By kiwisteveh
Old Cheezel is a weasel and a razzle-dazzle fellow,
For his whiskers they are crimson, while his feathers they are yellow,
And he wears a woolly waistcoat with a pair of bright blue braces
When he waddles off to Ascot just to see the tortoise races.
When the starter fires his pistol and the steward rings his bell
All the tortoises start toddling (and they toddle very well!)
Tardy Tortoise Twinkles is the favourite and he's cocky
On his back rides Bertie Bunny who's the finest tortoise jockey.
Now Cheezel has a habit and it may make him a sinner
When he sees a passing rabbit, he will grab it for his dinner.
As the finish line is looming and the favourite has 'em beaten,
In a flash the jockey's jumped on and he's just as quickly eaten.
Next past the post is Shell Shocked, but alas for owner's pride
He is found to be a turtle and he's thus disqualified.
While the other twenty 'runners'grow all frisky-fractious-frettish
For it seems they've all developed a lively lettuce fetish.
So Cheezel saunters homewards with a full and frumptious belly
Where he sits in great contentment with his feet up by the telly.
Seems this crimson-whiskered, yellow-feathered weasel with blue braces
'Stead of money, won a bunny; made a killing at the races.
By kiwisteveh
Well,I guess you may be wond'ring 'bout a weasel's habitat;
Where does a chap like Cheezel hang his fine three-cornered hat?
And the answer may surprise you, though he doesn't like to boast,
That his house is halfway floating and it's half upon the coast.
Though a liner may be finer and a clipper somewhat 'hipper',
Cheezel loves his tiny tugboat that he's called 'The Carefree Kipper'.
See the superstructure's sparkling white with grey upon the gunnel;
The hull when viewed is purple-hued, red rings adorn the funnel.
Below decks there's a galley and a hammock hung for leisure;
You might think the wily weasel had discovered buried treasure.
When the taxman grows suspicious of the luxury he's wrapped in,
Then Cheezel blithely tells him he was once a pirate captain.
On a misty, magic morning when the estuary's glist'ning
You may hear old Cheezel whistling if you happen to be list'ning.
Seated snugly on his deck-chair with his feet up on the railing,
Dreaming dreams of dauntless daring, 'cross the seven seas he's sailing.
Now I heard from Bartle Badger, who was Cheezel's latest lodger,
That he did indeed sail pirate ships and fly the Jolly Roger.
His flashing sword and dashing looks set maidens' hearts aflutter,
Opposing captains turned and fled, their courage turned to butter.
But even pirate kings have dreams of firesides and slippers,
Of rabbit stew and cocoa too, of tea and toast and kippers.
Once a raider and crusader and a treasure-hunting rover,
Now the skipper of 'The Kipper' knows his pirate days are over.
| Author Notes | My ealier poem 'Cheezel the Weasel' was well-received and a number of reviewers asked for a sequel, so here it is! Maybe more to come... |
By kiwisteveh
Cheezel the Weasel had sniffles and sneezles
From his whiskery nose right down to his kneesles.
His head was all ache-y, his throat red and raw
And a blotchy red rash decorated one paw.
Uncharacteristically, Cheezel was grumpy;
His pillow felt bumpy, his mattress was lumpy.
"By node id blogged ub," Cheezel mumbled and muttered.
"I doan lige bein' sig," Cheezel spittled and sputtered.
"I'm a weasel of action, I'm brave and I'm bold,
And I cannot be quashed by a quite common cold.
By my tungsten-tipped teeth, by the tufts on my toes,
There must be a remedy somebody knows."
Now his lodger named Bartle the Badger, a wizard,
Suggested raw worms and a poached turkey gizzard,
While Millicent Mole in her velveteen coat,
Claimed crushed up crustaceans would soothe his sore throat.
A pharmacist friend known as Vinnie the Vole
Advised him discreetly, "Try toad in the hole."
Slugs mashed in toothpaste or bugs brewed in brine
Bat droppings sieved through a blackberry vine
Each colleague he questioned, each chum that he knew
Claimed his was the perfect concoction or brew.
And Cheezel grew pale as he heard their prescriptions;
They gave him convulsions, they gave him conniptions
"This swill I can't swallow," whispered he, with a wheeze
"If the cures are this horrid, why I'll choose the disease.
"Oh, how could it be I didn't see it before?
The solution's right there in old weaselly lore.
Great Granny Myfanwy of the Welsh fam'ly line
In weasel years lived to one hundred and nine.
She wrote down her recipes, pies, pills and potions,
Nocturnal necessities, liniments, lotions
Such weaseldom wisdom can barely be credited
As Great Granny's Almanac, proof-read and edited
Right there on the book-case at page ninety-two
Is the best way of banishing coughs, colds and flu:
'A rabbit for breakfast (try pan-fried or toasted)
A rabbit for dinner, with leeks gently roasted.
And right before bedtime, your health you'll recoup
By imbibing a big bowl of rich rabbit soup.'
"At last," cried our hero, no longer unsteady,
"Advice I can take - I feel better already!"
| Author Notes |
This is my third poem about the irrepressible Cheezel. The others which may be found in my portfolio are 'Cheezel the Weasel' and 'Cheezel the Pirate'.
Apologies to anyone of Welsh heritage but I have little idea how to pronounce the Welsh name Myfanwy - for the purposes of reading this poem aloud (which is quite a challenge, whatever your heritage) the name should come out as something like MiffANNy |
By kiwisteveh
By kiwisteveh
(Continued from the previous chapter, Cheezel Gets an Invitation.)
Now, what would you do, if you boarded a train
Full of ordinary people, quite normal and sane,
And there in the corner, with eye-patch and sword,
Sat a weaselly pirate? Good gracious! Good Lord!
Would you run for the exit or call the police?
Would you hide 'neath the skirts of a fat lady's niece?
Or perhaps you'd smile sweetly and graciously bid
A good-day to the fellow - well, that's what I did;
For I knew him at once, I remembered his name,
It was Cheezel the Weasel, a chap of some fame
As a scoffer of rabbits, a rascal, rapscallion
And looter of many a schooner and galleon.
So soon we were chatting, the weasel and me,
While he spun a fine yarn of his exploits at sea;
Of the captains he'd conquered, the booty he'd plundered
While cannons to left of him, right of him, thundered.
And in no time it seemed we'd pulled up at the station,
Blackpool-By-The-Sea our agreed destination.
"My friend," chortled Cheezel, "it's now my intention
To smuggle you into the Pirates' Convention."
Right here in my sea-chest's an eye-patch to spare
And Penzance the Parrot whom we could both share.
If you swagger like me and you practise the lingo,
You'll pass as the peerless Diablo Domingo.
In a trice it is done, the deception all suits,
I'm disguised as Diablo, bandana to boots.
I can 'Arrr' with the best of 'em, swear like a docker,
Tell tales of escaping from Davy Jones' Locker.
With Penzance perched proudly upon my right shoulder,
I believe I'm a pirate; I'm bigger, I'm bolder.
No more hesitations, no begging your pardons,
We're off to our venue, the famed Winter Gardens.
And there in the lobby a brouhaha grew,
A turmoil, a tumult, cacophony stew,
A clamour and chaos, confusion, commotion,
More pirates than ever had sailed on the ocean
Had ventured to Blackpool, all fired up, fanatical,
To celebrate everything vaguely piratical.
And Cheezel undoubtedly shone as the star,
With the fanciest eye-patch, the heartiest 'Arrrr!'
The shiniest sword, the most talkative bird;
"Avast there! Belay ye!" like you've never heard.
He cussed all the bell-boys and kissed all the maids,
Led late night excursions on rabbit-ranch raids.
He swilled enough rum to give Blackbeard the staggers
And won every contest with cutlass and daggers;
He heckled the speakers at formal orations
And questioned their motives and orientations.
At last came the big one, the great Grand Finale,
More bizarre than the works of one Salvador Dali.
To raise extra funds for the Old Pirates' Home
Celebrities walked off the plank to the foam.
Now Kittyhawk Kate, one of Cheezel's old flames,
Had organised this and enrolled some big names.
Not least was our hero, who just could not be missed
With his blind double somersault, quadruple twist.
And finally, when all the battles were won,
The victories relived and the swashbuckling done,
At midnight, by moonlight, down on the North Pier,
Strolled Kittyhawk Kate with her fine buccaneer.
But alas, I can't tell you just what they discussed,
Or whether he kissed her in love or in lust,
For Diablo Domingo, the Don of the Deep,
Had curled up in his bunk and gone right off to sleep.
| Author Notes |
You've never heard of a Pirates' Convention? The Crew at Saturday Night Live have - watch their skit here with special guest, Peter SaarghsGarrrghd...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7aM_HWMdj0 |
By kiwisteveh
'Tis Christmas in weaseldom, Cheezel's excited;
He's hosting a party, all brigands invited.
Avast there, ye lubbers! Ahoy there, me hearty!
There's naught like a pirate to fire up a party.
A festoon of lights sets 'The Kipper' aglow;
The main mast's a Christmas tree, smothered in snow.
The towlines are tinselled, the gunnels are glittered,
The main deck, with pretty confetti, is littered.
Now Bartle the Badger has shanghaied the galley
To ensure that the guests all get grub in their belly.
The trifle's terrific, the shortbread wants spicing,
The rabbits are roasting, the cake's needing icing.
The guests start arriving; here's Peg-Leg of Poole
And Dirk the Destroyer with Flambard the Fool;
Truthless and Ruthless and Toothless and Snarly,
With Scallywag, Scarface and Scupperem Charlie.
A bevy of bilious, bold buccaneers,
With eye-patches, parrots and rings in their ears.
The last one aboard will be Cheezel's old mate,
The Queen of the Corsairs, it's Kittyhawk Kate.
A few tots of rum and the party is swinging,
For Flambard is flirting and Scallywag's singing.
Now Cheezel addresses them, calls out their names,
"Oy, mateys, it's time for piratical games.
There's 'Witless With Cutlass' or 'Castaway Capers',
'Marooned and Dismasted', 'Jack Sparrow's Got Vapours'.
There's 'Boarding To Hoarding' or 'Plankwalking Plot',
Or perhaps you would rather play 'X Marks The Spot.'"
So soon the whole crew of them, wildly disporting,
Were cursing and carolling, kicking, cavorting.
Drunk and disorderly, cutlasses swishing,
Some playful, some swayful, some fighting, some fishing.
Till Bartle, as Santa, delivered a gift;
Under cover of darkness, he set them adrift,
And the folk on the shoreline, this cool Christmas Eve,
Saw a sight that they never, could ever, believe;
A shimmering Christmas tree, gracefully sailing,
A shipload of pirates, some laughing, some wailing,
Went gliding on past, like a swan that's set free,
Through harbour and breakwater, far out to sea.
If you come upon them, way out in the ocean,
I'm sure you will know them just by the commotion;
A barque of brave brigands, rambunctious and bad,
Will be sure to salute you, "Feliz Navidad!"
| Author Notes |
For those who have never met Cheezel the Weasel before.... He's a rascally (but lovable) weasel, a retired pirate and inordinately fond of rabbit in all its flavours. He lives on a converted tugboat with his lodger, the wizard, Bartle the Badger...
If you have time, check out the other Cheezel poems - they're fun! |
By kiwisteveh
Should you ever see the tugboat that is named The Careless Kipper.
Should you ever wonder who may be this tidy vessel's skipper,
You may not believe the answer, you may think I speak in jest
When I tell you he's a pirate and today I'll be his guest.
'Tis a shiny day in April and the sun is on the river,
A day of celebration sure to set my heart aquiver.
Yes, it's Cheezel Weasel's birthday and there's going to be a party
That's attended by a pirate crew of brigands bold and hearty.
There's a rustling, there's a bustling, there's a hint of a commotion;
There's a smell of roasting rabbit drifting far across the ocean,
And The Kipper's rigging's glistening, with streamers quite festooned
While there upon the afterdeck sits Cheezel all ballooned.
He's a weasel, he's a pirate; yes he has the scars to prove it.
Cheezel has a reputation and there's no way to remove it.
He's a rascal, he's a scoundrel, he's all rabbits' deadly foe,
Yet this morning he sits basking in a warm and friendly glow.
Now the guests have started boarding and they're brigands one and all.
"Ahoy! My friends," cries Cheezel as he welcomes big and small.
Don Domingo's how he greets me as I boldly step aboard,
"I'm so glad that you could make it! Come and join the happy horde."
"There's tots of rum for everyone, there's music, fun and games.
I know that Bartle's barbecuing rabbits on the flames.
Now it's time to sing a shanty; have you brought your Yo Ho Ho?
Your Aaargh will come in handy if it's one that you don't know."
Now the brigands start carousing, playing games and pulling tricks
And the party's getting louder with strong liquor in the mix.
Black Bob has fallen overboard, the rescue team is drunk.
I wonder how poor Bob survives and isn't fully sunk.
Now it's many toddies later, there are pirates strewn about.
They are full of rum and rabbit, but they'll sleep it off no doubt,
And the only one left standing is the proud and mighty Cheezel,
Still supreme and undefeated - he's the pirate party weasel!
| Author Notes |
Cheezel the Weasel first appeared in November 2012, so it's definitely time he had a birthday party. This is now the seventh instalment of Cheezel's fanciful history. In previous yarns he has made a killing at the Ascot turtle races and we learned about his past history as a pirate. He has overcome a bad cold with the help of weaselly lore and been the star of the Pirates' Convention at Blackpool.
Enjoy those other chapters using the links at the top of the page. They are all heaps of fun. |
By kiwisteveh
| Author Notes |
If some of the 'facts' in this story seem a bit obscure, that's possibly be because you are not familiar with the previous seven masterpieces in the Cheezel the Weasel Chronicles. That's one more than Narnia! Take that Mr CS Lewis!
To check out the full anthology, just use the little blue chapter thingy at the top of the page to back-pedal your way through the other stories. Can't be bothered with that? You don't know what you're missing, but here's a quick catch-up, LazyBones... Cheezel is a flamboyant Weasel who once made a "killing" at the Ascot Turtle races. He was previously a much-feared pirate in the Caribbean, but is now retired to live a life of leisure on his houseboat, The Carefree Kipper. He subsists almost entirely on rabbits and has thus singlehandedly contributed to their decline in the British Isles. Cheezel is also a rapscallion, who caused havoc as one of the stars of the recent Pirates' Convention at Blackpool. Furthermore he relishes any excuse to party. Art is a new hobby, but as you see, his talent in this area is only matched by his enormous enthusiasm! Artists Mentioned I'm sure you know most of these. Go to Google if you need to. just a couple of special mentions: Anna Mary Robertson Moses, or Grandma Moses, was an American folk artist. She began painting in earnest at the age of 78 and is a prominent example of a newly successful art career at an advanced age. There's hope for us all yet! The Dripper Jackson Pollock mentioned early in the poem acquired the nickname of Jack the Dripper, because of his favoured technique of pouring and splashing paint onto his canvases. Also, apologies to Edvard Munch. I'm reasonably sure the Norwegian pronunciation of his name doesn't rhyme with lunch, but hey, poetic licence is a grand thing! |
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