The Special Category

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A Poem by
Bishop Reginald Heber

A knight and a lady once met in a grove
While each was in quest of a fugitive love;
A river ran mournfully murmuring by,
And they wept in its waters for sympathy.

"Oh, never was knight such a sorrow that bore!"
"Oh, never was maid so deserted before!"
"From life and its woes let us instantly fly,
And jump in together for company!"

They searched for an eddy that suited the deed,
But here was a bramble and there was a weed;
"How tiresome it is!" said the fair, with a sigh;
So they sat down to rest them in company.

They gazed at each other, the maid and the knight;
How fair was her form, and how goodly his height!
"One mournful embrace," sobbed the youth, "ere we die!
So kissing and crying kept company.

"Oh, had I but loved such an angel as you!"
"Oh, had but my swain been a quarter as true!"
"To miss such perfection how blinded was I!"
Sure now they were excellent company!

At length spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear,
"The weather is cold for a watery bier;
When summer returns we may easily die,
Till then let us sorrow in company."

Ed Ache

If there's a head torture that's worse than a snore,
I'd love to know just what exactly that is,
While I lie awake to my wife's nasal roar,
She slumbers contented in comatose bliss.

I plead with her, "Anne, show some sympathy please,
I have to get up for my shift in the morn,
Yet, dear, you continue to snore and to wheeze
And I'm still awake when the birds sing at dawn!"

She vexedly scoffs, "Ed, quit the dumb cheeping,
When you get grumpy, it is such a bore,
It isn't my fault you have trouble sleeping,
And despite what you say, no way do I snore!"

My reader, I swear this is madly untrue,
That woman, she's making me haggard and ill,
For when she gets going, the row from her tubes
Is worse than the din of a pneumatic drill!

I have tried everything I can to curb her,
From hugs to a pinch to a full body shake,
But nothing I try can darn well perturb her,
Short of a bomb and maybe an earthquake.

Divorcing's the answer for weary me,
I can't bear my headachy bed any more;
For there are two people I wedded, we see:
My dear, calm wife and that mad shrew who snores!


RULES FOR DOG OWNERS (suggested by their own loyal dogs)

I will not bathe my dog after he has gone to all the trouble of bathing himself in a convenient mud puddle

I will not push my dog away when he wants a hug after playing in the aforementioned mud puddle.

I will not complain 'My arm's tired' after only throwing the ball a mere twenty times.

I will not confuse my dog by throwing rock-hard snowballs for him to fetch.

I will not ask my dog to play fetch with a boomerang ... too cruel.

I will not drag my dog away from interesting sniffing spots.

I will drop whatever I am doing and then take my dog out as soon as he asks me to.

I will not tell my dog to hurry up already when he's looking for just the right spot to take care of business.

I will not stare when my dog is doing his business.

I will not presume to feed the cat before I feed my dog.

I will get rid of that pesky old cat, Sooty.

I will not bring home any more cats.

I will never eat until my dog has tasted what I have and approved it's OK for me too.

I will share everything I eat with my dog.

I will set up the kiddie pool every day it is hot - even in December.

I will not leave my dog at home any time I like to go for a drive in the car.

I will allow my dog on the couch.

I will not make my dog pose for pictures with some fat shifty looking stranger who's wearing a bright red suit

I will protect my dog from that obnoxious little human thing at all times.

I will not have another of those mighty obnoxious little human things.

I will not hide my dog's pet ball in a place where I know he couldn't possibly retrieve it from, then ask him to go get it.

I will not take shredded, soggy, yummy tennis balls away from my dog.

I will not sneak around the yard wearing funny clothes to test whether my dog is a good watchdog.

I will stop referring to my dog's necklace as their 'collar.'

I will not cut my dog's nails.

I will not abandon my dog for a trivial human reason like 'going in town to work'.

I will not wake my dog when I come home.

I will not come home from work and feel the sofa, to see if the throw still feels warm from where my dog was sleeping there 'illegally'.

A hint of bad weather is never a reason for not walking my dog.

I will open the door as soon as my dog sits by it. Immediately.

I will not laugh at my dog for being unhappy, if confused over not being able to find that lump of ice that he buried earlier.

I will never run out of doggy treats.

I will always aim to somehow carry fifty-plus doggy treats.

I won't attempt to make my dog wear the soppy old pet outfit that he hates... the stupid festive antlers, the vivid red hat.

I will not tie ribbons or fit idiotic bows all over my pet puppy dog.

I will not use the fiendish home decorations like tinsel, which might, just might be dangerous to my dog.

And I will try much harder to understand my dog's language.


[The White House by Claude McKay is anagrammed into a similarly titled poem (supposedly from the pen of the current US president). Aside from enumerating the Muslim countries he has issued a travel ban on (plus his latest non-Muslim addition to the list: North Korea), the anagram has a relevant acrostic constraint.]

The White House
by Claude McKay

Your door is shut against my tightened face,
And I am sharp as steel with discontent;
But I possess the courage and the grace
To bear my anger proudly and unbent.
The pavement slabs burn loose beneath my feet,
And passion rends my vitals as I pass,
A chafing savage, down the decent street;
Where boldly shines your shuttered door of glass.
Oh, I must search for wisdom every hour,
Deep in my wrathful bosom sore and raw,
And find in it the superhuman power
To hold me to the letter of your law!
Oh, I must keep my heart inviolate
Against the potent poison of your hate.

The White House
by The Donald

Perhaps I'll ruin you -- the country Somalia,
Rotten suspects that massacre and slay.
Emigre upheavals, a weakened Syria,
Shipped out now, refused since yesterday.
Immigrants stopped, too, from yonder Yemen,
Detestable people who bomb and behead.
Entering visitors from Libya, then
Not humane, the hostages must be dead!
Throw in the list of vagabonds from Chad,
The thugs they put away can't ever win.
Rogues cut off from Iran, youth so bad;
United, our States won't let those convicts in.
Muslims aside, now here's North Korea
Pyongyang's hateful leader has diarrhoea!