Two Pebbles

I swallowed two pebbles
With milk and honey
In the morning.
Later that afternoon
I tapped on my tummy three times:
Tap!
Tap!
Tap!
And what do you know?
POP! POP!
Out from my mouth came the pebbles!
So, I dug dirt. And put one pebble in each of my underground cradles.
Of course, I was in Brussels
Which is why—Sprout! Sprout!
They sprouted.
Oh how lucky I am with my green thumb!
Each pebble grew a tree!
Each tree had fruit! Bunny fruit!
One tree grew lots and lots of brainy bunnies
The other grew quite a few brawny bunnies
I plucked off one brainy bunny
And one brawny bunny
And put them both in a balmy box.
I think they battled, and created the universe.
Which is why I am Very Important.

Limericks (inspired by Edward Lear)

There was an old person from Pate
Who chomped, drooled and spat while he ate
The man never knew
How to properly chew
That pesky old person from Pate

There was a young lady named Grace
Who never could stay in one place
She was quite apathetic
And peripatetic
That aimless young woman named Grace

There was an old man named McFee
Who lived like an owl in a tree
When we gave him advice
He yelled, “Bring me mice!”
That birdlike old man in his tree

There once was a ghost made of steel
Who ate little kids for his meal
With a metal detector
We caught the damn specter
And oh how the phantom did squeal

There once was a silly old bloke
Whose earlobes turned blue when he spoke
We fed him some kale
With some duck eggs and ale
Which instantly cured the old bloke

There once was a family of grouches
Who were made ill by pockets and pouches
When they met kangaroos
They came down with the flu
And rested for weeks on their couches

There once was a grandpa named Lumpkin
Who slept with his head in a pumpkin
Around Halloween
He was not to be seen
That mysterious grandpa named Lumpkin

There once was a fellow named Sluffin
Who married a blueberry muffin
But he caught her in bed
With a cupcake instead
So gobbled it up—jealous Sluffin!

There was an old person named Bryce
Who was pestered by foot-nibbling mice
To keep them at bay
He tied cats to his legs
That resourceful old person named Bryce

There once was a fellow named Metter
Who was born of a large Irish setter
The setter was shocked
But Metter was not
'Cause he just didn't know any better

There once was an old man named Bert
Who always refused his dessert
We all gave him credit
For being ascetic
But nobody envied old Bert

Captain Whale

Here comes Captain Whale. Captain Whale ruins everything he tries to do. He tried to bake blueberry muffins, but he put in hydrogen sulfide instead of baking powder so they came out smelling like turkey butt. He tried to cut a fish out of sequined material, but a huge purple eagle flew by and grabbed his hair by the talons and then dropped him. Captain Whale’s arm jerked around and he accidentally cut out a flamingo. One day, Captain Whale had to do the most important job in the whole 4th grade class: lunch duty. If anyone was getting rowdy or throwing food during lunch, Captain Whale had to nip it in the bud, quick as a peashooter. Captain Whale stood on duty, his whistle in hand. Sally Seastar lifted her peanut butter sandwich into the air. She flicked her wrist, launching the sandwich straight at Andy Anemone’s face. But Captain Whale grabbed it while it was still in the air. “NO FOOD FIGHTS,” he said, in his sternest and most intimidating of voices. Andy lifted a grapefruit in the air. He flung it straight at Captain Whale’s back. But Captain Whale jerked around and caught the grapefruit in his baleen. “I SAID NO FOOD FIGHTS!!!” Captain Whale bellowed. Andy whimpered. Sally sulked. And Captain Whale had successfully completed lunch duty. After school, he ran home, looked in the mirror, and flexed his biceps. He admired his shiny white baleen and his handsome head of hair. “I can do anything!” thought Captain Whale. “I’m no longer cursed!” He had a great night’s rest, with beautiful dreams about Hawaiian princesses and 3-layed cheesecake. In the morning, he said, “I can bake blueberry muffins!” But he couldn’t. They came out smelling like turkey butt.

The Cactus And the Lizard

So I’m gonna tell you a story. It’s a story about a very small lizard.
Three feet long. Little pink tongue. Top hat. Nails painted purple. Lizard
lived in a ditch next to a convenience store. He usually ate the hot dogs that
were left in the trash at the end of the day. He also liked blue slushies,
Reese’s peanut butter cups and dead monkey brains.
One day the lizard, whose name was Cornelius Frantuckus, was going
on a walk to see his good friend Monchocolo the Hare, and on the way he
saw something rather unusual: a dancing cactus.
The cactus said,
“Cornelius, would you join me in this dance?”
and Cornelius looked into the cactus’s blue glimmering eyes and said,
“There is only one ocean of consciousness, but there are two joint
wooden pieces.”
And by the joint wooden pieces he was referring to himself and the
cactus, and by the ocean of consciousness he referring to something he heard
some drugged up hippie talking about at the convenience store.
So the cactus and lizard danced. The danced the tango and the polka and
the waltz, and at the end the lizard looked into the cactus’s eyes and said,
“My dear, you have so much to live for. Why did the petals of your
soul drift slowly through the wind like freedom on the wings of dying dove?”
And the cactus didn’t say anything, but merely held the lizard close to
his breast, and stroked his lizard hair, and tickled his lizard tummy and said,
“Don’t leave me, because I feel our separation would be like division
of one grain of sand, and if you divide one grain of sand, there is nothing to
keep the earth from falling apart.”
So the cactus and lizard lived together like one united grain of sand.
They went to cactus-lizard dancing competitions across the nation and even
took blue ribbons sometimes, but it didn’t matter. The cactus liked
butterscotch ice-cream. The lizard liked peppermint ice-cream. Neither of
them liked fluffy pillows. They both liked the kind that had a little bit of
oomph to them. And they lived for many years as a happy couple, and one
day they went back to the convenience store and there was a robbery.
There was a large walrus looking man with a mask and a gun and a
rope of licorice and he was holding up the cashier, who was an old man,
almost a hundred years old, whose name was Friedman Friedman. And the
lizard and the cactus marched on in, wearing the cowboy boots and spurs.
And the soundtrack kicked in which was a song from an old John Wayne
western. And then there was a shootout, and by shootout I mean the robber
was shooting at things, and the cactus was jumping on the robber, putting
his spikes in his butt, and now the robber was a real bad shot because he was
missing an eye from a time a Siamese cat clawed him real bad. Didn’t have
no depth-perception, know what I’m sayin? So he ran out of the convenience
store with spikes in his butt, and lizard spat at him as he ran, and the lizard,
his spit burned into his skin like hot skillets and he collapsed to the ground
and was buried by divided pieces of rock.
The cactus and lizard were heroes. They even got their pictures put
up on the front door of Walmart. But they still weren’t happy. They felt
something was missing. So they called up an astronaut. And they said,
“Mister Astronaut Sir, with your muscley legs and your smart sciency
brain, and your oxygen helmet, we feel like something is missing in our
lizard-cactus relationship, and we were wondering, since you got such
muscley legs, and such a sciency brain, and such an oxygeny, helmet if you
could maybe give us, uh, some pearls of wisdom, since you’ve seen the earth
from outer space and all?”
And the astronaut cleared his throat, and he drank some grape juice,
and he scratched his groin and he said that earth from space is nothing more
than the last lick of ice-cream: it’s beautiful, but it can’t last.
The cactus sobbed, and the lizard wailed, and they both licked each
other until they could lick no more, and passed away in each other’s arms.

The Final Ablution

I knew a potato named Doyle

Who noticed his skin had got soiled

He bathed in a pot

Which we turned up to hot

And then ate the poor gentleman broiled.

Old Man Sitting on Park Bench

When the pigeon perceived me
Just what did he see?
Does he know that I’m breathing?
Did he recognize me?

Did he notice my hair?
Or my soft, wistful mood?
Did he see a potential
Dispenser of food?

Did he see me as threatening?
Did he see me as kind?
Did he think I was cute?
Was he reading my mind?

Did he see me, perhaps
As a pigeon as well?
Does he know I’m a man?
Do you think he could tell?

Did he see that I’m old?
Did he see that I’m tall?
Or maybe he just
Didn’t see me at all

The Halloween Grinch

Beware the Halloween Grinch

He really is the worst

He shows up every year

Around October 31^st

He goes around to every house

And steals all the treats

Replacing them with collard greens

(Such nasty things to eat!)

He blows lights out of pumpkins

And he tears down spider webs

And before it’s even 8 p.m.

He sends the kids to bed

He banishes the ghouls and ghosts

And locks bats in their caves

He sends the zombies and

The skeletons back to their graves

He scrapes caramel off the apples

And paints the black cats white

He even shoots down witches

As they fly across the night

He rips the masks off children

And he edits horror flicks

And he empties out the sugar

Out of all the pixie sticks

He coats the streets with garlic

Keeping vampires at bay

And he’ll cover up the moon

So that the werewolves stay away

He’ll steal your toilet paper

So you can’t commit a prank

And he'll board up haunted houses

Using nails and a plank

And if your face is painted

He’ll scrub it clean with suds

And he steals all the ketchup

So you can’t make costume blood

With him around, the frights are gone

You’ll have no chance to scream

And that’s why he’s so horrible—

The Grinch of Halloween

The Teeter Second

It only takes a second

To teeter on a wall

That tiny teeter-second

And it’s right before you fall

The second can be split

Or the second can be flat

1 Mississipi’s all you got

Before you go ka-plat.

Herb in Esrevni Dnal

Herb McFee goes walking down

A something known as “Wall”

But is he there inside his head?

No, he’s not there at all

Inside his head he’s scampered off

To the land Esrevni Dnal.

In this strange land, the grass is blue

And grass-green are the skies

But Herbie can’t see anything

Unless he shuts his eyes

The sun is shining brightly

Which makes surroundings dim

And Herbie is annoyed

That all the trees are climbing him

So Herb jumps in a pond

Where swimming makes him dry

Then he’s overwhelmed with happiness

And begins to whine and cry

So he takes a boat across the land

And a train across a lake

Where he finds a lot of healthy food

Like jellybeans and cake

Then it’s 9 a.m., and the sun goes down

And Esrevni Dnal is still

And Herbie walks until he sees

A wall stuck in a hill

He wants to walk on top of it

So he runs across the lawn

Then he jumps on the wall in Esrevnie Dnal

And falls off the wall he’s on.

A Sepiadventure

A man in a land full of color

Was as bored as a bear in a zoo

He decided a sepiadventure

Would be just what he needed to do

So he waved bye to green, pink and purple

And he bid turquoise sepiadieu

And he put on his sepiadidas

To begin his life sepianew

Then he walked to the edge of all color

Which he felt to be sepiabsurd

Then he spread out his sepiarms widely

And lept into the sky like a bird

He felt simply sepiamazing

But something was sepiamiss

At the end of his flight there was nothing in sight

He fell into a sepiabyss.

Tiptoe, tiptoe Tiptoe Man

Tiptoe, tiptoe Tiptoe Man

You haven’t got a face

The shifty clouds; they’ll lock you in

Beware their fickle grace.

Beware the trees of firework limbs

They act as nature’s spies

Their leaves are like a polygraph

Detecting dirty lies.

They’ll tell your secrets to the grass

Which whispers to the air

And soon the breeze will pick them up

And blow them everywhere

Cut down the trees? You can’t, my dear

They’ll always grow and grow

Oh tiptoe, tiptoe Tiptoe Man

You’ve got no place to go.

The McBloop Acrobatic Egg Troop

The most wonderful man that you ever will meet

Is Bartholomew Boppin McBloop

He’s famous, of course, for his world-renowned

McBloop Acrobatic Egg Troop

“Behold the most talented eggs of our time!”

Bellows Bart to the thunderous throng

And in come the performers…they’re walking on top

Of a rolling pin rolling along!

They do flips, they do kicks, they do spins, they do twirls

‘Til their feetsies become a bit tender

Then each of the eggs takes a daredevil ride

On the dangerous, wild, bucking blender!

Then they sword fight with forks on the top of a cake

And I promise that I’m not a liar

When I say that they pole vault with skewers as poles

Through a big flaming circle of fire!

Then the eggs do a tightrope walk over the stove

With all of them risking their lives

Then some of them walk using chopsticks as stilts

And the rest of them juggle sharp knives!

Then they feature Yolkdini, the bravest of all

An egg who’s no stranger to risks

He’s given minute or less to escape

From a bowl full of egg-beating whisks!

Then all of them tiptoe across oven racks

And they pray that their toesies don’t fry

Then finally they pile in a big oven mitt

And you clap as it waves you goodbye!

So if you see an ad for a circus of eggs

That says it’s the best in the nation

Make sure it’s McBloop’s Acrobatic Egg Troop

All the rest are just cheap imitations.

The Mysterious Note

One day the three Mills children

All woke up with a yawn

They called out, “Mother! We’re awake!”

But Mrs. Mills was gone

They went into the kitchen

To find she’d left her coat

And there upon the counter

She’d also left a note

It didn’t say where she had gone

Or when she would return

It simply said: ten carrots bike

Red socks stuffed parrot fern

The children scratched their heads

And wondered why it had no verbs

Just what on earth could this note mean?

The children looked to Herb

Herb said, “I know! Ten carrots

Have kidnapped her on their bike

And she needs for us to save her

Using red socks and the like.”

Patricia sighed, “Oh, really, Herb.

When will you ever learn?

How could we save our mother

With red socks, a toy and ferns?”

“I’m sure it means for breakfast

We should each eat lots of carrots

Then ride our bikes, put red socks on

Plant ferns and play with parrots.”

“Hey guys, I think I’ve got it!”

Cried the littlest brother, Todd

“I’m pretty sure it’s a metaphor

For the human invention of God.”

“The words are really just random

But you’ll see that what we’ve done

Is postulate purpose and meaning

When really there is none.”

Well, Herb was still insistent

That veggies had stolen his mother

He didn’t believe his sister

And certainly not his brother

So he grabbed the items mentioned

And headed out the gate

Determined to save his mother

Before it was too late

Well, Patricia knew that she was right

So she stuffed her face with carrots.

Then rode her bike and put on socks

And went to find some parrots.

But Todd did as he always did

Ate breakfast, went to school,

Fed the dog, and did his homework

And went swimming in the pool

That night Mrs. Mills walked in the door

And gave little Todd a kiss

She saw the note on the counter

And said, “A-ha! My shopping list.”

“Now, Todd, where are the other kids?

Watching movies? Being lazy?”

And when he told her where they’d gone

She sighed, “Those kids are crazy.”

Beware What You Believe In

There once was a boy in Miss Frillton’s class

Whose name was Horace Pies

And every day he’d daydream

About flying through the skies

He imagined that among the clouds

Lived many lovely things

Like jolly little leprechauns

And unicorns with wings

He imagined that each rainbow stripe

Tasted like a lollipop

With grape flavor on the bottom

And cherry on the top

He also thought that fluffy clouds

Were made of cotton candy

He dreamed of living in the skies

Where life was fun and dandy

Now, also in Miss Frillton’s class

Was a little boy named Ned

For him, the thought of flying

Filled him to the brim with dread

He imagined that among the clouds

Lived a horrid monstrous troll

Who would torture you with lightning bolts

And vacuum out your soul

One day Miss Frillton advertised

“Our field trip day is soon!

Each girl and boy will get to ride

In a big hot air balloon!”

Horace yelled “Hurray! Whopee!”

And grinned from ear to ear

While on the other hand, poor Ned

Was paralyzed with fear

“Mom! Dad! Don’t make me go!”

Cried Ned, as soon as school was done

“Oh, don’t be silly, Ned!” they said

“You’ll have a lot of fun!”

Then field trip day arrived

It was the seventeenth of June

And Miss Frillton’s class showed up

At the field of air balloons

“We’re going to be in this one,”

Horace heard Miss Frillton state

“So please don’t go off looking

For a different one to take.”

But Horace thought his own balloon

Would be a lot more fun

So he ditched the class balloon

And snuck into a different one

Then quietly he cut the rope

That held it to the ground

And as the balloon rose in the air

Well, guess what Horace found?

“Ned?!” asked Horace with a gulp

“Why are you in that heap?”

And Ned woke up and cried

“Oh dear! I guess I fell asleep!”

“I crawled in this balloon

And hoped Miss Frillton wouldn’t know.

I thought she’d leave without me

And I wouldn’t have to go.”

But Horace wasn’t listening

For he saw a unicorn!

It winked at him as it flew by!

It let him stroke its horn!

“What are you doing?” Neddy asked

“Why did you stroke the air?”

“A unicorn!” cried Horace

“You mean you didn’t see it there?”

But at this point Ned froze

And felt a shiver in his soul

For standing right in front of him

Was the horrid monstrous troll!

The troll was throwing lightning bolts

Ned tried to dodge, in vain

Three bolts pierced him in the chest

He writhed and squirmed in pain

The troll cried, “Ha! I got you good!”

Because he loved to gloat

And then he grabbed his vacuum

And stuck it down Ned’s throat

Ned’s eyeballs bulged, his insides twitched

He felt dizzy and sick in the head

And the vacuum sucked his soul out

Which left poor Neddy dead

Meanwhile Horace licked a rainbow

And ate clouds by the bellyfull

He would have been tortured and soul-sucked too

But he didn’t believe in trolls.

The Smelling Museum

Have you ever been to a smelling museum?

I went just last week with my Great Uncle Liam

There’s not much to see, but there’s plenty to sniff

Just open each box for an artistic whiff

There’s a cinnamon-beef jerky-grandma’s house scent

And the smell of a badger stuck inside a tent

There’s the smell of the floss that was used by a bat

And the smell of five pill bugs inside of a hat

There’s the smell of a whiskery old man drinking gin

And the smell of a shark that is missing a fin

You can smell a rhinoceros scratching his ears

Or the smell of a bicycle shifting its gears

Take a sniff of old mayonnaise that’s crusted in hair

Or inhale the scent of a bee on a bear

Or smell what it’s like to be stuck in a cave

With a monkey, a crumb, and your coworker Dave

Or discover the odor of butterfly sweat

Or the smell of a gambler who’s just lost a bet

Try the fragrance of blackberries boiled in snot

Or the scent of a dolphin mistakenly caught

Or try the perfume of fresh tears mixed with pepper

Or the stink of the feet of a line-dancing leper

Yes, smelling museums host the art of today

All those visual knick-knacks are trés passé

And although you won’t like every single aroma

Do you like everything that they put in the MOMA?

The Great Pumpkin

“Come sit next to me, my dear boy, for a story
I can’t promise it won’t be too bloody or gory.
It’s one that I won’t even tell my own wife.
It’s about the Great Pumpkin, who once saved my life.”
“Who is the Great Pumpkin?” you ask me at first
And I say, “Have you heard of Sir Pork Chop the Worst?”
And you say, “Who’s Sir Pork Chp?”, forgetting a vowel
And I say, “Of all pig meats, he was the most foul.
Just note how his name includes ‘Chop,’ little one
See, he liked chopping heads off of boys just for fun
And he liked to throw girls off of cliffs for no reason
And was guilty of crimes such as thieving and treason
He once threw an orphan into a French-fryer
And one day, he lit my own village on fire.”
“Oh no!” you exclaim. “But then who saved the day?”
“The Great Pumpkin, of course!” I indignantly say
“My dear boy, what it is that you ought to inquire
Is just how The Great Pumpkin put out that big fire.”
“Oh, that’s what I meant,” you respond with a grin
And I say, “Very well, then. Now I shall begin.
The nasty old Pork Chop, so vile and mean
Was coating our village with pink gasoline…”
“But grandpa, just why was the gasoline pink?”
“It burns longer, you numbskull, just what did you think?
Now where was I?...Ah yes, so the pink gasoline
Was spread over everything I’d ever seen
From bathtubs to sneakers to pillows to cups
And Sir Pork Chop was yelling, “I’ll burn you all up!
I’ll fry you to snizzles and roast you to frazzles!
I’ll sny you to frizzles and froast you to razzles!”
And we covered our eyes with our raggedy sleeves
And we huddled together, all shaking like leaves
So frightened that none of us knew what to do
We crossed ourselves once, and uncrossed ourselves too
Then Sir Pork Chop yelled, “Time for you all to get toasty!
I like eating kids when they’re crispy and roasty.”
Then I whimpered in fear, for the outlook was dire
As Sir Chop struck a match and lit up the fire
It roared and it flamed and it leapt and it sizzled
And I thought to myself, “I shall soon be a frizzle.”
But just then, The Great Pumpkin, with hummingbird speed
Came rolling on in, to help with our need
He came rolling straight from his Great Pumpkin Patch
Just as soon as he’d heard Sir Chop’s strike of the match
He yelled, “Out of here, Pork Chop! You leave them alone!
Or I’ll ruthlessly tear off the meat from your bone!”
And I barely believed what on earth I was seeing
The villainous pork chop was actually fleeing!
And then, The Great Pumpkin, to salvage our huts
Released gobs and gobs of his Great Pumpkin Guts!
His bright orange juices were flowing and flowing
And we clapped and hurrahed and our faces were glowing
For although our dear town was a pumpkinesque mire
The Great Pumpkin had saved all us kids from the fire!
“Oh thank you Great Pumpkin!” we joyously said
And we gave him a wreath for his big pumpkin head
But he just rolled away, with a quick wave goodbye
Yessir, that big squash was one hell of a guy.”
Then you say, “I’ve not heard of another thing bolder!
Can I be a Great Pumpkin one day when I’m older?”
And I smile at you softly and quietly say
“My dear boy, you can be a Great Pumpkin today.
Just do little things and they all add together
Like lending your bumbershoot out in bad weather
Or letting your sister sometimes be the winner
Or not picking nose-boogers while eating dinner
Or stopping to help a small duck cross the street
Or smiling at every new person you meet
Or remembering it’s less fun to get than to give
Then you’ll be a pumpkin as long as you live.”

Ode to the Olympic Marmot (dedicated to the Marmot King, whom I had the pleasure to meet upon Hurricane Ridge)

Oh marmot on your rocky rock

What have you got that I have not?

To start, you’ve got some thickish fur

And if I may continue, sir

You’ve also got a lovely view

And every day, an hour or two

To just enjoy it, as you plop

Upon your marmot rocky rock.

You’ve also got some blackish paws

And clicky sounding toothy jaws

And then a burrow, not too far

Where you can get some R&R

You spend the day upon the rocks

You’ve made yourself a litter box

You’ve also got a snazzy nose

To smell where yummy grubbums grow

And when you’re tired of doing that

You simply take another nap

(And then to celebrate your nap

You clap, and take another nap.)

If by an enemy you’re found

You bound and bound and bound and bound

And though you’ll suffer quite a fright

You’ll very soon be out of sight

But as you know, I am your friend

Your pal until the very end

I’ll be with you through wind and rain

And even through a hurricane

I’ll help protect your rocky rocks

I’ll whack trespassers with my socks

I’ll stroke your nose and scratch your head

And even feed you bits of bread

Then you and I will rent a plane

And fly together, off to Spain

We’ll travel Europe all year long

And sing a lot of silly songs

Like “Rock Around the Marmot Clock”

And “Twinkle Twinkle Marmot Rock”

And I just know that we’ll be fine

As long as your paw rests in mine.

A Nippity Vruku Discovered a Vreet

A nippity vruku discovered a vreet

The vreet was unvrooking a mile from Crete

The nippity vruku was fildabbing moko

When he spotted a vreet just beneath the yondoko!

The nippity vruku was filbously zagged

He shomped up and down and sudruckled a klag

He gnarbled the vreet from beneath the yondoko

And gnorbilded the vreet with his poky fonzoko

But the vreet was galeesty and snackled a quat

He smormled the vruku with kibbledome guat

The vruku manuzled, gantucky hibbay

And zyped as the vreet ganooblobled away

“Ig moondom spakini!” cried out the vruku

“Ty babut! Skag narmit! Feen guppo baduku!”

And the vreet in reply said, “Van noople gloop snoo.

Izblat wuntifatacus snorp pleck phai-floo.”

Which made Mr. Vruku funjuckle with rage

He wanted that vreet pockled up in a cage!

So he yimpered and jimpered and frockled his bambits

And hired some thugs to filluple the snambits

But the vreet was mandoopledump hipyopper whappy

And snickled the vruku from bappy to xappy

And that's what the vreet tells all his galoko

While sipping gognobble beneath the yondoko

Wall-Walker

There once was a man who spent many years

Just walking along a wall

He never stopped, or turned around

And never had a fall

He walked past plastic playgrounds

And thirty racks of beer

He walked past Buddhist temples

And homeless puppeteers

He walked past sushi restaurants

And goats in petting zoos

He walked past tuna casseroles

And clowns with long red shoes

He walked past rocking cradles

And a textbook factory

He walked past cluttered gutters

And an old man sipping tea

He walked past honking taxis

And women in high heels

He walked past banks and brothels

And hamsters in hamster wheels

But the man couldn’t walk forever

The wall ended abruptly indeed

He was left in a field with wide blue skies

Which was all he’d ever need

The Sand-Dwelling Nommer

Everyone loves to visit the shore

With its kelp and seashells and lobsters galore

But if you have a trip to the beach all planned

You should know what lies beneath the sand

The Sand-Dwelling Nommer is the name of the beast

And he’s rather rude, to say the least

For if you meet him, just by chance

He’ll gobble up your shirt and pants

Then gobble up your armpit hair

And gobble up your underwear

And then he’ll gobble you up too

(But he’ll always spit out both your shoes)

And he makes a very peculiar noise

While gobbling up little girls and boys

It sounds a bit like, “Nom nom nom!”

Or at least, that’s what we heard just before we lost Tom

So beware of the Nommer while you’re at the shore

He’s always hungry for one more

And if he’s got a new victim, you’ll know the clues:
An echo of “nom” and two sandy shoes

The Lonely Mushroom

There once was a mushroom who sighed,

“Oh dear, I’m so dreadfully shy.

There’s a lot goin’ for me

But women ignore me

I guess I’m just not a fungi.”

Le Dragon et le Carniche

There once was a girl whose name was Kate

She took French lessons every day

She learned grammar and pronunciation

From a tutor named Madame Lafay

But while at lessons, she noticed a whisper

That repeated whatever she said

It wasn’t from inside the house

And it wasn’t from inside her head

So she went out to investigate

As to who this eavesdropper could be

And just under the window in the tulip bed

She found a dragon the height of her knee!

Kate was so startled she turned perfectly white

And had to sit down on the bench

She stuttered, “Y-you mean it’s a d-dragon

Who’s been eavesdropping on my French?”

“Pardon moi, little girl!” the dragon replied

“I know what I did was a sin.

But I wanted to brush up a bit on my French

So I thought that I’d just listen in.”

“You sneaky thing!” said Kate with reproach

“Why didn’t you hire your own teacher?

And why on earth do you want to learn French?

After all, you’re a mythical creature!”

“Well, I’ve recently fallen in love,” he replied

“With a woman who’s not from this nation.

And as she’s a francophone mademoiselle

I’m improving my French pronunciation.”

“I haven’t been able to ask her out yet

Though I’m certainly hoping to try

But she’s so very pretty, and my French is so poor

And frankly, well, I’m a bit shy.”

“Who is she?” asked Kate in a curious tone

And the dragon pointed straight down the block

Where a little old lady wearing plenty of rouge

Was taking her dog for a walk

“Don’t tell me you love Ms. Pimkins?!” Kate asked

In a tone of complete disbelief

“But of course not, my dear!” the dragon replied

“I’m in love with the lass on the leash.”

“That’s Cosette, her poodle,” Kate pointed out

“I guess she’s not a bad-looking dame.”

“I love her,” said the dragon, with wistful eyes

“But she doesn’t even know my name.”

“I could help you with French,” said Kate after a pause

“If you don’t mind me being pedantic.

It would help me improve if I taught someone else…

And besides, this is all so romantic.”

“Oh, merci!” said the dragon, embracing Kate’s legs

“Not a problem,” said Kate with a grin

“Just come tap on my window tomorrow at noon

And your cours de francais will begin.”

They studied together each day for a week

And the dragon was doing just great

So he decided that very same Friday

He would ask out Cosette on a date

Kate helped the dragon get all spruced up

She gave him a file for his nails

And a fire extinguisher for his breath

And some oil to shine up his scales

Then she dropped him off at Cosette’s house

And was almost was as nervous as he

But she never saw him again after that

And wondered if Cosette had said, “Oui”

Soon after, Ms. Pimkins was babbling

That Cosette had escaped from her leash

And no one believed her, but she swore un dragon

Had eloped with her precious carniche

My Pet Bunny

There are lots of pets in this big wide world

And some aren’t quite right in the head

There are cats that insist they’re not cats at all

But friendly dogs instead

And then they are dogs who think they’re cats

They’d rather purr than bark

But I’ve got the weirdest pet of all

A bunny that thinks she’s a shark

She’s really quite demented

And she ought to be on meds

She’s fond of swimming in the bath

And tearing rubber ducks to shreds

She’s horrible to visitors

Like my sister’s boyfriend, Brendan

She stalked him for a while

Then sunk her teeth in his Achilles tendon

She sharpens her bunny teeth with a file

To perfect her frightening grin

And she’s tied a banana to her back

(She considers it her fin)

She slides along the carpet

Like she’s gliding through the sea

And she’s keen on blood, so she shows up

Whenever someone skins a knee

Yes, she thinks she's a shark, and we’re not really sure

Where on earth she got the notion

But at this point we think it might be best

To release her in the ocean

Rose Revises Shakespeare

There once was a woman named Rose McDocks

Who smelled as sweet as a daisy

But Rose wasn’t fond of the name she had

She wanted to be called Maisy

So she told her friends, “I’m no longer Rose.

From now on I’m Maisy McDocks.”

But then for no logical reason at all

She started to smell like old socks

She showered and scrubbed the whole day through

She shampooed and conditioned her hair

But she still smelled of socks, and she blamed her new name

So she changed it from Maisy to Claire

As Claire her stench was even worse

For although she wore clean clothes

She smelled exactly like the fungus

That grows between athletes’ toes

So she gave up trying to change her name

And sure enough, smelled fresh and sweet

And that’s 'cause a Rose by any other name

Would smell as feet

An Insect's Punishment for Piety

There once was a church infested with bugs

Where a priest was giving a sermon

He didn’t use the Bible much

Except to smash the vermin

When a bug landed on the pulpit

He’d whack it and not blink an eye

Then he’d continue with his sermon

About how God was a merciful guy

But he later glanced at what he killed

And he found it rather odd

That he’d smashed a praying mantis

On his hard-back Word of God

The Song of the Cactus

Sometimes a cactus is friendly

And sometimes a cactus is crass

Sometimes a cactus will sing you a song

But you won’t know until you ask

Just head out for the desert

And ask the first cactus you find

Be polite and say, “Mr. Cactus…

I’d love you to sing, would you mind?”

The cactus will clear his poky throat

(For it gets bit dry, you know)

And then he’ll start his singing

In a voice that’s rough and low

“Oh a cactus in the desert

Is the wisest plant there is

He knows what makes the rivers flow

And what makes soda fizz

He knows why elves have pointy ears

And he knows how wildfires start

But the one thing that he doesn’t know

Is the way to a woman’s heart

Oh, the very first of the cacti

Was a plant so moist and green

And it had the biggest flowers

That two eyes have ever seen

But this plant, he loved a woman

And her name was Isabel

He said, “Izzie, would you marry me?”

And she said, “Go to hell”

So the cactus cried his tears of dew

Until he could cry no more

And pretty soon he was all dried up

Just like the desert floor

And his heart was sad and bitter

And he had long and lonely nights

So he kept women far away from him

By growin’ a thousand spikes.”

Now you know why the cactus has his spikes

And why he’s so hard and dry

But as for the elves and their pointy ears

You’ll have to keep wonderin’ why

P.S. I actually wrote a tune for the cactus's song, so ask me and I'll sing it for you sometime.

Writer's Block #3

A crocodile was resting on a rock in Africa.

“She has big, sharp teeth,” said the turtle

“She has nutritious blood,” said the skin parasite

“She has tasty skin parasites,” said the bird

“She has a warm, soft belly,” said the rock

“She’s a vicious man-eater,” said the man

“She loves me and wants me to be happy,” said the crocodile’s baby

“Don't break my heart, my achy breaky heart,” crooned the crocodile, who had a penchant for country music.

Why is it that walking down the street with your arms by your side you look normal, but when you hold them up in front of you with your fingers curved like bear claws people give you funny looks?

“Noooo, Larry, noooo!!!” she screamed. But it was too late. Larry had voted Republican. He later blamed the Imperius Curse.

Dirk: He’s got tentacles.

Acorn: Ah, but that’s not terribly unexpected.

Dirk: For a house cat? Acorn, you’re bloody mad. I suppose you think badgers have fins?

Acorn: Naturally, Dirk, how else would it swim? Besides, the dandelions have been marvelously talkative this year, which proves my point.

Dirk: We’re talking about my house cat. He didn’t have tentacles yesterday but he’s got them today. The vet really doesn’t know what to make of it.

Acorn: That’s because he only knows how to shoot people

Dirk: The vetrinarian

Acorn: Are you wearing ladies’ underwear?

Dirk: Am I what?

Acorn: I said, did you feed him a grape popsicle?

Dirk: No, Acorn, I don't feed my cat popsicles. But I do let him outside sometimes, and come to think of it, his lips were tinged a bit purple when I found him…He could have gotten one from a litter bin I suppose.

Acorn: A child could have fed him one. He is quite a cute little beastie.

Dirk: Well now he’s a tentacled little beastie with purple-stained lips and I haven’t the faintest idea what to do about it.

Acorn: Does he seem uncomfortable?

Dirk: No, not exactly. He’s having a bit of fun using his tentacles to tease the shrews before he eats them.

Acorn: Then there’s nothing to be done, is there? Accept him, Dirk, tentacles, purple lips and all.

"Quickly, quickly!" said Agatha to Yolanda. "We’ve got to eat the pineapple, milk the cow, water the ferns and taunt the midgets who sing in the church choir!" "Hey Agatha, you've got elbow blubber!" a voice yelled. "Hey Yolanda, you've got tuna-breath!" another squeaky voice chimed in. "You're both uglier than wilted kale!" said a third. "It's too late," said Yolanda. "The choir midgets got to us first."

Here it comes! The brigade of French walruses! Oh, aren’t they magnificent? Flags on their tusks, stately whiskers…I don’t know about you, Harold, but I’d lay my life on the line for them.

You either had to hate him, or love him. Or be sort of lukewarm towards him. Or find him quite pleasant at times, and unpleasant at other times. Or understand, that as a complex being, he is never as he seems, and has both dreadful and beautiful desires.

Oscar Wilde wrote that all great art is self-conscious. But he never put a paintbrush in the hands of a disgruntled orangutan.

Francisca had had quite enough of the silverware coming to life when she wasn't home. Returning to the kitchen was like returning to the scene of some horrendous culinary crime. Tomatoes stabbed and bleeding, Frosted Mini-Wheats scattered all over the floor, lemons squeezed dry, chunks of banana stuck to the walls, and sometimes even a creative touch, like a knife-impaled onion with a sticky note on it, with the words “YOU'RE NEXT.”

The adorable little children of the Italian mafia loved spinning the globe and seeing where their fingers landed. If a child's finger landed on Russia, that meant Russia would be the next country their family would move to in order to evade the law or escape murder. If a child's finger landed on the ocean, it meant daddy would soon go to sleep with the fishes.

Pirate Scraggly-Beard and Wilma the Wench knew each other well, as they had spent quite a bit of time together sailing the wild seas on the Scorched Mermaid, but never experienced any romantic attraction. Wilma considered Scraggly-Beard as more of a friend than an object of attraction, and Scraggly-Beard was known to say, “Arrrr, Wilma’s a fine wench, but she don’t excite me more’n if she was a barnacle.” Then one day, after both had imbibed a substantial amount of rum, Wilma and Scraggly-Beard found themselves alone on deck. The night was as black as a pirate flag and as silent as a dead parrot. Wilma, with an uncharacteristic tenderness, stroked Scraggly-Beard’s scarred and weathered cheek, and Scraggly-Beard felt a warmth within that was different from the heat in his bones produced by rum or whiskey. And once Wilma was done tracing the constellations on his face, Scraggly-Beard guided her mouth towards his and kissed her with the soft wetness of a mop and the determined precision of a compass needle. Then Wilma gazed into Scraggly-Beard’s right eye (the patch over the left wasn’t much to gaze at), and noticed for the first time how brilliantly it seemed to reflect the shimmer of the waves at mid-day. But neither Wilma nor Scraggly-Beard ever mentioned that night, as both preferred to pretend it hadn't happened. And so the memory of their kiss sunk to the bottom of their minds like the body of drowned man to the ocean floor.

“How’re you feeling today, Jameson?”

“Miserable. Like every other day of my life.”

“Now, now, that’s not true. Remember the day the Christmas elves came to town? You were ecstatic.”

“I had inadvertently inhaled large quantities of nitrous oxide.”

“Nevertheless, you thought the elves were wonderful. You felt the need to give each of them a hug and a kiss on the nose.”

“I was accused of assault and stabbed repeatedly with candy canes.”

“Ah, but you should’ve seen the grin on your face.”

The three Flemington sisters all attended Queetsley Senior High. Every morning, Linda would curl her hair and skip breakfast, Mandy would eat a grapefruit and a chili pepper (it was part of her most recent fad diet), and Frieda would eat bacon and eggs while reading the comics and using her fingernails to scratch the dandruff off her scalp. As soon as they got to school, Frieda would write obscenities in the bathroom stalls, Mandy would hungrily buy and devour a bagel with cream cheese (not a part of her most recent fad diet), and Linda would meet up with her boyfriend behind the gym and get to second base before the bell rang. Later, the three sisters grew up. As adults, Linda worked as a sales representative for Revlon, Mandy wrote for a celebrity gossip magazine, and Frieda became the president of the United States. She didn’t win re-election, which she blamed on the media’s discovery of her dandruff problem.

People over-simplify most things in life. Like, for instance, if Patricia doesn’t like oatmeal, is it more likely that she simply isn’t fond of its texture, or that oatmeal attacked and killed her baby cousin when she was only four and a half? Most people would say the former, but most people would be wrong.