The Puma's Plea

This Big Cat must be a female, cause she says here, she "could never trust a man"!

The Puma's Plea

I AM FREEZING IN NORTH ANTRIM, 

IN MY MAKESHIFT FOREST LAIR, 

AND FITFULLY I DREAM OF HOME , 

AND WISH THAT I WAS THERE. 

OH YES, I ONCE WAS WANTED, 

AS A PET, A RICH MANS WHIM, 

HOW I WISH THAT AS HE TREATED ME, 

SOMEONE NOW, WOULD THUS TREAT HIM. 

I MUST EAT SOON OR I SHALL DIE, 

MY NATURE IS TO KILL, 

BY MAN I'M SHUNNED, A MURDERER, 

THE HUNT HAS LOST IT'S THRILL. 

YOU SURELY SEE I MUST RETAIN, 

MY FREEDOM WHILE I CAN, 

I NEVER CAN SURRENDER, 

FOR I COULD NEVER TRUST A MAN.

by 'Felis Concolor'

A Rebuke tae tha Poocher

The Big Cat clearly wasn't everybody's idea of fun!

A Rebuke tae tha Poocher

A met an oul fermer wae a face lake a lantern 

As A wus trevillin roon aboot North Antrim, 

Saes he, "Ir ye tha Poocher wha writes yer Rhymes 

Fae week tae week in tha Bellymoney Times".

Saes I, "Heth that A am", an reached oot for his han, 

But A cud see me bein there wus mair than he cud stan, 

A jest thocht tae masel whut A micht hae dane 

But deed it wusnae lang tae he did explain. 

Saes he, "Is fermers dinnae tak tha Big Kat licht 

An aff coorse you toon yins aye think yersels richt, 

For yersel an Garry Bogus, tha Hunter an tha lake, 

Wud bae better if yese wud jest button yer bake. 

For tak it frae me if yese kent onything ava 

Yese wud shut yer big mooths if ye velue yer ja, 

For wur tha fermers wha if loasin oor sheep 

An its is an naw youse that's een niver sleep." 

Sae wae that A slid aff wae mae kep in mae han 

For tae me it wus wise whun still able tae stan, 

For A think A hae larnt thon fermers naw slow 

An maesel a'll ony write aboot sumthin‚ A know.

by 'Tha Poocher'

Puir Oul Pooshey

Hmmm ... I wonder, does Tam sound just a wee bit like Sean Connery, perhaps?

Puir Oul Pooshey

I'M THINKIN‚ BOYS THE KATS GYE QUATE, 

DAE YE THINK DAE POOSHIES HIBERNATE, 

I NIVER KNOW'D THE LAKE AFORE, 

MAYBE HE HAE'S TANE A SNORE.

WILE SCUNNER'T HAE'S HE GOT DEPRESSION, 

IN A SORTA FELINE POOSHY FASHION, 

IS HE IN A STATE O' CAT DELIR-I-UM. 

AN EFTER MALES MAN TAK TWA VAL-I-UM.

EFTER SCOBIN‚ TURNIPS AN SOOKIN‚ SOORUKS, 

HE RUN AWA WAE TWA WEE ERACKS, 

KNOCK‚T THEM IN HIM SPITTI'N FEATHERS, 

BURIED THE BONES AMANG THE HEATHER,

CRYED HIMSEL SOME LATIN NAME, 

TOUL THE FOLK THE MICHT THINK SHAME, 

AN‚ HUNT NAE MAIR THE FOREIGN POOSHEY, 

ROON THE BREWS O' OUL BURN GUSHEY.

THON OUL POOCHER RIZ A ROW, 

SAID THE POOSHEY HE WUD COW, 

HE‚LL TRACK HIM BETTER COME THE SNOW. 

HE MICHT, BUT MINE YE I DON'T KNOW.

THE PICT SAID HE WUD KETCH AN STUFF HIM, 

THE POOSHEY MICHT DRAW AFF AN CUFF HIM, 

HE'S HUNTIN DEYS ARE BY LANG SYNE, 

FOR KEREEDLIN' EFTER THEM FELINES.

SO COME ON RHYMERS LET IS HEAR YE, 

TAE THE TIMES I MEAN TAE STEER YE, 

LET IS HEAR YOUR BIT O‚ CRACK, 

AN LAKE BIG ARNIE "I'LL BE BACK"

By 'Tam the Santer'

The Melancholy Collie

Get down Shep!

The Melancholy Collie 

I AM A BONNIE SHEEPDOG, 

MY WHOLE LIFE IS UPSIDE DOWN, 

'CAUSE MY ONE TIME HAPPY MASTER, 

NOW FOREVER WEARS A FROWN. 

I AM PRACTICALLY REDUNDANT, 

AND I SUPPOSE IT MUST BE SAID, 

THERE'S NOT MUCH ROUNDING UP TO DO, 

WHEN THE SHEEP ARE IN THE SHED. 

YOU SEE MY CHARGES USED TO GRAZE, 

QUITE NEAR THE GARRY BOG, 

BEFORE THAT BLOODY PANTHER CAME, 

AH! JUST ONE MAN AND HIS DOG. 

OH! DAMN AND BLAST THAT MANGY BRUTE , 

COAT AND SOUL AS BLACK AS NIGHT, 

OR PUMA BEIGE OR SANDY BROWN, 

WHO GAVE OUR EWES A FRIGHT. 

I'M GETTING FAT AND OUT OF SHAPE, 

FROM LYING ON THE MAT, 

MY CAREER IT LIES IN RUINS, 

AND FOR WHAT ? A BLOODY CAT!!. 

SO SLING YOUR HOOK "YE SLEEKIT BASTE", 

IM AFRAID THAT'S HOW I FEEL, 

AND LET ME GET SOME PRACTISE, 

FOR THE TRIALS AT LOUGHGUILE.

By 'Shep'

Big Cat Mae Thoom

Big Cat Mae Thoom

I'm sittin' here mae lane in the moss, hunker't doon in a stank 
Feart tae move fae whur I am, joost keekin' oot ower the peat bank 
Hoo's a boady aspose't tae cope, corner't here agin thoor will 
Wae a' the orders comin' in, an I canna get peace, tae mak still.

Ivery whur yae luk there polis, an a' kines o' boadys wae guns 
Whirlybirds fly'in oot ower yer heid, hokin' through iv'ryboadys grun 
Folk oot wae battery lamps, ye'd think they'd naithin' better tae day 
Hoo's a' honest boady lake me gan tae get the still up an barmin away.

 

Some say thoor a'oot there lukkin' for a serious big baste o' a cat 
But thoor naw foolin me, aw naw, fur I ken fine weel what thoor at 
Thoor efter mae still, an the finest oul whusky t'wus iver lipp't bae man 
Fame't roon the worl an farther, made only as a countryman can. 

I larn't it fae mae oul folk who wudnae gee the government thoor bill 
Takin' awa a workin boadys pleasure, och! I can hear mae granda still 
Taxin all a boady daes an every bite an sup he puts intae his mooth 
If it stud for him it'll stan for me an mine ye that's the truth. 

They kin luk a' they want tae for them cats, be they broon or black or blue 
I'll fill mae orders fur the dacent folk what wae Christmas comin' noo 
An as fur mangy cats an the stories an the folk wha started this farse 
Tak yer nebs ootae whuns an rashes an stick them in the stillmans poakit. 

by 'Aqua Vitae'

How Quaint

You'll need to read this one with a posh North Antrim Accent!

How Quaint

I AM MAJOR TIM PONSONBY BLUNT,

THE MASTER OF BURN GUSHEY HUNT,

"CHARLIE FOX" IS MY USUAL QUARRY,

BUT THIS PUMA YOU SEE,

MIGHT BE WORTH TWO OR THREE,

AND I'M TOLD ARE DELICIOUS WHEN CURRIED.

SO IF YOU REQUIRE, 

I SHALL CLEAR THE ENTIRE,

COUNTRYSIDE OF THIS OUTLANDISH BRUTE,

"BASSET HOUNDS" AT THE READY,

NOW STEADY LADS STEADY,

AND TWO "POMERAINIANS" TO BOOT.

YOU MIGHT FIND THIS STRANGE,

BUT I DO LIKE A CHANGE,

FOR TRADITION I CARE NOT A JOT,

YOU MAY THINK I'M QUITE MAD,

'CAUSE I HUNT ON A QUAD,

MY DEAR WIFE SAYS I'VE QUITE LOST THE PLOT.

YOU SEE HORSES AND ME,

WE HAVE NEVER AGREED,

AND I CAN'T STAY ABOARD ONE FOR LONG,

THAT TRADITIONAL "GET-UP",

DEAR ME WHAT A "SET-UP",

I PREFER STEEL TOE'D BOOTS AND A THONG.

COUNTRY LIFE IT HAS CHANGED,

"IS THIS FELLOW DERANGED",

DEAR FRIENDS I WILL SAY ONLY THIS,

THIS RED WINES TWENTY PROOF,

THE WHOLE TALE IS A SPOOF,

AND IT'S ONLY ME TAKING THE - - - -,

by Lover of Books & Reader of Men

Birds Ee Veiw

Maybe it's not only Big Brother who's watching you!

Birds Ee Veiw

I'M SITTIN' UP THIS SYCAMORE, 
AN‚ I'M WATCHIN' ALL ABOOT, 
FOR THEY TELL ME THERE'S A PANTHER 
IN THE PLANTIN' LUKKIN' OOT. 

BUT I'M DAMN'T IF I CAN SEE HIM, 
FAE MAE PERCH AWA UP HIGH, 
AN' BOYS I DAE NAE MISS MUCH, 
ON THE GRUN OR IN THE SKY. 

YE SEE BOYS I'M A BUZZARD, 
AN' MAE EEN IR BRAVE AN' GUID, 
AN' GEEN THE BOYO IS STILL IN THERE, 
BAE MAE SOWL HE'S BRAVELY HID. 

I HAE BEEN WATCHIN FOR MAE DINNER, 
ROON HERE THIS WHEEN O' YEARS, 
AN' I HAE YIT TAE SEE A PUMA , 
OR A PANTHER ABOOT HERE. 

BOYS NOO YE NIVER HARD ME SEYIN, 
THAT THERE'S NAW YIN ON THE LOOSE, 
BUT IT'S ODD THE WYE I MISS'T HIM , 
WHUN I WUDNAE MISS A MOOSE. 

I HAE SA' THE GHAIST O' TOBER MOOR, 
GANN DRIFTIN' OWER THE FLOUGH, 
I HAE SA' BENVERDINS LADY, 
AN' THE WITCH O WILE GLENTOW. 

I SA' THE THINGS THAT GAR THE FOLK, 
PU' THE QUILT OOT OWER THOOR HEID, 
BUT I NIVER SA' NAE LION BOYS, 
O' ONY CLASS OR CREED.

By 'The Watcher'