Resolutions

Next year I will conquer more

And smite my enemies.

Next year I will just ignore 

Their puny mewling pleas.

Next year I will show persistence,

Decimate my foes.

Next year I will CRUSH resistance,

All who would oppose!

Next year I’ll command my fleet

And dominate the world.

All will tremble at my feet

When next year’s plan’s unfurled. 

But tonight I’ll bathe the cat

And give green beans a try. 

Mom said if I can’t do that

I’m grounded ’til July!

ToyHenge

Look there, on the horizon, how it rises from the land,

With mystic deep significance we’ll never understand.

A timepiece? Temple? Garden sculpture? Act of sweet revenge?

It might be all, it might be none.  Behold, the Great ToyHenge!

At least a dozen plush toys form its monumental base;

They’re topped by seven “Ultra Battle Frogs from Outer Space.”

Plus several hundred Legos and some upright building blocks,

A brand new “Señor Tater Man” who’s still inside his box,

Two dolls, a couple Jedis, twenty-seven tiny trucks,

Assembled killer robots and assorted rubber ducks,

Some balls and wands and ponies and this thing that lights and spins,

A puzzle cube that everybody hates and no one wins,

The tokens from a board game that was lost to ages past,

And heaps of plastic bric-a-brac to wow and flabbergast.

The untrained eye might easily mistake it for a pile,

But ToyHenge holds deep mysteries that bother and beguile.

And every day it lingers, and its makers’ legend grows.

Who they were, or what they all were doing, no one knows.

But legend tells that they’ll return to put it all away—

Within the next ten minutes, or there’s no dessert today!

If You Speak

If you speak for hope and laughter,

Random acts of love,

If you speak for kindness

And the radiance thereof,

If you speak for beauty 

In each person that you see,

If you speak for all these things,

Why, then, you speak for me. 

If you speak for those without,

Or those who've lost their way,

If you speak for making something

Better every day,

If you speak for mercy

Even to the smallest flea,

If you speak for charity,

Why, then, you speak for me. 

And if you should have troubles

Or be battered by the storm,

Or if the hearth of fellowship

Should fail to keep you warm,

If the darkness closes in

With everything you do,

And if your voice is small and weak,

Then, friend, I'll speak for you. 

Ode to an Ode

O Ode, thou perfectest of all expression,

Thy words well-chosen and thy structure sound

Enable the most intimate confession

Of thoughts which otherwise would soon be drowned

Beneath the sea of fortune, still and black

Against whose shores my heart would run aground.

Thou ruminateth like the chewing yak

On any object which hast thou inspired—

An objet d’art or — ah — a fresh Big Mac.

And O, the truth and beauty thou hast sired

Would render wisdom to the lunatic. 

O Ode! O Form! O Poem most admired!

Yet still, for just a naughty little kick,

Thou matchest not the dirty limerick.

The Pains of Love: A Sonnet

Oh love, how I do suffer to be thine,

With sharp afflictions tormenting my form.

Without thy love, the shivers rush my spine

Like biting frozen cake I thought was warm.

The longing of my heart, it pulls at me

Much like my sock doth tug my hanging nail.

Thou knowest not how I have burned for thee,

Like chili pepper scorching my entrail.

The pain I feel, how reminiscent of

My neck’s mild pang from sleeping on it funny.

If thou shalt not consent to share my love,

I’ll melt with sorrow like a nose that’s runny.

I hope my meaning thou canst soon unriddle—

I dieth for thy love, but just a little.

Your Weather Forecast

It’s looking like a tricky night for weather in the city.

There’s lots of trouble on the way, and travel won’t be pretty.

The chance we'll get some thunderstorms is sixty-five percent,

Plus winds that make you say some words you’d given up for Lent.

The chance of snow’s at four percent, and three percent it’s sleet,

And two percent it’s little tiny flecks of luncheon meat.

It’s likely you’ll see dime-sized hail, no matter where you are—

Plus one just like a bowling ball that lands upon your car.

Expect to hit the tail end of a Category Four,

So stock up on your bleach and milk and white bread at the store.

We should get bolts of laser rain descending from the sky,

Plus streaks of fire that reek of angry judgment from on high.

We’ve made this nightly forecast with the best tools that we’ve got.

The chance is one percent it’s true, and ninety-nine it’s not.

Side Effects May Include

You may develop headaches which will last for several hours. 

You may break out in tiny hives before your daily showers. 

A ring of greenish suction marks may show up on your tongue. 

Your nose may tingle slightly at the scent of ferret dung. 

A prejudice may cross your mind against select Norwegians. 

You may imagine rows of ants along your nether regions. 

You'll either feel extreme fatigue and loss of appetite,

Or else your eyes will see through space and time with super-sight. 

Your face may swell to seven times its customary size. 

A tribe of angry polka dots may colonize your thighs. 

But once your spleen grows back and all your taste buds have stopped twitching,

Then if this drug does what it should, your armpit should stop itching!

What if?

What if there’s a blizzard? Or seven feet of rain?

What if giant lizard men come down to eat my brain?

What if all my pets escape and run into the woods?

What if pirates come and plunder all our neighborhoods?

What if a tornado comes and whooshes us away?

What if a tomato monster squooshes me today?

What if there’s a nest of mole rats living in my hair?

What if there’s a massive problem in my underwear?

What if I get super powers and a super mission?

What if I get jelly babies stuck in my transmission?

What if our internal organs all swell up and BURST?!

Would we still have this test today?

We would?

Ugh, you’re the worst.

Crazy Glorch’s Discount Wands!

Attention witches, wizards, gnomes, and mermaids from the ponds—

Why pay top price?  Come down to Crazy Glorch’s Discount Wands!

At Syllamander’s Shoppe you’re paying mainly for the label.

But we’ve got wands at wholesale costs—dirt cheap, and mostly stable!

Check out this fine mahogany with core of Griffin feather—

It cuts through cans and frying pans and thickest dragon leather!

It’s polished with a sasquatch pelt to never lose its shine!

It’s yours for just three payments of eleven ninety-nine!

This Wand-o-Matic ULTRA is the new must-have invention—

With Spell-Check, texting, hexting, it’s the latest in pretension!

And try this mammoth narwhal tusk for giants, oafs, and trolls—

It gives the user whale-sized strength, plus shiny new blowholes!

This little hollow plastic one we call The MollyCoddler—

It makes a gentle whooshing noise—just perfect for your toddler!

And then there’s our deep discount bin, for when the budget’s tight.

They’re two for twenty, three for free, and seven just for spite.

The crooked wand’s a bargain if you like to go kablooey,

This chocolate one won’t do much, but the nougat center’s chewy.

Here’s one that’s just a plain old stick, this one’s a rawhide bone,

This “wand” is a banana you can play with like a phone.

At Crazy Glorch’s Discount Wands we offer no returns.

Our store is not responsible for scorches, scars, or burns.

Come down for Merlin Madness Day—the biggest sale all year!

Shop now before these beauties—and these prices—disappear!

Not Until

The pigs have flown, the cows came home,

The rivers have run dry,

The twelfth of never came and went,

The snow fell in July.

The sun rose in the west, my dear,

Above a four-leaf clover,

We’ve passed a month of Sundays now,

And Hell has frozen over.

Now two plus two is seventeen—

Of that, I have no doubt.

And I don’t want to say from where

The monkeys have flown out.

So I don’t mean to hassle you, 

But still, for what it’s worth,

You promised you’d go out with me—

The only man on earth.

The Hollow

In the darkness of the forest,

Where you’ve never been before,

There’s a hollow in an ancient tree

That looks just like a door.

And you swear you hear it calling you,

The voice is high and thin,

And it’s beckoning and tempting you,

Come in, dear child, come in.

And there’s nobody around you,

Not a creature in the wood,

And you step a little closer,

And you start to feel so good.

And your worries fade to stardust,

And your cares disperse with ease,

As you melt a little deeper

In the shadows, in the trees.

And the hollow doesn’t judge you,

And the hollow doesn’t fear,

And you long to join the hollow,

And you long to disappear.

And the voice keeps calling high and thin,

Yet somehow soft and low,

And the tree grows ever closer,

As you feel yourself let go.

Then the crackle of a nearby branch,

And, ah, the spell is broken.

And you shake yourself and rub your eyes

As though you’ve just awoken.

And the hollow sits in silence,

And it calls to you no more

As you turn and slowly walk away

Across the forest floor.

But you steal a backward glance and feel

A twinge of loss and sorrow.

And you know, despite yourself,

That you’ll be back again tomorrow.

The Chosen One

You are the chosen one, legends have told,

Prophecies, scriptures, and ballads of old,

All have foreseen, and the fates must obey—

A champion rises this glorious day!

A leader who strives from his humble beginning

To fight the good fight until justice is winning.

A warrior bold as the winds from the north

To size up the challenge and bravely set forth.

A man wise as ages, in spite of his youth,

Who sees beyond vision and knows beyond truth.

When forces of chaos bring dark disarray,

He hesitates not, but leaps into the fray!

The moment’s upon us — this fight must be won!

By all that is sacred, the deed must be done!

The chosen one acts without batting a lash.

It’s you, my dear son — now please take out the trash!

Howard's Hobby Station

Come to Howard’s Hobby Station,

Best craft store in all the nation.

For your every hobby need,

We’ve got choices, guaranteed!

Spangles, sparkles, needles, threads,

Creepy little dolly heads,

Paints and yarns and wooden dowels,

Handmade heirloom paper towels,

Glue guns, fabrics, scrapbook stencils,

Sixteen thousand colored pencils!

Beads and gems for jewelry making,

Molds and pans for custom caking,

Patches, matches, lids and latches,

Candle wax in tiny batches.

All these things in stock for sure,

Plus some hobbies more obscure—

Itchy undergarment knitting,

“Birthday Coupon” counterfeiting,

Shoelace aglet crafts for dummies,

Hooks and wraps for homemade mummies,

Google-eyed jacuzzi jets,

Cockroach taxidermy sets,

Vintage arcade game de-Froggers,

Toenail fungus catalogers,

Gerbil bunkbed-building kits,

Snowglobes made from cheesy grits,

Hand-dyed plastic pumpkin seeds,

Plus some stuff that no one needs!

Overpriced and understaffed,

We’ve got crud for every craft!

Come, expand your hobby hoard!

(No returns when you get bored).

The Number One “Number 2 Pencil”

It’s yellow!  It’s wood!

It writes like it should!

The world’s finest marking utensil!

It’s dark, it won’t smudge,

Oh its greatness won’t budge!

The number one “Number 2 pencil”!

On notepads? Fantastic!

Why, even on plastic!

It glides like the wind through a stencil.

It’s simply the best 

On each standardized test.

The number one “Number 2 pencil”!

It’s easy to grip it,

A monkey could slip it

Between his tail curls so prehensile.

The tip is well pointed,

It’s sacred, anointed,

The number one “Number 2 pencil”!

Just like the Round Table,

With wood firm and stable,

Not sloppy or floppy or tensile.

Its marks so defined

On blank paper or lined,

The number one “Number 2 pencil”!

A writing delight,

With its sharpness and might,

To last through a thousand harsh winters!

All others are scrap

When this pencil . . . OH, SNAP!

The number one . . . uh . . . big pile of splinters.

Father's Day Shopping

It’s Father’s Day this Sunday,

And I swear it’s not too late!

Shop “Tony’s Last-Ditch Discount Gifts”

And pick out something great!

There’s mugs of every shape and size,

“Top Dad” and “Perfect Pop.”

A hat with built-in hair to hide

That shiny spot on top.

A baseball-shaped umbrella stand—

The bat glows in the dark!

A combo-flashlight-pooper-scoop

For night walks in the park. 

A neck-tie golf-ball polisher—

That always comes in handy.

 A forty-dollar gift card for

“The King of Cotton Candy,”

Some flashing keychains, beer can holders,

Grilling odds and ends,

A singing fish that’s sure earn some

Eye-rolls from your friends.

A rainbow painting made from

Different shades of macaroni,

A dozen truck stop license plates

And magnets that say “Tony.”

We’re running quite a special—

Buy one gift and take five free!

Your dad is sure to love them

If he’s anything like me.

The prices aren’t set on these—

I’ll take the lowest bids!

No refunds, all sales final.

(Oh, and please don’t tell my kids!)

The Poem You're Going To Hear

The poem you’re going to hear today

Is wild and full of fear.

So pack up your suitcase and run far away

From the poem you’re going to hear.

The poem you’re going to hear today

Will rock your very core.

Disturbing and dangerous, deadly per se,

Like nothing you’ve heard before.

The poem you’re going to hear today

Is not for the faint of heart.

It may stir and shock you, bewitch and betray,

Or drive all your wits apart.

The poem you’re going to hear today

Will bring you dismay and chagrin.

It’s safer to flee, but you’re going to stay?

I hoped that you would.  Let’s begin…