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Tag Archives: kids
THE ZEN HEN: On Diligence
If in the world’s largest pig pen
the assignment you receive is
to install a country mile of fine tile,
pay no mind if the farmer’s blind
grab a bucket, trowel, and towel
and until that floor’s all in
stay snout to the grout.
FLOWER SHOWER
A flower shower
Turned the tree green
Turned the grass pinker
Than I ever seen:
Cotton-candy colored
It yesterday was
When into and out of it
All the bees buzzed.
Then the quick change.
Perhaps it was the breeze:
Petals went packing
To the lawn from the leaves.
Now the Pink Tree Photo
I had taken in my head
Resembles Sun-dodging
confetti instead.
ALL FIGURED OUT
Want in on my Master Plan?
Come closer and listen to me.
Because the blueprint of it’s now taking shape
Oh so satisfactorally.
When’s it start, my Master Plan?
Well don’t worry it won’t be long now.
Just know by the end life will be so sweet
We’ll sweat candy bars from our brows.
Before that part, the Master Plan middle
Involves espionage and boats,
Action car chases, exotic horse races,
Fine jewelry, machine guns, fur coats.
What’s the Master Plan Step 1, you ask?
Simple: win the lottery.
Huh?
Well….
…..guess what…
If you’re gonna’ roll on the floor laughing at it,
Then out of the Plan you can be.
Lighting in a Bottle – New Orleans
ON DR. SEUSS’S BIRTHDAY
Grab 100 candles
Add a baker’s dozen more
For what happened this day
In 1904:
Little Ted Geisel
Arrived on the scene
Who could know at that time
What he one day would mean?
To the Doc who still keeps
Brains and funny bones fed,
To a Cat like none other,
Happy 113th, Ted!
To see more like this, go here, where it originally appeared on 3/2/17.
SKIN DEEP DIVE
Studying the dictionary,
Johnny Corkforbrains
Got stuck up at the top one day
Then down his knowledge rained:
“Avocado, alligator …
skins not not the same …
and an A resides
at the start of both your names!
The gator grows in swamps,
The ‘cado grows on trees,
But trees are FOUND in swamps …
How different can you be?
How leathery you feel,
How deep dark green you look,
Like pictures of each other
That I have seen in books.
Of course in person, no,
I’ve never met your kinds,
But don’t see how not doing so
Could put my views behind?
The chance you’re NOT related
To me seems mighty small,
No two such similar dermises
Could not be connected at all.
For further proof, consider:
The gator’s alias, ‘Croc’,
Which just so happens sounds just like
The ‘cado’s alt-name, ‘Guac’.
If you must, pretend they’re not the same:
Avocado, alligator.
But trust me there’ll be evidence:
Birth certificates released later.”
JOINED CHIEFS
Pow saw Wow
across the street
Pow and Wow
exchanged greets
Pow approached Wow,
“Rest our feet?”
Pow and Wow agreed:
that couldn’t be beat.
Pow and Wow
got out of the heat
Pow and Wow
found a seat
Pow and Wow
were loud and discreet as
Pow and Wow’s
talk roamed like a fleet.
Pow and Wow’s
chat got so neat that
Pow and Wow
decided to delete
Any words between them,
and that’s how
a close meeting of the minds
became called a powwow.
WINTORY LAP
On the shortest day of the year
The sun takes an extra long lunch,
So long it doesn’t end until
Almost the next day’s brunch.
Head lights and night lights get lots of action
The day of the year that’s shortest.
While that day more than any other is for
golf clubs and lawn mowers the boredest.
It seems like it should be relaxing and yet
There’s always so much around you,
On the year’s shortest day, falling as it does,
Right about when the holidays do.
Still songs like “Oh, What a Night” or “Thank
the Lord for the Nighttime” spread cheer,
Of how happy folks get after early sunset
On the shortest day of the year.
Among everything else it is, the shortest day of the year is half a calendar away from its cousin the longest day of the year.
THE RIGHT STUFFING
Perhaps the best meal of the year
comes weeks after Turkey Day.
It’s a nest built from all the trimmings
That have not yet by then flown away.
Start with any bits of gobbler left
Toss them in a bowl,
Add a scoop of stuffing, yams, mashed potatoes,
Whatever you’ve got … it’s all gold.
If you still have it, stir in gravy,
Then pour it all in a crust.
Cinch the dough, bake on high, that’s it.
No other meal prep takes less fuss!
It’s the yummiest food recycling
That’s plain easy to get right,
So try Thanksgiving Pie:
Send that old crusty bird back in flight.
THE BOOT FLEECE POLICE
Mom got new rain boots
Red, rubber, and tall.
Dad asked, “How’d you choose those?”
Mom said, “They’re cool. That’s all.”
Now my Mom’s no liar
But I thought, nonetheless,
Let’s take those cool boots
And put’em to the test.
So when she was too busy
To stop my experiment
I took some cold milk
And into her boots it went.
Like a good scientist
I let my test tube be
And went off to play
For an hour or three.
Perhaps it was longer
I lost track when Mom screamed,
The unexpected milk
In her boot had her steamed.
I said, “Wait one sec, Mom,
Take a breath, cool down.
Allow me to measure that
Milk puddle on the ground.”
Once I had I said, “Mom,
I’d be angry too!
This spilled milk is warm.
So those boots? Not so cool.”
The thing that they sold you
Is not what you bought.
It seems in some faux-thermo-boot-scam you’re caught!”
Overcome with shock
Or maybe with grief
Like anyone who’s been
Taken by a thief
She said not a word but just looked at me,
And I wondered perhaps if deep down she felt glee
At her little scientist’s new discovery.
Yes, I thought to myself, pride must be what I see.
MOON TAKER
As they headed home from Nana’s house
late one clear, dark night,
Fred said to his Mom and Dad,
“See the moon there,
big and bright?
Could I pretty please this once
take it home with me?”
“Why, Fred,” his mother said,
“that idea sure is…….
lovely.
“And maybe you could,” she said,
“But how will you reach and get the moon?”
“How I get the kickball from the garage top shelf,”
Fred said,
“by knocking it down with the broom.”
“That sounds good,” said Fred’s Dad,
“but how’ll you catch it when it falls?”
“Easy,” said Fred,
“in Baby Jane’s old crib
where we keep all her dolls.”
“And just where would you keep the Moon,” Dad asked,
“once we got it to our place?”
“No problem,” Fred said,
“I’ll clear out my big wagon,
the red one, to make some space.
Then I can drive the moon around,
and show him our whole street.
The way he’s movin’ above the trees,
makes me think
he thinks seein’ stuff is neat.”
“Well that’s just it,” Fred’s Dad said
as their house came into sight.
“Here we are, back from Nana’s,
and the moon’s still with us,
big and bright.
That makes me think the moon loves traveling
just like you have guessed.”
“So, maybe,” Fred’s Mom said,
“leaving him to roam the sky
would be best.
And the next night that we’re out like this
and see the moon again,
I’ll bet he’ll hang out with us some more,
to prove, once more,
we’re friends.”
Fred gazed up at the sky and thought
about what his Mom and Dad had said.
“Yes, maybe you’re right,” he told them,
“I’m tired.
And the moon doesn’t quite look ready for bed.”
CLOVERDEALED
So you found a 4-leaf clover.
Well, I hunt bigger things:
Like five and six leaf clovers
And the extra luck they bring.
And the highly coveted clover
With leaves that number seven,
Legend says those who find one
Will go straight to heaven.
The eight leaf clover doubles up
What a plain four leafer brings
The 9-leaf clover isn’t lucky at all:
Touching it actually stings.
Ten leaf clovers are what I’m really after
They’re the best it gets.
So you’d like to come hunting them with me?
Hmmmm….well, ok…let’s.
I’ll bring you along for the low low price
Of that old 4-leaf clover you’ve got.
What’s that? I said 4-leafs don’t interest me?
I said that?!? Well. I must have forgot.
Field Notebook Renderings of Members of Genus: Polyleaf – (from upper left corner) The Basic aka The Four Score ; The And-1 ; The O’Six Pack ; The Stairway to Seven ; The Octclover ; The Stinger aka the Paul Newman aka The Henry Gondorff ; The Big Time aka the Green Whale aka The O’Derek
BuccanAir
The Pilot Pirate
flies a peg-leg plane.
The Pilot Pirate
keeps booty on the brain.
The Pilot Pirate
has a sneaky parakeet,
who’d rather have an aisle
than a window seat.
The Pilot Pirate
navigates sea and air.
The Pilot Pirate
doesn’t have a care.
The Pilot Pirate
makes the world his lair,
soaring and swording
and ARRRR-ing everywhere.
The Pilot Pirate
wears an eye patch,
and when putting it on, yells,
“Batten down the hatch!”
The Pilot Pirate
goes fast but doesn’t run,
because swashbuckling sweaty
ruins the fun.
This photo first appeared on Instagram. For more like it, click here.
BEHIND THE BEARD: A #ShowYourWork Story
Beginning:
Middle:
End:
From the barber’s chair Abe leapt,
Tall with vigor and pep.
Someone yelled,
“Hey, Sweetcheeks!”
On the inside, he wept.
And forevermore a beard Abe kept.
CORNER OF WORD
Not quite as far out as
Where the sidewalk ends
Is where Word Street into
Other Word Street bends.
And at that intersection
Is a Dutch French Horn
And a squirrel swirl
And a torn acorn,
And a Bizarre Bazaar
And a big clinched couch
And Dorian DeLorean
In a crazyman crouch,
Holding over his head
A zydeco xylophone
To play a song for Aunt Cake
Louder than a cyclone,
Or a superbomb blast
From an Arctic typhoon
Howling over the surface
Of a baboon lagoon.
And inevitably when
That sound causes debris,
What acceptable receptacle
Will there possibly be?
Well that stripe of insight
Might be too great an onus
To expect even from
Wizened Old Bonus Jonas.
But there where Word Street bends
To Other Word Street
The junction’s real function’s
Clear as a snare beat:
To be a place friendly
to sound percolation
And weird letter unions,
night, day, and morn,
A magic locale of
twinkling tongue twisters,
the spot on the map
where poems may be born.
TOM BROWN ROAD
Old Tom Brown
Was a very slow man
Who crawled when he walked
And walked when he ran,
But when a name was needed
For the slow road through town
The inspiration came quickly
Thanks to Ol’ Slow Tom Brown.
CAN’T BE LICKED
All day I could eat ice cream
Then still have more at night
To say there is a time I can’t eat ice cream
is not right.
That’s why in all my belt loops
I hook on sixteen spoons,
It’s why at my house there’s
Ten freezers in each room
And toppings stashed inside the pocket
Of each coat I own
And why I’m working on a way
To eat ice cream through my phone.
Ice cream may not be perfect
But it’s very very close
So to sundaes, cones, and chipwiches,
Let’s raise an ice cream toast.
ONE SUMMER ROADMAP
Collected from May to today
From New Orleans to Albany
These shots together form a
FlyIreWerDelis.
Buzzing, brightening
Petals, pavement,
Earth, sky, shining sea:
A mashed-up summer roadmap bouquet,
The FlyIreWerDelis
For more photos, check out my Instagram gallery at tweed_typewriter
SWEET DREAM
If like their pine cone cousins
ice cream cones could grow on trees,
think how many forests
would serve happiness for free.
And if on nature’s dessert
rainbow sprinkles like snowflakes fell,
the world might no longer
have a need for wishing wells.
WHAT IF
I asked,
“What if I blew my teeth?
What if I brushed my nose?
What if I ironed the leaves?
What if I raked my clothes?
What if I clipped my ears?
Pierced my nails?
Flossed my shoes?
Shined my hair?
Climbed my bike?
Rode the stairs?
Took a bed?
Went to bath?
Added letters?
Read my math?
Swam a jog?
Ran a swim—”
“Well,” Mom cut in,
“Eventually folks might ask
‘Sooo…..What’s up with him?’”
ROUND AND ROUND
My sister’s dance recycle was held this afternoon
The open was a fresh take on the classic “Brigadoon.”
The ballerinas stole Act II updating “Claire de Loon”,
Next came a Modern version of “The Ballad of Rocky Raccoon.”
Throughout it all I snacked on extra crunchy Lorna Doones,
Which the Tap Dance Troop’s clicks covered to a new “Angelina, Zooma-Zoom.”
From where this event got its name,
at first I had no clue:
There were no boogeying bottles or can-canning cans.
But after seeing the old songs
rethunk, reduced, and reused
“Dance Recycle” is now a name I understand.
A MAN IN A TREE
Look hard,
Do you see?
The Man in the tree?
Way up high
Looking wee
A bark scaling flea.
Saw in hand has he,
Hanging from two or three
Ropes, hooks, pulleys,
And the squeeze of his knees.
How he must feel free
Part man,
Part leaf,
Like a branch in the breeze:
Breathe in sky,
Exhale glee.
That is, at least,
Till he gets company
In the form of some bees,
Who appear suddenly.
Nothing about them
At all unfriendly
These makers of honey
Always aiming to please.
To the hive they’re returning
As they do normally,
But that’s not what the Man in the tree
Thinks he sees.
So he waves and he flails
And he clings nervously
Contemplating a way he can
Flee gracefully.
From here it appears
(perhaps you’d agree)
he cannot speak even
a few words of Bee.
If he could
It might change things,
Presumably
The Man might agree:
He does not need an
Exit strategy ;
That the bees are no bother ;
If he’ll just let them be ;
And enjoy the beauty
At the top off the tree.
WHO HAS THE FLOOR?
“Kids, grab your picks and shovels
and come along with me,
We’re headed on a voyage
of thrilling discovery!
It’s been so long since we’ve seen it,”
Dad with excitement said,
“And this will be like a safari …
Quick!
Let’s tape flashlights to our heads!
We’ll set out like explorers
Who knows what is in store?
On this adventure quest
For the Lost Family Room Floor!
We’ll search beneath the pillows,
The building blocks and blankets,
We’ll push past all the heaps of dolls
And mountain range of trinkets!
And with hard work and good luck
If we persevere
If through drums and balls and train sets
We’re able to steer,
Maybe we can find it,
That myth from days of yore,
That deeply buried, long lost treasure
The Fabled Family Room Floor!”
NOT POSITIVE ID
When she brought home
my new kid sister
Mom said,
“Say hello to Carrie.”
I thought that’s what Mom said,
but am I certain?
Well, no.
Not very.
Because Dad calls the kid
“L’il Chicken”
or
“Queen of Sheba-Geneeba Sleuth.”
While Mom says to her,
“Just look at you,
My Sweet Precious Little
Houndstooth!”
Gramma sings
“Hi Boo-ga-loo,”
while strolling baby
‘round the block.
Grampa asks Dad
for pictures of
“My favorite l’il
Cuckoo Clock.”
Me?
I’ve learned:
forgetful silly tongued grownups
can be scary.
Lucky for my sister
I for one
will be sticking with her real name:
Carrie.
SPOILER ALERT
Andy asked Angie
nicely one day,
“Would you mind
if I borrowed a book?”
Angie replied,
“Of course you may.
Here’s my library shelf.
Go ahead. Take a look.”
Andy chose a volume
and inquired
“Have you read this?
How’s this one?”
Angie answered,
“I’ve read it but
won’t spoil it ‘cause
Spoilin’s no fun.”
So Andy borrowed
the book and began it
But he didn’t want
to spoil it either.
So when his head
wasn’t stuck in that book,
Andy stored it in
the Refrigereader.
