bandha's getting looser as his dristi's went astray.
And when in Padottanasana his head stayed off the mat,
The shala vibe seemed to convey “Hey look, what’s up with that?”
In spite of Yoga's no-compete clause, to Tabby it was clear
His feline matwork stood far out, it was superb, premier.
So through that Mysore session as he soldiered on he swore
Beneath his breath that he was yet the greatest yogi on the floor.
But he wobbled in Utthita and his Janu’s barely touched,
Tabby’s shoulder crackled crankily, his hamstrings tightly clutched.
And his ego pondered suicide - so great the yogic shame -
What would happen to his rep, his classmates’ awed acclaim?
But next he self- bound Mari C, then with a gentle tug
His Guru bound him up in D – as snug as bug in rug.
And when the Guru loosed his hold, the Tabby didn’t flinch.
He proudly sweated on in D, five breaths, now six! A cinch!
And then the shala quieted as left, right, fore and aft,
The mats all round were awed to watch the Tabby at his craft.
Because they knew that coming soon, that mightiest of tests,
In Gaba Pinda asana Tabby's art would reach its crest.
There was ease in Tabby’s Bhuja and his Supta was a wrap,
And if he got through those alright, the rest should be a snap.
So his ego puffed out proudly (despite the Supta clinch)
And he nodded at the Guru so to say it was a cinch.
And now it’s time for Gaba P. - the water mister’s out,
And Tabby sprays his arms and legs slick slimy like a trout,
And now his legs are lotused up, his arms are thrusted through
And now he rocks back on his butt, paws stuck to cheeks like glue.
Now the shala’s pin-drop still, each eye upon the Cat,
The Guru, classmates, shala dog – without a peep all sat.
They stare enraptured, struck in awe, without a single sound
As Tabby starts his rocking roll, 360, all around!
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The tabla's playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing and kids frolic in the clover,
But the shala’s dark and sad and glum – Crazy Tabby has tipped over.
==================================================
Forecast
(c) 2008 by Tabby Cat
How was the weather the day you were born?
Was the sky soft and blue, did lark song greet the morn?
Or was it past nightfall, the world ocean-dark?
Or just at high-noon, white and black cut so stark?
Or was rain gently drizzling, soft tears spilled on the ground?
Or did the North wind blow a soul-chilling sound?
Or was the air humid, all sticky and wet?
Exchanging Mom’s blood for a coating of sweat?
Or did a big quake rattle roof, wall, and floor?
Did a tsunami blast it all off the shore?
When you stepped out of heaven, left the angels to mourn,
How was the weather the day you were born?
==================================================
Ballad of Tabby Cat
(c) 2008 by Tabby Cat
I was a human, last night in a dream.
Bristling and hissing, I woke with a scream.
Fangs bared in anguish, ears flat to my head,
I felt for my tail as I sprang off the bed.
I chased it round-robin all ‘cross the floor,
Pawing and clawing, slamming into the door.
I finally caught it, by the tip of one claw,
And I twisted 360, chomping it to my maw.
I’m still a cat! I mewed loudly with glee.
But – what ARE these humans, I mused fearfully.
Clunking and stomping, so ungainly a view
Like wild pigs or rhinos you see at the zoo.
Yet I had been that, in my crazy dream world,
And I’d sat back in horror as the dream had unfurled,
Surrounded by humans, spread like waves on the seas,
Stacked, packed, and bustling like a hive full of bees.
It’s more than well known that we cats are pure loners,
The most we can stand is being fed by our owners,
And the rest of the day we devote to our rest,
Or to hunting and snatching small birds from their nest.
But asleep I was human, I’d been caught and was trapped,
Sunk in a nightmare while I peacefully napped,
Of being a human, sluggish and slow,
Noisy and clumsy, just not in the flow.
Then half the way through it, I purchased a cat!
I gazed at its fur, wishing I could have that.
I longingly peered at its cute elfish ears,
And seeing its whiskers, began to shed tears.
Cursing the day I’d ever been born
As a human! Bad karma! I spat out with scorn
For my fate seemed so creepy, so ugly, so mean,
Why can’t I be feline? Do I lack the gene?
But then I awoke, and we’re back to the start.
And now I’m a cat again, graceful and smart.
But you can imagine - I hardly dare blink!
And from that time to this, I’ve slept not a wink.
==================================================
The Landlord and the Neocon
© Tabby Cat 2008 (With apologies to Lewis Carroll)
The sun was shining far above
As Lady hefted high
Her silver torch of freedom
One proud beacon in the sky.
But its bright beams soon dimmed and shrank
As storm clouds roiled by.
The Landlord looked across the view
The harbor's scattered ships
And chin in hand he fumed and swore
A frown spread on his lips.
His fist crashed hard - Bang! on the desk
It's time I came to grips!
These buildings that I own, he cursed,
Twin spires rising high.
Asbestos-clogged, too old, too cramped
Why ever did I buy?
I see red ink in gallons, waves,
Toward me drawing nigh.
World Trade Center, World Schmade Center,
He very nearly bawled,
Too big to wreck, too old to rent,
No good to me at all!
So little did he that day think
The speed with which they'd fall.
But as the Landlord tore his hair
And cursed the day he's born
Fate even then was smiling down,
Don't cry, don't feel forlorn!
His admin just then spoke up bold:
"There's someone on the horn."
"Larry! Pal! How are you, guy?"
A lusty voice boomed out.
"It's Washington, your buddy Dick,
Don't mewl and cry and pout!
Because I have a brilliant thought,
Just listen, hear me out."
"Russia's gone, they're pussies now
The Commies just caved in.
In ten years ever since they crashed
Our budget's wearing thin
For tanks and jets and atom bombs -
We've flushed our weapons bin."
"So now we need a demon,
A freedom-hating blight,
So absolutely heinous that
All doubts will drown in fright
And you can help it happen
Meet me twelve o'clock midnight."
The Landlord and the Neocon
Were walking close at hand.
Shadowed by the Towers Two,
They mused and schemed and planned.
"If these were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"
"If Haji moles with little knives
Rammed them with a plane,
Do you suppose", the Landlord said,
"They'd drop straight down the drain?"
"Bring it on!", the Neo grinned,
(It can be thus arranged.)
"Then I will buy insurance, lots,
To profit from the damage.
And you, Dick, have your work cut out -
Find planes and plan the rammage!"
"My thoughts exactly", Dick replied,
"Shake pardner, on our scammage!"
And when the deed was done at last,
One, Two, and Seven fell,
The newshounds, anchors, talking heads -
All piled in on the sell.
Big hair and teeth, they licked the spit,
Like hearing Pavlov's bell.
"O Pundits come and walk with us,"
The Neocons beseeched.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Come listen to our speech.
For you must serve the KoolAid
You must guide and teach and preach."
The smarter newsmen looked at them,
But never a word they said.
A hoax, so clear, but their careers
Now dangled by a thread.
So they merely winked their eye
And read what they were fed.
Vast armies then were mobilized,
"Al Qaeda we will kill!"
The CIA just laughed to think
Bin Ladin was their shill.
With so much money changing hands,
Won't do to block the till.
Just plain folks then hurried up
All eager for the treat,
Their blinders on, their brains well washed,
Their anger clean and neat.
And this was odd, because, you know,
The whole op was a cheat.
"The time has come," the Warlords said,
"To talk of many things;
Of DHS and no-fly lists,
And whether Tasers sting.
And why the Constitution's just
A scrap not worth a thing."
"A war or three," the Warlords said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
A hundred years or so at least,
Is very good indeed.--
Now if you're ready, sheeple dear,
We can begin to feed."
"But not on us!" the people cried,
Turning a little Blue.
"After such blindness that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"Are you with us, or against?!"
The Warlords' venom spewed.
"It was so blind of you to come!
And quieter than mice!
But if you start to carp and whine,
It's better to think twice.
We have our dayglo jumpsuits,
And we'll hood you in a trice."
It seems a shame," the Landlord said,
"To play them such a trick,
When they have swallowed all our bull,
And rallied round so quick."
The Neocon said nothing but
"I'm proud to be a Dick."
"We weep for you," the Warlords said,
We deeply sympathize."
Through sobs and tears they sternly kept
Their eyes firm on the prize
Of Halliburton's stock chart,
Very sharply on the rise.
"O People!", said the Neocon,
"You're now under the gun.
Is everybody fine with that?"
But answer came there none.
And this was scarcely odd because
They'd scammed them, every one.
FINIS
==================================================
Enlightenment Resumé
(c) 2008 by Tabby Cat (With apologies to Dorothy Parker)
Zen fries your knees; Chants dry your throat;
Tantra's a tease; Religion's just rote;
Ramtha's a sham; Tolle's a gnome;
Cohen's a scam; Wilber's dry as a bone;
Yoga's a strain; TM is phony;
Firewalking's a pain; NLP is baloney;
Advaita's all air; Cults make you pledge;
Monks shave your hair; you might as well veg.
==================================================
Advaitic Scam
© 2007 By Tabby Cat (with apologies to Dr. Seuss)
I am Sam
I am Sam
Sam I am
That Sam-I-am!
That Sam-I-am!
I do not like
that Sam-I-am!
You will be happy
As a clam!
I do not like it,
Sam-I-am.
I don’t like your Advaitic Scam.
You’ll see there’s Nothing
Here and There!
I don’t want Nothing
Here and There!
I want Something,
Everywhere!
I won’t buy your Advaitic scam,
I do not like it,
Sam-I-am.
Won't this Pure Nothing you espouse?
You’ll find there's no more need to grouse!
Your Nothingness I won’t espouse,
When you shut up, I’ll no more grouse.
I don’t want Nothing
Here and There!
I want Something,
Everywhere!
Time’s not real, toss your clocks!
Shut down your brain, be dumb as rocks!
At you I’ll gladly throw my clocks!
If you keep talking I’ll throw rocks!
Your Nothingness I won’t espouse,
When you shut up, I’ll no more grouse.
I don’t want Nothing
Here and There!
I want Something,
Everywhere!
I won’t buy your Advaitic Scam.
I do not like it, Sam-I-Am.
Would you? Could you?
Too bizarre?
There’s no such thing as Near or Far,
Everything is on a par.
Yes for me that's too bizarre,
I want things to be Near or Far.
It's ok, I have a car.
At you I’ll gladly throw my clocks!
If you keep talking I’ll throw rocks!
Your nothingness I won’t espouse,
When you shut up, I’ll no more grouse.
I don’t want Nothing
Here and There!
I want Something,
Everywhere!
I won’t buy your Advaitic Scam.
I do not like it, Sam-I-Am.
You may like it.
You will see.
You can strip off Identity!
I do not want to strip, you see,
My personal Identity!
I will not strip it,
That is Me!
Hands off my Identity!
I will not throw away my clocks.
I will not be as dumb as rocks.
Your goofy stuff I won’t espouse.
You’re just a crazy, wingnut louse.
I don’t want Nothing
Here and There!
I want Something,
Everywhere!
I won’t buy your Advaitic Scam.
I do not like it, Sam-I-Am.
Your brain! Your brain!
Your brain! Your brain!
Could you, would you,
Stop your brain?
Not my brain! My brain is Me!
Hands off my brain,
Just let it be.
Hey!
From your dream please disembark,
You’re just living in the Dark!
It’s not a dream to me you see.
To me it’s real as can be.
I’m not living in the Dark,
It’s YOU who’s madly raving stark!
Awakening you can attain,
If you will buy Advaita’s claim!
I would not, could not buy that claim,
So from your prattle please refrain!
I don’t want Nothing
Here and There!
I want Something,
Everywhere!
I won’t buy your Advaitic Scam.
I do not like it, Sam-I-Am.
In your eye you have a mote.
When that’s removed you’ll easy float!
I like my mote! Why can’t you see?
I love my world’s Duality!
You think Advaita’s just a sham?
That down your throat I try to ram?
You do not like it.
So you say.
Try it! Try it!
And you may.
Try it and you may, I say.
Sam!
If you will let me be,
I will try it.
You will see.
Say!
I like your Advaitic Scam!
I do! I like it, Sam-I-Am!
From my eye it’s stripped that mote!
I feel like I'm now afloat!
I see there’s Nothing
Here and There!
I see there’s Nothing ANYWHERE!
I do like your Advaitic Scam!
Thank you!
Thank you,
Sam-I-Am!
==================================================
Yoga Prop Chant
(c) 2007 by Tabby Cat
Block, Strap, Pad, and Wedge
Give us that Iyengar edge.
Strap, Pad, Wedge, and Block
Now we're steady as a rock.
Pad, Wedge, Block and Strap
Using these, it's Insta-Wrap!
Wedge, Strap, Block, and Pad
You don't use them? You're just sad!
==================================================
Tabby and the Three Travelers - Part 1
(c) 2007 by Tabby Cat
Part One - The First Traveler:
In a huge castle drear, 'neath cliffs high, sharp, and sheer,
icy-slick, rife with buzzard and bat,
In his tower of stone, aloof and alone,
dwelt the fabulous Tabby Cat.
A sight to behold, draped in silver and gold,
wrapped in mink, ermine, velvet and sable.
On pillows of silk, with gold bowls for his milk,
the Cat lived like a figure of fable.
But as Tabby sat within walls so fat,
day after endless day,
Though so handsome-faced, still more than a trace
of ennui upon him did weigh.
Though shapely of paw his nerves were quite raw
and his elegant legs felt cramped.
And he couldn't sleep in his castle keep
as he gazed at the moat's cold damp.
With all of my gold, I still feel cold,
how harshly the frost does bite!
I'm chilled to the bone on my gilded throne...
strange, why can't I sleep at night?
And then as the moon shot its beams through the gloom,
Tabby's ears from afar caught sound
As down through the vale, along ancient trail,
horse's hooves pounded frozen ground.
The rider was strong, with limbs powerfully long,
the Cat from his tower could sight.
"Does a Traveler come? Bring forth whiskey and rum -
Open gates!" he called into the night.
Mount in the stable, the rider at table
did feast in the highest degree.
The Cat was so rich that only a twitch
of his paw brought forth all luxury.
You, Cat are a host of whom any would boast,
I have eaten my fill and I'm pleased.
But now I can tell, you don't seem so well,
you seem very tense and fatigued.
At this Tabby sighed, and his yawn opened wide,
you are right I am chilled and I tire.
Not in the day's light, nor even at night,
can I get the long sleep I require.
To cure your ennui I bring magic key,
if you will but exert, grunt, and sweat,
Yoga can do more than pill, shot, or brew
(as blogged up on Ashtangi.net).
Ashtanga by name, of great worldly fame,
all you need is your floor and a mat,
Block never is used, and strap we refuse
(except when we have need of that).
Then Tabby's striped face, framed in velvet and lace,
shone out with a new rosy glow.
For hearing of this, knew it just couldn't miss,
and his tail churned madly below.
You be my guest, stay long and take rest,
and here daily at six, twelve and three,
We'll unroll the mat, forget I'm a cat,
teach me Surya to Corpse Pose - agree?
The traveler's eyes grew large with surprise
to hear so abrupt a commission,
But then Tabby begged, rubbing up on his leg,
so the Ashtangi said, "One condition".
You strange feline creature, if I am your teacher,
my yoga works strict, by accretion.
So every day, you will never betray,
all the Series you'll do, to completion?
No matter my state, I'll deal with you straight,
and withstand any hurt, cramp, or pain,
No matter the clime at morning's first chime
I'll continue to sweat, breathe, and train.
The Yogi said swell, I knew you could tell
that this method beats out any drug.
With practice persist in each morning's mist
and each night you'll sleep deep, warm and snug.
And not only this, you'll reach Divine Bliss
(the Yogi opined with a grin).
Like mist in a dream all your troubles will seem
as your sweat bathes you free of all sin.
At six on the dot with eyes all bloodshot,
every day did the Tabby repeat.
With sweat coating his mat, fur disheveled and flat,
he struggled and strained through the heat.
From whiskers to tail, pain stabbed like a nail,
as the Tabby did daily persist.
Each muscle and fiber Tabby stretched like a tiger
(though often too cramped to untwist).
One day as the bell tolled its deep mournful knell,
Tabby stopped and looked round and felt pleased.
It's been over a year, by this training severe,
my insomnia greatly has eased!
And not only that, yelled the jubilant Cat,
look how handsome and smoothly I move!
Though all felines are supple, my strength is now double,
the ladies will greatly approve!
And hearing this praise the Teacher turned gaze
long and hard on the proud, regal Cat.
Yes you've come quite a distance, you've proved your persistence,
so now we will leave it at that.
And he mounted his ride, jumping quickly astride
as the horse whinnied high and reared boldly.
And he raised up his hand, said I've met your demand,
and spurred into the winds that blew coldly.
End Part 1.
(To be Continued... sometime)
==================================================
Tabby and the Three Travelers - Part 2
(c) 2007 by Tabby Cat
Part 2 - The Second Traveler
Near the glacier that flows from the infinite snows,
that blanket the hard-frozen ground
in the high Alpine range, the famously strange
Tabby could ever be found.
The palisade's pall that sheltered the hall
where the Tabby spent lounging his days,
threw shadows pitch-dark which the fireplace spark
fought ceaselessly in its bright blaze.
In battlements high that challenged the sky,
the Tabby would feast and cavort.
Rare chocolate sweets, Danish boxes of treats,
Tabby gobbled and snarfed in his fort.
Indolent! some persnickety ones
might charge the proud Tabby to be.
Yet could they but see, at each dawn's reveille,
his Series they'd have to agree
That Tabby was fit, they'd have to admit,
Ashtanga had sculpted him lean,
for though he seems lazy for yoga he's crazy
Chikitsa had scoured him clean.
This was a boon brought to Cat through the gloom
of night some years not long ago,
when a Traveler came, a Man with No Name,
who taught Bandhas and Breathing and Flow.
But with teacher away, the Cat would each day,
strive and grunt through his practice like mad,
and though he felt well, he sweated like hell,
and began to have thoughts that were bad.
Why should I strain he'd moan and complain
in his thoughts every day on his mat.
Others do not get so sweaty and hot,
forced each day with self to combat.
One day when the morn had barely been born
and the Cat had just lain as though dead,
a trumpet's bright call rang out shrill through the hall -
In the valley a huge cloud had spread.
What could that be, demanded Tabby?
a haze so incredibly dusty,
it covers the sun, though my practice is done,
I don't like to breathe air so musty.
Tabby rushed to the spire and made haste to inquire
of his watchcat: What roils the snow?
Then his fur stood up high, ears back flat in surprise,
- Ninety yaks on the march down below!
A yak was a thing which to Tabby could bring,
only wonder, confusion and puzzle.
That yaks could now be, on the march wild and free,
How so? and the Cat twitched his muzzle.
As snowy mist surged, the yaks onward were urged
by a man at the rear of the line
Wearing robes that looked strange, orange, loosely arranged,
like a monk, priest or other divine.
The gates were flung wide, Tabby said "Come inside!
Be my guest and sit down at my table!"
and with one command word he ordered the herd
of yaks to be led to the stable.
The robe of the man, hanging low from his hands,
was to Cat really something to see.
It made him seem higher, and burning with fire
and saintly in fullest degree.
The garment so splendid, world's dust quite transcended,
Cat could only salute and bow low,
Yet he got just a glint, no more than a hint,
where pinstripe seemed slightly to show.
Pinstripe? thought he, don't be silly, Tabby!
Business cannot be his trade.
Sacred and pure, of that I am sure,
and no doubts will be any more weighed.
The guest seemed to be a talker quite free
of any restraint, craft or guile.
Over twelve hours feast, he never did cease
praising and fawning the while.
Now the Cat had one flaw he thought nobody saw,
his gargantuan, strong feline pride.
He thought he was swell and he never could tell
that others could see his inside.
So as the board cleared and the last drinks appeared
the Cat became eager to show
His yoga so great (he couldn't think straight)
- of his prowess he started to crow.
His mat he unrolled, his limbs did unfold,
and showed the whole Series for free
and the Traveler watched close, and listened to boasts,
as the Cat stretched to freakish degree.
When it was done, well past set of the sun,
the Traveler clapped long, strong, and loud.
and Tabby swelled up, and reached for his cup,
and toasted himself, oh so proud!
This Series you do, so strong and so true,
though it's something quite lovely to watch...
It must be so tiring? And aren't you perspiring?
You really have earned some more Scotch.
And Tabby said well, I don't like to tell
and of effort I'd never complain.
but I must frankly say, you are right in a way,
this yoga stuff can be a strain.
The Traveler said hey, I have something to say,
that may be of help you will feel.
In my distant home, where cats never roam,
we have something called a "Prayer Wheel".
Each spin of this wheel makes one humble appeal,
to the Gods of our land great and wise.
Set out in the breeze, we then take our ease,
as each turn sends our prayers to the skies.
Perhaps you don't pray, the monk hastened to say,
your religion you needn't reveal,
But in that tough work, that you never shirk,
is Chakrasana translated as "Wheel"?
So I can make a machine for your sake,
that Chakrasana so quickly can do,
not twice in a day, the old-fashioned way
but five hundred, one thousand or two!
And the merit accrues, to me or to you,
or whoever will buy this machine.
The benefit same, puts your yoga to shame,
the Pose Wheel will keep you as clean.
And since free from all strain, you'll daily remain,
you'll have more time for leisure and sleep.
for in fact it will do, not just one pose or two,
but the whole Series it will upsweep.
A yoga machine? To replace my routine?
the Cat yelled with a joyful great shout.
That would be swell, these mornings are hell!
and he pranced, danced, and capered about.
Since I'm worth my hire, the pay I require
you may think excessively dear.
But this pay will seem free you'll soon come to see,
for the profit that soon will appear.
Then the Cat froze. Pay for that? Yet he knows
the monk's machine must have a price.
But no matter the pay, I'll buy right away,
To sleep in would be awfully nice!
Sold! said the monk, pulling gears from his trunk,
I'll set it up now, here we go!
Every hour you sleep, no matter how deep,
the gizmo continues the Flow.
As yoga the same, your health you'll retain,
and the Union with Bliss that you know
will double or more, all while you snore,
in your bed under quilts soft as snow.
The fee that I need should seem paltry indeed,
you see yonder herd of my yaks?
two bags of gems, on all ninety of them,
must be fitted and strapped to their backs.
The treasure of Tabby was not at all shabby,
he was fabulous rich and it showed.
But ninety some yaks with gems on their backs,
that truly would cost him a load.
But he ordered it done cause Saluting the Sun
was just too much labor each day.
With this new machine, he'd be equally clean
as Chikitsa (the old-fashioned way).
The thing was soon made, and the price was full paid,
and the yaks were all loaded to groaning.
And the Tabby serene loved full well his machine
like music to him was its droning.
But as the monk's yaks, with near two hundred sacks
of treasure packed up oh so thick,
filed away out of sight, through the sun's golden light
a pigeon flew straight and quick.
A messenger bird, of these Tabby had heard,
it came from far over the ridge.
Dispatched by a feline it made a sure beeline
right over the castle drawbridge.
The neighboring cat, lordly, noble and fat,
has got lands and gold far beyond me.
This Tabby knew and his nervousness grew
as he plucked the note off the bird's knee.
And just as he feared, the message was clear
it was plain as the nose on his face
that monk it explained, is entirely feigned,
the whole thing is a scam and disgrace.
In a valley not far, straight trek toward the North Star,
The true monk was found bound in the snows.
Though he still lives, and this crime he forgives,
He was robbed of his yaks and his clothes.
I also was fooled, but now I have cooled
and seen through the bandit's sly trick.
He'll talk you up big, scarf your food like a pig
and sell you some junk with his shtick.
And as Tabby read, anger blazed in his head,
"Oh what I will do once I've found him!"
But on the fierce gale that swept swift cross the vale
A laugh echoed long and resounded.
(To Be Continued... sometime)
==================================================
Tabby and the Three Travelers - Part 3
(c) 2007 by Tabby Cat
Part 3 - Finale
In a high wind-swept vale scraped by blizzards and hail
stabbing down from the frosty inclines
of a jaggedy peak that knows only gale's shriek
lived the strangest of all strange felines.
Called "Tabby" by friend, and to "Cat" would attend,
but to most known as simply "that nut!",
The Tabby's sleek fur and melodious purr
explained and excused his proud strut.
Handsome he was, and not only because
of long whiskers and sexy elf ears,
His stripes were aligned as though well-designed
by Yves Saint-Laurent (or his peers).
His castle was gray, and hardly a ray
of light beam could force its way through.
The embrace of the gloom, by sun or by moon,
was almost too much to subdue.
Though by nature a loner, the Cat was the owner
of coins piled high beyond counting.
And these he would spend, dilettante to the end,
on wine and silk clothes, ever-mounting.
But though rather a flake, Ashtanga did take
a hold on his weird feline brain,
and so break of each day, whether sunny or gray,
whether hail, or blizzard, or rain,
Saw him roll out his mat getting ready for that
tough Series to which he was slave.
The trance and the bliss, and prana's deep kiss,
that sweet buzz which all yogi's crave.
But Yama's, thought he, don't apply much to me,
so he rarely would ponder about
that one percent theory, which seemed to him dreary,
which he carelessly often would flout.
And then one Spring day, while bees buzzed in the hay
and soft breeze blew up warm from beyond,
the sweet valley's smell, tinkle of the cow's bell,
made Tabby sigh deep and gaze fond
At the ancient broad river, from his window a sliver
of silvery water algow,
which in the cliff's lee ran on to the sea,
passing farms and the town in its flow.
And seeing this view, "Something new I must do!"
with startling quickness he cried.
"I'll go into town, have some fun, drink a round!
Bring my best steed, for I'll ride!"
In this cold hall I've come to a stall,
I'm strictly confined and dumb muted,
Though yoga's so swell, I can practically smell
that down there might be something more suited?
So with ostrich plume high draping over his eye,
and leather boots up to his knees,
with sword hilt a-twinkle, in pants not a wrinkle,
the bridle he boldly did seize.
Tabby rode like an ace, clad in velvet and lace,
his stirrups of sliver clanged loud
as he galloped the road, and then boldly strode
to the marketplace, into the crowd.
In the market's brash noise, he kept his full poise,
moving smoothly amidst all the din,
For though now a domestic, the Cat once majestic
when young a brave soldier had been.
Then without warning came a great horning
of bells, trumpets, bugles, and drums,
And straight through the Square, trampling marketers there,
the coach of the King swiftly comes.
The Cat turned aside, graceful, easy, with pride,
not the least bit of haste did he show,
but as he did, another man slid
on the cobbles so slick down below.
And to stop his pratfall and great hurt to forestall,
the man blindly and wildly grabbed,
and what bad luck it was, he felt something like fuzz,
as a mantle of velvet he nabbed.
It was Tabby's red cloak, now in mud it did soak,
getting dirty and wetted quite through
And Tabby enraged, like a tiger uncaged,
turned to the man and said "You!"
"I am for you now, sir, if you're more than a cur,
you'll give me my due in the morn.
My seconds will call, to the door of your hall
- you will wish you had never been born!"
For though Tabby's not cruel, he's addicted to duel,
with sword and with gun he had flair,
and the loss of his cape made him mad like an ape,
"We duel at sunrise - Prepare!"
Glove flung in the face, Tabby started to race
on his horse, back along the dark trail,
Though he'd fought much before, as in duels of yore,
he sought to ensure he'd prevail.
And so all the long night, he sat without light
concentrating and fixing his mind
Yoga forgot, he sat on that spot
using Zen his mind-body to bind.
And at daybreak's beams, o'er soft valley streams,
brooks tinkling with music of dawn,
the reins of his prey, dueling partner that day,
his Seconds grasped tight and led on.
The field of duel gleamed fair like a jewel
in morning's first light o'er the hill
and the Seconds stood by, but the man seemed too shy
as through drugged by a potion or pill.
"What can this be? Would you cravenly flee?
Man or dog?" the Cat angrily hissed.
"Won't fight", the man said, "it's not that I dread,
But I'm a Non-Dualist".
"Non-Duelist?!" Cat cried, the shock widening his eyes,
"What kind of a man can you be?
A man of no pride? Draw now!" he cried,
and put paw to hilt dangerously.
You don't understand, said the strange-looking man,
and his eyes got a far-away look.
What you take as "e" is not that, you see,
it is "a" - just as spelled in my book.
For I am a Writer, on Neo-Advaita,
the doctrine that all that you know,
and see, think, or do, though you haven't a clue,
is really mere sham and fake show.
What you think is yourself, with your ears like an elf,
is really just air, don't you know,
and your thoughts are mere breeze and your pains are but ease
of eternally meaningless Flow
of tweaks and alarms and what you think are harms,
but which really are only a mist
of delusion and foolery and like costume jewelry
lack value and just don't exist.
Since men bring me here, I accept without fear,
I come bringing only my staff,
I come not with gun, but with doctrine of One,
here's my book, want my autograph?
If the book you will take, then let us shake,
and be friends, and then I will teach
my Satsang for free and in my company
Awakening you can soon reach.
The Cat was no fool, yet never in school,
had they taught any thing so absurd.
But though wanting to fight, these words seemed so Right,
that something within his soul stirred.
And so from that morn, Yoga mat now forlorn,
Tabby lay every morning abed,
Despite sun's cheery ray, Yoga's merely a "Way",
and all Ways lead nowhere, it's said.
And over long time, in the harsh mountain clime,
the castle walls sagged and they tumbled.
and gradually, from the moat straggling free,
moss and ivy grew wild and jumbled
They covered the manor, and down drooped his banner,
and wild grass waved in the halls,
where once Tabby boasted and snarfed what he'd roasted
and lounged amid merry catcalls.
And Tabby took to the road, without horses or load,
alone and stripped plain like that Writer,
Non-Dualist he, a free escapee,
with a mind most considerably lighter.
And to those who would greet, or wish with him to meet?
"Please from your prattle desist.
Because it is said, in the book that I read,
You and me - we don't really exist!"
And to those engrossed, by some random post
the Cat once may have happened to blog?
"Comments disallowed, I have firmly avowed
that All is as Empty as fog."
But of mid-winter's night, when moonbeams pierce bright
through ghost clouds riding on the chill air,
They say still that he, the spectral Tabby,
(in whispers still they declare)
Can sometimes be spied, with legs opened wide,
haunted eyes, doing baddha konasana
for it's just as they say - though you may go away,
your Yoga will always be with ya.
~ The End ~
==================================================
The Tabby and the Yogi
(c) 2007 by Tabby Cat
One early morning in the Spring,
T'was all in May, as robins sing,
That on the forest path we see
The Tabby Cat, in playful spree.
Tabby was a handsome one
With fur like mink,
Eyes bright as sun.
And suddenly
He chanced to spy,
Ashtangi there,
So strong and spry.
The Yogi in his trance so deep,
With both legs high,
Did sit like sleep.
“How can it be?”
The Tabby said.
“Both legs do twist -
Around his HEAD??”
“Medic medic!” Tabby cried,
“Ambulance! Come this way nigh!
We cannot let him
This way be;
His bones will break,
From neck to knee!”
But this the Yogi laughed to hear,
“No, no dear Tabby, never fear!”
“Nothing here to fret about;
Just Tortoise Pose,
Vinyasa Out.”
“We do this daily and you see,
For us it’s merely
Fun and glee.”
Tabby's nose twitched thoughtfully…
How can that be, I do not see,
How can he be so rubbery?
Then Tabby’s pride clamped on his brain,
Up spoke he bold: “I’ll do the same!”
We felines often sit that way,
One leg aloft,
We lick and spray.
How harder more
Can TWO legs be?
You – Yogi! Now,
Watch carefully.
And then the Tabby stupidly
Wrapped one leg… two!
(Thank God not three!)
Around his handsome silky head,
With furrowed brow
He sweat and spread…
His legs surround,
That whiskered face,
“How say you NOW?
Aren’t I the ace?”
“Truly! Never did I see,
So great a Cat,
So lithe as Thee.”
“But tell me now,
Leave me no doubt,
You got thus IN,
But how get OUT?”
And then the Tabby realized
His foolishness and stupid pride.
For while he sits there,
Pretzeled well,
His legs get stiff,
They cramp and swell!
So the Yogi looking grim,
Crossed the path
And chided him:
"You mewl and twist,
You purr and spit,
Do show me now,
Get out of it!"
Then the Tabby, sweating, soaked,
Gasped final words,
Though nearly choked:
“Never shall it
E'er be said
That Tabby's face
Was seen blushed red!”
“Never on the Net do write
Of Tabby caught
in such a plight!”
And saying that
The Tabby then
Rolled swift away,
Down through the glen.
And sooth was never seen again,
Thus passeth Pride,
Say all Wise Men.
