Affair in My Office & Other Comic Poetry

"An Affair in My Office" was my first effort for Writing.com, won a couple of awards, and hooked me here. As an independent item it was one of my most popular. 28 reviewers rated it an average of over 4.5, but they went down to a 3.0, so go figure. To me, 2 or 3 years after writing it, the poem rang 'Bells' a little of Poe's 'Raven,' gone wacky, as well as good ol' Dr.Seuss. What do you think?

AN AFFAIR IN MY OFFICE

My 'puter sat silently: waiting, waiting...
No sound from its speaker and dark was its eye;
Waiting, I knew it, waiting and baiting
Its lure for something, I knew not yet why.

Leaving the room, I felt its eye lighting--
I knew it was on--no lie! Yes, a fact!
I spent my time wond'ring and thinking, and fighting
An impulse to go back and catch in the act

My secretive 'puter, quietly waiting
For what? Yes, for what? I had to know!
What was it doing, as it was pretending
To be so lifeless, stifling its glow?

I crept to the door and placing my ear
Tightly against it, the better to hear,
I heard! Yes, I heard it whispering dear
Sweet nothings to nearby peripheral gear!

"My mouse!" it cried softly, "Click to me, Sweet,"
And faintly, oh, faintly, a rustle, a sound--
So quickly, as if a little heart beat
A-clickety click! My eyes grew so round

At the marvel I heard. Could it be that the mouse
Sent love, not commands, to some machine port
In the cold calculator that lives in my house?
Surely I'm mad! A machine cannot court!

But the clicking and cooing grew louder until
I could not contain myself anymore.
I could not be quiet, no more, not still,
I turned the doorknob, threw open the door!

My mouth agape, I stared 'round the room.
It could not be, the sight I could see
A sight that changed in an instant, for Zoom!
Fled it all to its place. How can that be?

With a blink of my eyes I no longer could see
A thing out of place, yet I knew I had seen
The mouse on my keyboard caressing a key,
A CD ejecting, a light on the screen.

But more!

The books were all open, the paper a-flutter,
The pencils were rubbing, erasing each other
And this I can't credit--I think I'm a nutter--
I swear that my notebook's becoming a mother!

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The following, as an independent item, received 3 5-star and 2 4.5-star ratings, which I concede was generous of them, but they all "loved" it, and it was fun to write!

ODE TO SPAGHETTI

How plain it is, just flour and water.
As good as it is, you’d think that it oughter
Be full of good stuff, like chocolate or ice cream,
But it’s not! It’s plain; it’s nobody’s dream.

You don’t cook it fancy: no baking, no broiling.
No troublesome braising – it’s happy with boiling.
Don’t fricassee this, or treat it like candy
Or roast it or toast it, plain boiling’s just dandy.

Of course it’s much nicer, when it is all done,
To cover it with sauces and meatballs for fun.
Tomato puree and parmesan cheese
And spices like pepper and oregano, please.

But though it is certainly easy to make
Eating's not simple – it’s no piece of cake!
Learning how takes years to get it just right
Otherwise, oh, won’t you leave such a sight!

Cutting it makes it fall off your fork,
But slurping it up makes you look like a dork,
Leaving spots on the floor and staining your clothes,
And hanging like yuck from off of your nose.

Twirling it gently with fork upon spoon
Is supposed to make it behave itself soon
And hang nicely together so you can partake
Without leaving your lap a tomato sauce lake!

Now if you’re still young, that’s all a great joy.
It’s better than playing with ball or with toy!
What child does not fail to rejoice in the messy?
It’s mothers who make their youngsters look dressy.

So kids have no problems until they must speak
The name of this food. It would take me a week
To list all the ways that children invent
For their favorite dish. Their tongues get all bent!

It’s sketti, skabetti, and betti and bet;
Pasketti, tapetti, petti and sket;
And more, you see, there really are oodles
Of ways of saying what really are noodles.

But especially eating with garlic on rolls,
Americans love it, and Germans, and Poles,
Thank Chinese and Italians who first got this ready:
Our messy and scrumptious tongue-twisting spaghetti.

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The following, as an independent item, received 3 4.5-star and 1 4-star ratings. The 4-star rater thought husbands might not quite match how I depict them....

ALL THEY REALLY NEED IS LOVE

Carefree, he asks for little:
Give him occasional attention:
pat his head, rub his back,
and he is happy.
Every day he wants to play;
but if you are busy,
he waits patiently,
tongue out, eyes adoring,
ready to give you a wet kiss
if only you will let him.

Just let him wander out until he is
tired; then call his name
and joyously he comes running.
Put some food before him--
he doesn't really care much what it is--
pour him a drink, glance his way;
he is content.

They are all the same, aren't they?
Food, sleep, a good massage,
a drink, a warm glance, a soft call,
a little fun now and then and
sex if they aren't neutered;
that's all it really takes to satisfy
good dogs, good husbands.

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"A Dog's Life" was quite popular as an independent item, with 17 reviews averaging to 4.5., including 3 of 4-stars, and 4 of 5-stars. The poem has been improved a little, I think, since the early ratings. Each trio has two rhymed lines reflecting poetic convention, with the third line more clearly the dog's more "unpoetic" comment!

A DOG'S LIFE

It was not hard to see where this wedding,
with all of its fussing and bother was heading,
as far as I was concerned.

There were ushers and bridesmaids and ready confetti
and groomsmen and fathers were heady already;
but I got no attention

or food, for that matter, or water or petting —
a pat on the head is all I was getting —
nothing at all worthwhile!

Everyone else was dressed to the hilt;
mountains of presents were everywhere built.
Me? Not even a bone.

The tables were laden with shrimp and fresh fruit,
and meat and sweet odors and gravy to boot -
my nose just quivered with hope!

But I was supposed to “lie still” and “be good,”
be satisfied seeing and smelling the food
as if I were dead, or a rock.

Oh after, I knew, they would let me lick plates
of leftovers cold and congealed that I hate.
Well, how do YOU like it?

I would not be left out, I would be a part
and celebrate too this affair of the heart
and make my own party.

I wanted a taste of all those good things,
so if I were to get neither flowers nor rings
I'd at least get fed.

I’d rather have meat than frosting and cake,
and gravy and such like if only they'd take
their doggoned eyes off it.

But there in the corner where they did not watch,
With cunning and guile did a plan start to hatch
to get what was coming to me.

There sat so inviting, so easy to take,
a marv’lous, delicious, delectable cake!
Oh, what kind of dog would just look?

Peering around I arose from my haunches,
fully determined to take all my chances
to go to bed full as anyone!

I stepped over calmly and circled the table
(acting as nonchalantly as able)
and took my position;

then picked up my front paws to daintily lick
that cake ‘til I knew I’d quit or be sick --
then gobbled as much as I could!

Ah! It’s a dog’s life!

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