Within this, the only 'official' Sullivan the Poet web site you can not only read about Sullivan the Poet himself; but you can also read and, hopefully enjoy, some of the specially selected variety of poems from his currently available published poetry collections...

 

In addition: Sullivan's very latest poetic works, as and when they become available, will be published in full on this, the 'Home' page of his site, for your approval and, we trust, your pleasure... The navigation bar on the right will take you around the site and, should you wish to purchase any of Sullivan's collections - you can do so on his 'shopfront'...

 

So please... Enjoy!

My latest piece; destined for my forthcoming  illustrated collection written specially for children - 'Toadstools and Jam..'

 ‘The Cat Catcher..’

 

In the shadows, silent creeping,

when the town is sound asleeping;

And the night comes slowly stirring,

toms and tabbies gently purring;

Black as night and quick as lightning,

fierce as fire and twice as fright’ning!

Eyes and nose as sharp as needles,

in between the murks he wheedles!

 

Gimlet eyes as black as coal drops,

darting round the bins and door stops;

Underneath his tall black top hat,

just the room for one fat tom cat;

Lurking, furtive, by your cat flaps,

grabbing kittens from their cat naps;

SNATCHED! From under catnip bushes,

down into his sack he pushes...

 

Sliding through the inky blackness,

probing for a moment’s slackness;

Sounds to set his ears all itching,

one rash lick! A whisker, twitching;

In a flash and half a flicker,

here to there and even quicker;

Straining for an old mog wheezing,

quiet as a clothes moth sneezing!

 

Ever ready, net and nabber,

noose and sack and kitty grabber;

‘Neath his cloak as close as kittens,

grasped within his chain mail mittens;

When the mists descend all soggy,

through the fogs astalk your moggy;

Them wot ‘as no tag or collar,

in the bag – “Fer ‘alf a dollar!”

 

Black ones, white ones, big tom tabbies,

marmalades with loads of babbies;

By the neck or by the pawses,

‘e don’t mind no teeth nor clawses;

Scruff of neck off tops of railings,

makes no never mind their wailings;

Quiet as a breeze he bounces,

then, from out the night, he POUNCES!

 

Persian Blues from off the dustbin,

one eyed Jacks called Rumplestiltskin;

Torties, snorties, runts and ratties,

bags of bones and three stone fatties;

Half an ear or one leg missing,

screeching, scrawling, spitting, hissing;

None escapes the frightsome nabber,

or his frightmare kitty grabber!

 

Til ‘is sack is full to brimming,

and the dawn comes lightly swimming;

Room for one more, p’raps one other,

one last stray, then p’raps, its brother!
Mummy’s pet or feral mousers,

stuffed inside his big tweed trousers!

Til the last he’s finished prising,

and the sun comes close to rising...

 

Then ‘es gone! In half a winking,

til the stars, once more, come blinking...

 

© Sullivan the Poet 2013