Pumpkin Season

It’s Pumpkin Season once again, 

My favorite time of year.

Pumpkin latte, pumpkin cheesecake, 

Pumpkin pint of beer!

Pumpkin muffins every morning,

Pumpkin pie at night,

Pumpkin romance cuddled up

By pumpkin candlelight.

Pumpkin tacos every Tuesday,

Pot of pumpkin soup,

Bit of pumpkin indigestion,

Bit of pumpkin poop.

Pumpkin daydreams, Pumpkin nightmares,

Pumpkin palpitations.

Orange-yellow-autumn-spiced

Halluci-pumpkin-ations!

Nothing stops the tolling of the

Pumpkin Season Bell.

Pumpkin goblins, pumpkin devils,

Pumpkin Depths of HELL!

Someone end it! Someone save us!

Someone pull us through!

Buy-One-Get-One Pumpkin Donut?

Don’t mind if I do!

More Than

More than all the stars that light

The inky velvet sky,

More than sparkles that ignite

The fourth day of July,

More than every grain of sand

On every moonlit beach,

More than every fuzzy strand

On every ripened peach,

More than songs can sing about

And more than words can say,

More than ferrets ferret out

And more than horses neigh.

More than spoiled aristocrats 

Love patriarchal power,

More than chips need salsa—that’s

How much I need a shower.

Casey at the Screen

The outlook wasn’t good in my wood-paneled den that day:

My brother still had twenty lives—I’d never get to play.

But when ol’ nature called him off to do what he must do,

I seized my moment—and his chair—for Baseball Legends 2.

I blew the cartridge, sniffed the dust, and powered up the game,

Just one short inning on my way to everlasting fame.

My eyelids tightened, fingers flexed, and brow a little sweaty,

I skipped the menu, chose “1 Player,” got my thumb tips ready.

A nimble flick through all the players set the perfect roster,

A licensed-image Hall of Fame without a sole imposter.

Then up-up-down-down-left-right-left-right-B-A-B-A-Start

To fully load my players’ stats and set my team apart.

The sky was blue, the field was fresh, the stands were packed with dots

Who cheered on a three-second loop and wiggled in their spots.

And when the starting pitch was thrown, I mashed with all my might—

A rad three-button combo that would send it out of sight.

But at the crucial moment when it mattered like no other,

My head was smacked upside itself by my returning brother!

“Get up!” he cried, “I’m telling mom, ’cause I was playing first!”

And then he purple-nurpled me.  He really is the worst.

With gritted teeth I tensed my grip around the grey controller.

For hours I had watched him through another dull side-scroller!

And now that it was my turn, well, I would not be defeated.

He’d made me miss my first swing, but that could not be repeated!

But with his elbow ’round my neck, I swung again and missed!

The players jeered, my brother laughed, the tiny crowd-dots hissed.

I punched him as the third pitch came, I heard him trip and fall,

Then focused on the slowly floating pixellated ball.

A whisper of eternity resounded in the den,

I cleared my mind and exhaled in a state of Jedi Zen.

And, tuning out my brother and the pounding in my chest,

I watched it, timed it, waited for my moment, and I pressed.

Oh, somewhere in this neighborhood the kids are filled with joy,

There’s celebration somewhere for some somewhere girl or boy.

And somewhere there are high-fives, and somewhere there’s a hug.

But there is no joy in our house—mighty Mom has pulled the plug.

Ay, There’s The Rub

Oh I’m the genie of the lamp,

And you have set me free. 

I’ll sing a song, stretch out my cramp,

And grant you wishes three. 

I won’t sit on the sidelines,

I’ll get straight to work for you. 

But first, some rules, some guidelines,

There’s some things that I can’t do. 

I can’t make people fall in love,

I can’t undo the past,

I can’t move planets up above,

I can’t make time go fast.

I cannot bring you riches,

And I will not maim or kill,

I’d rather not soothe itches

Or clean up a diaper spill. 

I don’t do windows, won’t do floors,

I cannot bring World Peace,

I will not help you with your chores,

I won’t co-sign your lease. 

I can’t transport you places,

And I can’t change your appearance,

I can’t affect horse races,

Or find hot new styles on clearance. 

A friend like me, you’ve never had—

No need to quake and cower. 

You want to be a Prince? Too bad. 

That’s just beyond my power. 

But what I do, I do so well

Your mind will come unglued. 

From in the lamp where I do dwell,

I’ll bring you any food!

Whatever you are hungry for,

A meal, a snack, a treat,

Just make a wish or three—no more—

And pretty soon, you’ll eat!

You make your wish and give a nod,

I bring your food out later. 

I’m not a wizard, not a god. 

I’m basically a waiter. 

Closing Argument

“Your honor, the defendant stands accused before the court

Of crimes quite reprehensible. The list is none too short.

Three counts of grand theft auto with a rusty old machete,

Two counts of public lewdness with a plate of cold spaghetti,

Obstructing heavy traffic wearing only a fedora,

Conducting a Bar Mitzvah with a giant gummi Torah,

Misspelling girlfriends’ names on half a dozen big tattoos,

Removing final chapters from a shelf of Nancy Drews,

Kidnapping a koala from a wildlife sanctuary,

Assaulting strangers dressed up as the ‘Random Beat-Down Fairy,’

Providing pure ghost pepper juice to quench his grandma’s thirst,

And thirty-seven separate counts of murder in the first.

Your honor, he must answer for each horrible offense.”

“Agreed. Now do you have a thing to say in your defense?”

The little man inhaled and eyed the jury on their stools,

And then he offered his defense:  “Your honor . . . APRIL FOOLS!”

The Works

Hello?  I’d like a pizza, please,

A deep dish extra large.

And on one half I want the works,

No matter what the charge.

That’s pepperoni, sausage, onions,

Mushrooms, turnip greens,

Sun-dried tomato, pineapple,

Some tiny jelly beans,

Dill pickle slices, candy corn,

Those salty little fishes,

Six chocolate chips, five onion rings,

Four pretzel rods, three wishes,

An eye of newt, some batwing flakes,

Green peppers, bacon bits,

The essence of a dying star,

A glob of cheesy grits,

Blue diamonds, purple horseshoes,

Garlic chicken, clotted cream,

Black olives, gummy peaches,

And a newborn baby’s dream.

So that’s the first half, that’s the works,

And extra napkins, please.

And on the other half?  Let’s see . . .

I guess I’ll go with . . . cheese.

Dream Cheese

I was hungry, just a smidge, 

So I opened up my fridge,

And I pawed through every bottle, jar, and can.

As I feasted both my eyes, 

I was taken by surprise

By a tiny balding six-inch little man!

“I’m the cottage cheese,” he said,

“For, you see, you’re still in bed,

And this dream you’re having sure is very strange.”

Well, a moment then went by,

And this tiny balding guy

Gave a hefty belch and then began to change.

He became a pink banana,

And he sang “Copacabana,”

While he shook his two maracas and he twirled.

Then a flash of light exploded,

The banana growed and growded,

And became the biggest sausage in the world!

As I watched him, still in slumber,

He became a big cucumber,

Then a fully tricked out sixties muscle car.

Then a wiener in a bun,

And before the job was done,

For some reason he became a big cigar.

It was this point in my dreaming

I could feel the subtext screaming

And, I tell you, I began to get annoyed.

Oh I swear, tomorrow night

I will just turn out the light

And I won’t sit up late reading Dr. Freud!

New Years Countdown

10 is for the new friends I befriended,

9 is for the ones I drove away.

8 is how I ate too much at Christmas,

7 is the extra pounds I weigh,

6 is for my major faults in judgment,

5 is just how many I’ll admit.

4 is for last year’s new resolutions,

3 is for the days before I quit.

2 is for the two of us together,

1 is just ’cause you’re the one for me.

Happy New Year to my favorite person,

Who makes each year my favorite time to be!

Prince Charmin

There’s a damsel in distress!

She’s stranded on the bowl!

She cries out, “Someone help me,

For I haven’t got a roll!”

He’s at her side in seconds, 

With a speed a bit alarmin’.

He’s bold, prepared, and fearless—

Feast your eyes upon Prince Charmin!

He plunders every cabinet

To bring a fresh supply!

He’s stocked the plain, the quilted,

And the precious triple-ply.

His skills are legendary

And his smile’s a bit disarmin’.

He’s kindly and embraceable,

But please don’t squeeze Prince Charmin!

And when his job is over

And his duty has been done,

He hears a cry for help, and now

Another quest’s begun!

Prince Charmin doesn’t grumble,

And Prince Charmin doesn’t groan—

He’s destined to be next in line,

But never on the throne.

Ode to the TARDIS Outside the Earls Court Tube Station

I can’t believe my luck today,

‘Cause right here on the street

I found a time-and-space machine

To make my life complete! 

And—holy moly, look at that!

This thing still has one credit!

So I can take a trip for free—

Now, where and when to set it?

Perhaps I’ll see the Renaissance—

Old Shakespeare and his lot.

Or ride astride a T-Rex in

The Land that Time Forgot!

Or maybe I’ll explore

The forty-second century,

See ray guns, starships, robots

And all things adventurey!

I could head into outer space,

Fly rings around the sun,

And cross five distant nebulae

Before the day’s begun.

I’d steer around Uranus

Where the poison gases smother.

Or was that on Urelbow?

I don’t know one from the other.

Then interfere in some far off

Galactic Federation,

And tyrannize a microscopic

Plant civilization.

I only get one chance at this,

One time-and-spacey stop.

I can’t believe I found it—

I’m so happy I could POP!

I know—I’ll just go back five minutes 

Right here in this place.

Right back to when I found it—

I just HAVE to see my FACE!

Me Land

I’ve opened up a theme park,

Oh, it’s wonderful to see!

A land of pure enchantment,

For the theme I picked is “Me!”

 At “Me Land” you can be like me!

You’ll eat and sleep and play,

You’ll dine and dance and shop and spend

And do it all MY way!

To ride the rides you have to be

At least Me-inches tall. 

It’s worth it, though, to ride on

“It’s a Me World After All.”

There’s twenty-seven meet and greets,

Each with a costumed Me!

The “Festival of Me” parade

Runs daily ten to three. 

The restaurants serve what I like—

Rice pudding in a can. 

No substitutions, if you please,

It’s paid for in your plan. 

At “Me Shop” down on “Me Street”

Make a brand new “Build-A-Me!”

It’s thirty-seven fifty,

But the “Me Scent Pod” is free!

So if you need some wonderment,

You know just what to do.   

Just come on down to “Me Land,” friend,

Where all my dreams come true!

Jumbo-Sized

I went to buy a muffin at my local muffin store.

The man said I could jumbo-size for thirty-nine cents more.

I’m pretty sure I got much more than I had bargained for.

I’ve never lived inside a three-floor bran muffin before!

Now maybe you will not believe this woeful pastry story.

Perhaps you think it’s something like a half-baked allegory.

But here I am, encased in crumby, sticky purgatory!

(They also come in blueberry and vegan morning glory).

From dawn to dusk I nibble, nosh, eat up, chow down, and munch,

The walls are soft and pliable, the chimney has a crunch.

I’ve been at this for weeks now, and I sadly have a hunch,

I may live out my days ensnared in puffy perma-brunch!

My mouth I cram, my face I fill, my belly I’ve been stuffin’,

I feel my guts expanding as my arteries all toughen!

I’ve threatened legal action, but the baker knows I’m bluffin’.

A pox upon this cursèd giant loathsome yummy muffin!

If I could order it again, I’m sure I would revise it.

I thought that more was better, but I’m starting to despise it!

Oh please bring me a can of paint—at least I can disguise it!

Or better yet, bring coffee—but be sure to jumbo-size it!

A Healthy Romance

If I were a potato 

Growing down beneath a tree,

I’d always keep my eyes peeled 

Just to find the one for me. 

And if I were a cornstalk 

Growing golden up above,

I’d give the world an earful 

Just to find the one I love. 

Oh if I were a broccoli in love, 

I’d just adore it!

I’d point my car toward romance 

And, my darling, I would floret!

If I were but a pepper, 

I’d hope love would ring my bell. 

And if I were a cabbage, 

I might lose my head as well!

Oh and if I were a carrot, 

Then true love is what I’d root for. 

And if I were bamboo, 

Why then you know it’s what I’d shoot for. 

But since I am a fungus, 

And it’s you that I adore,

I hope that you’ll accept these puns—

There’s not mushroom for more!

No Time To Rhyme!

There’s no time to rhyme today,

No time at all!

I woke up two hours too late.

I slipped from the shower spray,

Had a great fall,

And burned half the food on my plate!

The traffic was frightening,

Ungodly, unreal!

A truck of canned turnips exploded!

A big bolt of lightning—

A clap and a peal!

And all of the lights overloaded!

And now I’m at work

And the boss is approaching

To royally chew out my hide.

That big stupid jerk

Is reproaching, encroaching,

It just boils my bran flakes inside!

So there’s no time to rhyme today.

Sorry, old friend!

My glossary’s stuck on its shelf.

But hey, it’s okay,

You can mend this loose end!

You’ll just have to fend for yourself!