Okay, so I’m a little embarrassed. Like I said on my About page, I like to write poems, but they usually end up sounding a bit like Dr. Seuss, which isn’t always the desired effect.
But, I decided to put aside my embarrassment (I should put aside my pen and stop writing poems altogether, come to think of it 😛 ) and write down some of my poems here.
And like I said on my About page, since my poems usually sound like Dr. Seuss, they don’t produce the same calming emotions like Robert Frost’s or the heart-pounding ones that Henry Longfellow’s might. You might laugh at some of them, or you might give up reading altogether by the time you’ve gotten halfway through the first one. So I’m not a professional poem-writer (or would that word be poet?) yet, and I probably never will be.
But I can try.
So, my first one is called The Wedding Disaster, and I think you’ll understand why…
-THE WEDDING DISASTER-
Here comes the Usher,
He just got out of bed.
He forgot his glasses
And he fell right on his head.
Here come the Guests,
Short, fat, thin, and tall.
Several tripped across a bench
And smacked into the wall.
Here come the Groomsmen,
Walking down the aisle.
One tripped and knocked the other
And they all fell in a pile.
Here comes the Bridesmaid,
Waltzing through the door.
Six hundred and fifty pounds she weighed
And she crashed right through the floor.
Here comes the Ring Bearer;
He really meant no harm,
But he tripped over the candle stand
And fell and broke his arm.
Here comes the Flower Girl,
Her flowers in a wreath.
She tripped and hit the alter
And knocked out all her teeth.
Here comes the Pastor,
Turning black and blue.
He tied his tie a bit too tight
In a knot that stuck like glue.
Here comes the Groom,
As skinny as a broom.
He got a bit of stage fright
And rushed back out of the room.
Here comes the Bride,
Big, fat, and wide.
She slipped on a banana peel
And went for a ride.
Side note: I wrote this quite a while ago… I also didn’t make up that last verse; I found that one, and built the rest of the poem around it.
Now onto one that actually means something.
(No, really, this is an almost true story.)
I called my blanket “mankie”.
It was so dear to me.
I would never, ever part with it;
My family would agree.
And every where that I would go,
My mankie came along,
Through all of life’s great sorrows,
And when everything went wrong.
I love that dear old mankie;
I’ve kept it through the years.
It hid my face from thunderstorms
And dried up all my tears.
I kept that mankie on my bed
When it was not with me
On that cherished spot beside my cheek.
It was so dear to me.
One day I ran into my room
Calling, “Mankie, come and play!”
Then I stopped, stock still, astonished!
(Oh, what a horrible day!)
For I saw that poor old Mankie
Was not where I’d seen her last.
And slowly I began to see
That Mankie was a thing of the past.
But I wasn’t going to give up yet!
I searched high and low.
My family looked and looked with me;
Mom finally said, “To bed you go.”
I went to bed and cried that night
For things that wouldn’t be;
Yet two months and four days later,
I was playing happily.
By the time two years had come around
I had left all thoughts behind
Of my faithful, willing blanket
And all things of its kind.
Then one day I found it!
My family heard me say,
“My dear, beloved blanket,
You’re back, you’re back to stay!”
But by and by, that sad old day,
My blanket finally grew
So ratted and so faded
That you could see right through.
“It would look good in a garbage can,”
I heard my family say.
But with a smile I remained steadfast
And said, “It’s here to stay.”
And that’s the almost true story. Touching, isn’t it? I actually did lose my blanket and find it again, and my family has tried to make me get rid of it (and I remained steadfast and said, “It’s here to stay). Close enough.
The next one is a backwards version of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf.” I got tired of hearing how the boy kept crying, “Wolf, wolf!” and I decided that I’d rather have a wolf cry, “Boy, boy!” So that’s how this poem came about.
-The Wolf Who Cried Boy!-
There was once a wolf pup, so playful and so jolly.
He had large paws and floppy ears, and a nose which was his folly.
His nosey nose would often lead that pup straight into danger.
He loved to play, he loved to joke; he would even tease a stranger.
His mama-wolf and papa-wolf would warn him not to stray,
But sometimes little pups forget, and he wandered off to play.
That very day, he thought of a mean and naughty plan.
He thought of all the words to say; then to his friends he ran.
“Help, help!” he cried. “A little boy is chasing after me!”
All the wolf pups panicked, and they all began to flee.
For though a dog is man’s best friend, a wolf is surely not.
Men shoot wolves and lay their traps, and sometimes wolves get caught.
It wasn’t any wonder, then, why the pups were so afraid
Of even just a small boy, and the lie that one pup made.
Those wolf pups raced into their dens, calling, “Hurry, men are near!”
The whole pack panicked wildly; all were scrambling here and there.
Then that troublesome, naughty pup came marching into sight.
He saw the wolves all crouched in fright, and grinned in pure delight.
“What total fools,” he thought with scorn, seeing their distress.
“I’ll have to tell them it’s a joke, for they would never guess.”
Then, with glee, he told them all how he had tricked them so.
“There was no man behind me; there was no dangerous foe!”
Of course his other playmates were angry and upset.
His mama-wolf and papa-wolf were sad, with much regret.
But even after punishment, that pup would not reform.
He planned and schemed and thought of how to cause yet more alarm.
The next day dawned so bright and clear, so perfect for his plan.
“Come quick!” he called to all his friends. “Come quick, I saw a man!”
And so the act repeated again, the frenzy and the fear.
Again he had to tell them that no man was actually near.
And so it went, day after day, the pup would play his tricks.
It wasn’t long before he saw the problem that predicts
A future full trouble and a future full of fright.
And this is how it happened on that dark and fateful night:
A town that wasn’t far away had handled quite enough
Of wolves harassing shepherds; the fights were often rough.
The council got together and decided what to do.
It wasn’t long before they saw that fighting would ensue.
Back at the den of sleeping wolves, the pup began to tire
Of waiting for the sun to rise before he could conspire
Of all the mean and naughty things that day he could bring forth.
Then suddenly he heard a sound a-comin’ from the north.
He crouched down low and gave an ear to all the nighttime sounds,
And then he heard what surely was the watch-wolf on his rounds.
But no! The watch-wolf wasn’t there, a-waitin’ by the den!
And then the wolf pup heard the sounds, the footfalls of the men.
The moonlight shone o’er grassy plains, a peace that so denied
The danger waiting ’round the bend, giving no one time to hide.
The wolf pup leaped up to his feet with a howl of dismay.
“The men are here! The men are here! Listen to what I say!”
But alas, the damage had been done; the wolves would not be swayed.
They shut their eyes and closed their ears to the racket the pup made.
With only one thing left to do, the wolf pup turned and ran.
To save his life, he cowed and turned from the dangerous scent of man.
Still to this day the wolf pup runs, no longer in a pack.
He betrayed his friends and family, and now he can’t go back.
The pup who once was playful and loved to seek for strife
Is now a seasoned veteran at running for his life.
Just one mistake cost many lives of friends and family, too,
And now you see why calling “Boy!” is something not to do.
He disobeyed the other wolves and pushed advice away,
And that is why he’s all alone, still even to this day.
The Wolf Who Cried “Boy!” is probably my favorite out of all the poems I’ve written.
Here is another favorite… [Drum roll, please!] The Prodigal Sheep. *wince* See if you can guess where the story came from…
-The Prodigal Sheep-
There was once a little boy who longed to see the world.
His mother told him he could go, so off that small one twirled.
“But wait,” his mother called to him, “a story I must tell.
And then I’ll let you take your leave; I’ll bid you your farewell.”
The little boy came back to hear what his mother had in mind,
And his mother took him on her lap, so gentle and kind.
Now once a long, long time ago, there was a naughty sheep.
He hatched a very foolish plan while all were fast asleep.
When morning came, he told his father, “Now give me all my share
Of the money that you promised me, your second son and heir.”
His father did not know what to do, but he listened and he gave
The money that he’d promised. His son left without a wave.
Within the day, that lamb was off to somewhere far away.
With some small hope that he’d return, Father waited night and day.
After several months had passed, that lamb had gone astray.
He’d already long forgotten ’bout the Straight and Narrow Way.
That greedy lamb would never work; he ate and ate all day.
He made new friends; his slogan was “Have fun, don’t work, just play!”
He threw all kinds of parties; his friends all loved him so!
That sheep loved only pleasure and he put on quite a show.
One day his money all ran out; his friends all left him, too.
One has to work for pleasure, and that he would not do.
He demanded, begged, and even pled, but no one paid him heed.
He finally tried to find some work, but he did not succeed.
At last, when forced to eat pig slop, he said, so very bitter:
“I’ve been foolish and ignorant, but now I’ll reconsider.
“I know! I’ll travel way back home and ask to be a slave.
I’ll repent and say I’m sorry for the way that I’ve behaved.
I’m sure Father won’t refuse me; I’ll be humble as can be.
If he’ll just accept me back to him, that’s my last and final plea.”
And so that lamb set off for home, hoping he was right.
Then he galloped o’er the last big hill and saw his home in sight!
That very eve his father was a-waiting in the cold,
Hoping he would see his lamb coming t’wards the fold.
Before the lamb could even speak, his father cried and said:
“My lamb, my son, you’re home again! My son, who once was dead!
Now let us clothe and feed you and call the neighbors in.
Let’s have a celebration, for my son is home again!”
“Now that’s my story,” Mother said, “and now you understand
The world’s a very dangerous place; so now you’ve heard firsthand.
Now you must go; I’ve said enough. It’s already getting late.”
She hugged and kissed her little boy, but he stopped and said, “Just wait!”
“Mama, will you take me back? I won’t just leave quite yet.
Maybe I should learn some more before I’m good and set.”
Mother looked down at her son. “The choice you made was wise,
And now, my son, what you have found is favor in my eyes.
Now let us have a party; let’s call the neighbors in.
Let’s have a celebration, for my son is home again!”
Yeah. Basically *ahem* a slight variation of one of the parables. 🙂
This next poem was one I wrote when I had nothing to do. And, as you can see, I had nothing worthwhile to write about. So I rather wrote about nothing.
-What Can I Write A Poem About?-
What can I write a poem about?
I’ve thought and thought and thought.
It seems the more I think and think,
My brain doesn’t work as it ought.
What can I write a poem about?
A dog, a horse, a cat?
I know I can write a poem about anything;
I can write about…well, this and that.
But “this and that” isn’t interesting.
It’s just…well, plain and boring.
If I tried to write about that,
Within minutes, you’d be snoring!
What can I write that won’t bore you to death?
A wedding, a ball game, a storm?
This is silly; my brain isn’t working quite right.
I’m afraid I might have to reform.
If you stay with me just a couple more minutes,
I just might find something to write.
No guarantees, no promises made,
But maybe, just maybe, I might.
Oh, I am trying, I’m trying so hard,
But nothing’s become of it yet!
Oh dear! I can’t think; I can’t concentrate!
(So this is why I’m not teacher’s pet!)
If I squeeze my eyes shut and think really hard,
I just might find something to compose.
But no…I’m sick and tired of this!
Goodbye, my friend…adios!
I had hoped to write a fifty-page poem…
At least something — anything — at all!
But, oh, my head, it hurts so bad!
I’m off to find some Tylenol!
And I wrote this next poem…yup…when I was supposed to be doing grammar. (Notice the rather strong title. Those very words are indented on the back page of my sixth grade grammar book in blue pen. And it ain’t comin’ off!)
-I Hate Grammar!-
I hate my “easy” grammar…
It doesn’t make much sense.
Is it compound noun? Collective noun?
Past or present tense?
I can never seem to wrap my mind
Around these tiresome things.
Around the tube or on the tube?
She brought the rings or brung the rings?
What good will all this do me?
Will I ever even use it?
I think my knowledge is running out;
My teacher does abuse it!
Grammar, grammar, what is it?
A tool to discourage?
If so, it’s working very well;
I’m not yet done one page!
I feel so sorry for myself,
My head, my addled brain!
Compound adjective, infinitive verb…
It’s hard to ascertain!
Noun used as adjective,
Verbal used as noun.
Stop! Hold on! Just wait a sec!
I have to write this down!
My brain is all tied up in knots;
My mind is in a maze!
Adjective, adverb, gerund, noun,
Coherence, verbal phrase.
It’s confusing, it’s a mystery!
I can’t even concentrate!
Organization, vivid noun…wait!
I can fix this, let me demonstrate…
All right! Enough! Another day!
Right now I’m going out to play.
And now, in case you didn’t get it…I DO NOT LIKE GRAMMAR, NO MATTER IF THE BOOK SAYS “EASY GRAMMAR” ON IT OR NOT!!!!!!!
Whew! Now I can relax since I’ve got that out in the open. And now we can get on to more enjoyable things…if subjecting myself to humiliation in the form of silly poems can in any way be called enjoyable.
This next poem is one that my family told me sounds a bit like Dr. Seuss. For a while, I was even trying to illustrate the poem like the Dr. Seuss books, but I thought that was kind of cheating. Anyways, here it is…
-The Strange Bird-
I was taking a walk when suddenly I heard
The sweet, melodious voice of a bird!
The bird said to me, “Hi, how do you do?”
Now would you think it strange if a bird spoke to you?
The bird had nine feathers on top of its head;
Feathers like rainbows: blue, green, and red!
The bird was a beautiful sight to behold;
His head was of scarlet, his stomach of gold.
His tongue might have been red; I could never quite tell.
He would move it so fast; he would talk, he would yell!
Then he winked at me with an eye, oh, so bold,
And he talked and he chattered at me as I strolled.
He talked about everything from A to Z;
He shared of is visit to Washington, D.C.
I saw as I listened to this know-it-all,
I didn’t like him…no, not at all!
He chattered too much, on and on, all the time!
He didn’t seem to realize he talked overtime!
He proceeded to tell me of is fortune and fame;
On and on he continued, then he stopped to exclaim.
“Why, dear, you seem a mite distracted today!
Don’t worry, I’ll help you, just listen, I pray!”
As he blabbed to full speed, I thought in my head,
“His tongue’s hinged in the middle and flaps at both ends!”
It was then I decided that I’d had enough.
I was gonna stand up…I was gonna act tough!
“Now listen!” I cried. “I don’t mean to offend,
But this is enough! Yes, this is the end!”
Then suddenly that bird dissolved in the air,
And nothing was left, not even a hair.
Like that, he was gone, with a poof! in the sky.
My problems were solved with that chatty magpie.
I continued my walk; all was quiet and still.
Then I heard a strange voice; it was loud, it was shrill!
“Hello! How are you? And how do you do?”
Now what would you think if this happened to you?
And there ya have it!