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.”