Fun Pop Poetry #29

cat photo other two

“You Call Yourself a Cat?” by Blixa BelGrande

As I lie stretched on the mat,
daydreaming of mice and wet food,
I hear,”You call yourself a cat?”
It’s Darrell, come to wreck my mood.

Where did she find this Bozo boyfriend?
That Cheyenne calls her fiance’
I keep my eyes closed and pretend
That he’s gone far, far away

“That is one pampered animal,”
He continues, unperturbed,
“And living the life of Riley as well,”
I keep my mouth shut, not a word.

For I’m thinking of the ripped screen
In the upstairs bedroom window
It’s there that I ‘ll be redeemed
It’s there I will catch the sparrow

That will shut him up for good
That will wipe the smirk off his face
And of course it’s understood,
Just how good that bird will taste.

I casually head up the stairs,
Without a glance in his direction
And he drones on, unaware,
Of a little bird that needs protection.

Like a panther, I leap on the bed.
Like a tiger, I claw at the screen.
Quiet! as I spot the feathered head.
And I wait—as she leans—

YES! I’ve got her! In my mouth!
YIPE! YIPE! YIPE! she cries in horror!
” Hey! What the hell’s that noise about!?”
Darrell shouts, walking through the door.

But I race past him, a blur of speed,
to the living room, to Cheyenne
He must not know of my deed–
Not until Cheyenne has seen!

I lay the bird down on the floor
Cheyenne looks down, “Do you have a new toy?”
I prod the sparrow with my paw,
C’mon, you damn thing, make some noise!

“Oh good God! It’s a sparrow! Darrell, come and see!”
“What’s that cat gone and done?”
“She’s caught a bird! And brought it to me!”

She opened the door, and off it flew.
“It was still alive!” Cheyenne said, relieved.
At that point I let out a big meow.
“That’s one crafty cat,” Darrell said, admiringly.


(Cat photo c/o Jamie Lockhart.)

Fun Pop Poetry #21



“The Ballad of King Bozo” by Blixa BelGrande

King Bozo, once trusted toy revered
Now lies suffering with severed ear
Bozo feeling like Van Gogh
“I don’t think I can take much more”

King Bozo’s batted down the hall
He doesn’t like this new game at all
Bozo thrown up towards the ceiling
In his legs he’s lost all feeling.

King Bozo slips into depression
“Why am I this cat’s obsession?”
Bozo fears he’ll go insane
If he’s tossed down the stairs again.

“…but is it possible to go insane–
if all I have is stuffing for brains?”
and is it possible to feel injustice
if my body is made of sawdust?”

“Bozo! You’re looking pretty rough!
I’ll put you in the basket with the other stuff.
Little Malcolm deserves a new toy.
After all, he’s been a good boy.”

King Bozo breathes a sigh of relief
As he’s deposited on the heap
Of tired toys, forgotten muses
Come to rest,
forget abuses.

(Submit your pop poems to

Fun Pop Poetry #2

theda bara

This is NOT a photo of Blixa BelGrande!


–WARNING: Adult Content–

“Death in the Medicine Cabinet” by Blixa BelGrande

(Inside Kenny’s medicine cabinet, Prozac and Viagra stand side by side. Prozac smiling, Viagra standing stiff and erect.)


Ah, Viagra! Be of good cheer today!
The sun is shining
And Kenny might get laid.
He’s been working on his timing.


My dear Prozac, I hope to God he does get laid–
At last I can be of good use!
Of this matter I’ve often prayed,
Sometimes he can be so obtuse!
He wants a stiff one on demand,
Yet takes me hours before,
Prescription directions be damned!
And then at me he gets sore.


Shhhhhh. Kenny approaches.

(Kenny enters room, opens medicine cabinet and shakes out two Viagra, speaks in thick Cockney accent.)


A bloody hour ’til she comes,
So I’ll take a Viagra now, maybe two,
This thing’ll be throbbin’ like a drum–
I’ll screw ‘er til she turns blue.

(Kenny shuts cabinet door and swallows Viagra.)


And bloody well HE will turn blue!
He’s gone and taken two of me in order to screw!
Fool! Imbecile! Idiot! Wanker! Knave!
Sure he’ll be hard and stiff– in the grave!

(Kenny enters room.)


Shhhhhh. He’s back.

Kenny opens cabinet and shakes out another Viagra.)


Bloody hell, what’s one more?
I’ll show ‘er who’s boss
She don’t know what’s in store.
I’ll drown ‘er in me love sauce.

(Laughs and shuts cabinet door, swallows Viagra.)


Oh, look at the bright side–
His timing’s improved.
Who cares that he won’t be alive
To get screwed?


Oh shut up Prozac, don’t you see?
We won’t be refilled,
Not you or me!
Surely on that score
You cannot be thrilled.