Saturday, January 23, 2010

The Rime of the Ancient Marinara

Oh come, my friends, and listen to
My epic tale of woe!
A story of sad suffering
So many years ago!

Now, this is not the tale you know—
No boats or albatross—
Just fear and failure in the fridge,
And lots of pasta sauce!

The tale begins one autumn night.
The air outside was crisp,
The leaves were rustling on the ground,
Each cloud a silver wisp.

Inside the house, a father tried
To cook his family dinner.
He’d done it many times before,
So he was no beginner.

In fact, tonight was nothing new,
He knew they all would savor it.
His special chicken parmesan,
The hands-down family favorite!

He tossed a salad, toasted bread,
And coated all the chicken,
Then opened up the over door
And set the timer tickin’!

When everything was said and done,
And everyone was seated,
He served it up and, one by one,
They all began to eat it.

But just when they had sampled it—
With joy, he had no doubt—
The father’s face froze up in fright!
They spit it right back out!

“Oh, blecchhh!” said one kid in disgust,
“It tastes like Billy’s sneaker!”
“Does not!” yelled Billy angrily,
And hurled some at the speaker.

The father looked for help then,
From his ever-caring wife.
She said, “This is the grossest thing
I’ve tasted in my life!”

“What have you done?!” they bellowed
As their faces all turned green.
They gagged and retched, the saddest sight
His eyes had ever seen.

He swore that he had done it right,
The recipe was sound!
The kids then tried to feed it to
The eager Bassett Hound.

But even Droopers wouldn’t touch it—
How he shook and whined!
The father searched the garbage can
To see what he could find.

The chicken packet smelled okay,
Not old or rank or rotten.
The cheese was purchased just today,
So what had he forgotten?

The bread was fine, the lettuce fresh,
No spots on the tomater.
Just then he saw the jar of sauce
In the refrigerator.

Right there upon the label,
Just as small as small could be,
He saw the warning: “Best if used by
Nineteen-Eighty Three!”

Oh woe! Oh drat! Oh deep despair!
Oh shoot! Oh crud! Oh heck!
How fresh the marinara was,
He hadn’t thought to check!

He popped the lid off, took a whiff,
And very nearly fainted!
It smelled like moldy macaroni!
Sour, spoiled, and tainted!

He hung his head and threw it out,
Prepared to take the blame.
He slumped down in his seat again,
And felt the weight of shame.

And though he won their hearts again,
And everyone forgave him,
It shouldn’t take three pizzas and
A cookie-cake to save him!

So when you plan your next big meal,
Take heed! Avoid this fate!
Cook carefully, and always check
The expiration date!


Twinkle twinkle little star,
Stay exactly where you are!
Don’t come down to tell me “Hi!”
Don’t go shooting from the sky!
Don’t crash down and crush my car!
I’ll just love you from afar!

Monday, January 18, 2010

Yard Wolf

You’ve probably heard all the stories they tell 
Of the man who’s afraid of the moon. 
When it’s rising and full, how he yells a loud yell, 
For he knows he’ll be changing so soon.   

Oh he trembles in fear, as I’m sure you must know, 
For he’s under a wicked old curse! 
First his hands become paws, then his teeth start to grow, 
He gets hairy, and then things get worse!   

Yes you’ve heard, I am sure, of the werewolf’s distress, 
Once a month, how his life becomes hard. 
But you don’t know, of course, of the monster-sized mess 
That awaits in the werewolf’s backyard!   

The yard, like the wolf, has been cursed to grow wild 
When the moon shines down full from the sky. 
First the grass, trimmed so neatly and perfectly styled, 
Becomes thorns that grow seven feet high!   

Then the tulips grow talons, the weeds thrash about, 
And the roots get all twisty and grabby. 
So the werewolf just sighs, gets the lawnmower out, 
Starts it up, and grows ever more crabby.   

He goes ’round the yard once, then he wipes off his brow 
As he sweats in the humid night air. 
Then the mower gets stuck on the sprinkler somehow, 
And he howls at the moon in despair!   

Oh he battles and roars as the lawn fights him back; 
Even daffodils hurt when they bite! 
How he sweats and he pants as he makes his attack, 
Never stopping ’til morning’s first light.   

Then the werewolf collapses right there on the lawn, 
And he sleeps ’til the next afternoon. 
Every trace of the magic is vanished and gone, 
To return, in a month, with the moon.   

Every month the wolf hungers and begs, in his thirst, 
Just this once, for the thrill of the hunt! 
But the townsfolk are thrilled that his backyard is cursed, 
And they’re thinking of cursing the front!

Someone Left The Ice Cream Out!

Someone left the ice cream out! 
Oh, what am I to do? 
Someone left the ice cream out! 
I swear I don’t know who!   

Someone left the ice cream out, 
And no one will confess! 
Someone left the ice cream out! 
It’s gonna be a mess!   

Someone left the ice cream out! 
It’s just begun to thaw. 
Since someone left the ice cream out, 
I guess I’ll grab a straw.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Everyone's Special

Everyone’s special to someone.
It’s always been true, can’t you see?
Everyone’s special to someone,
But you are most special to me.

The wealthiest king in the kingdom,
Or the tiniest fish in the sea,
The loneliest camel in Egypt,
Or the chirpiest bird in the tree,
The quietest girl on the playground,
Or the slurpiest man drinking tea,
Yes everyone’s special to someone,
But you are most special to me.

It might be the smile that you’re wearing,
That twinkle that fills me with glee.
It might be the shape of your elbow,
Or maybe the bend of your knee.
It could be your toes or your earlobes,
It could be your nose that’s the key.
Perhaps it’s the way that your laughter
Sets all of my own laughter free.
I might never truly explain it,
Yet still I can’t help but agree,
That everyone’s special to someone,
But you are most special to me.

Yes everyone’s special to someone,
But you are most precious to me.


Gummy bears and gummy bugs,
Gummy spiders, gummy slugs,
Gummy fruits and gummy fishes,
Gummy steaks on gummy dishes,
Gummy shoes and gummy socks,
Gummy pencils, gummy rocks,
Gummy sodas, gummy bones,
Gummy toothbrush, gummy phones,
Gummy sharks and gummy snakes,
Man oh man, my gummy aches!

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Makin' Music!

Two feet drummin',
Two feet strummin',
Two feet playin' keys.

Two feet clappin',
Two feet snappin',
Two feet smackin' knees.

Four feet hoppin',
One foot boppin',
Three feet twirlin' round.

Six feet pickin',
Ten feet kickin',
Four feet poundin' ground.

Twelve feet creakin',
Nine feet squeakin',
Give the guy a hand!

Oh yes indeed,
Doc Centipede!
The greatest one-bug-band!


Time to make a sandwich,
Time to have a drink.
Time to leave the dishes
Piled up in the sink.

Time to fold an airplane,
Time to catch a bug.
Time to leave spaghetti
Scattered on the rug.

Time to build a spaceship,
Time to tease the cat.
Time to take the plunger
And use it as a hat.

Time to zap the bad guys!
Time to make them pay!
Time for Grandpa's dentures
To come on out and play!

Time to poke my sister,
Time to sort my slime.
Time to do my book report?
I just don't have the time!