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.
Tag Archives: kids
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
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.
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.
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.
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.”
THE BOOT FLEECE POLICE
Mom got new rain boots
Red, rubber, and tall.
Dad asked, “How’d you choose’em?”
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 in those 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 even 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.
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.
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.
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.
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’.
Believe they’re not kin if you must,
Avocado, alligator.
But trust me there’ll be evidence:
Birth certificates released later.”
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.
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
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.
Image
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.
UPDATED 10/28/17 with a graphic version:
CHRISTMAS CLOUD COVER
Christmas night rain
Was causing trepidation
For reindeer who worked
Through precipitation.
There were no good galoshes
To cover a hoof
And also give traction
To walk on a roof.
A red nosed windshield wiper
Had not been invented
A slicker for antlers
Nowhere could be rented.
So wet Christmas Eves
Rudolph would fear
Along with his team
Until finally one year,
They became so distracted
Checking the weather
Their boss caught wind of
His team’s ruffled feathers.
Mrs. Claus heard and said,
“Let me ring a friend.
I bet once and for all
Their concerns we can end.”
A couple weeks later,
It was early December,
A large package arrived addressed
KRINGLE TEAM MEMBERS.
As he opened it Saint Nick whispered,
“What have we got here …
‘SAINT ELLA UMBRELLA’S
REINDEER RAIN GEAR’?!?”
“Just in time,” said Mrs. Claus
walking in, “it’s arrived.
Ella said she could help.
I knew that was no jive.”
The Reindeer Rain Gear
In the box was a boon,
With it on Santa’s team
Hoped they’d face a monsoon:
Water tight goggles,
Impervious slickers,
Treaded hoof booties,
Fur sealing knickers,
All there among Saint Ella
Umbrella’s tricks,
The Reindeer Rain Gear
For a wet Christmas fix,
Thanks to Mrs. Claus
And the power of friends,
Since that year the reindeer
Viewed rain through a new lens.
STANDUP STORY
There once was a bird
who wanted to be
any bird
but the one
that he was:
an ostrich named Stanley.
Sometimes he’d act like
the macaw
(you’d guffaw)
or a chick
(it was sick)
bird of prey
(yech…no way!)
Even more than those acts
that Stan couldn’t master
other tries were plain bad,
no worse,
a disaster:
His strut recalled peacocks
less than it did newts,
his night hunting efforts
made every owl hoot.
And when he carried on
like some bird he wasn’t
the Small Stan inside him ‘tsked,
“Big Stan you mustn’t.
“You’re an ostrich,
Be proud if your head’s in the ground!
Don’t clown cluck around
like The Birdbrain of Town!”
Some messages
the first time
are loud and clear,
while others
don’t arrive
for some reason
for years …
So it was one day it hit Stan
And he could see,
“What I really know how to be best
is me.
Not them
or they
or he
or she.
The feathers of others don’t fit on my frame
And trying to force them has made me look lame.”
So Stan said to himself,
“Let’s forever agree
For you to be you
And me to be me.”
From then till forever
Stanley didn’t mince,
Nor did that old ostrich
once lack confidence.
JUST THE ARTI-FACTS
The Museum had
a wooly mammoth
a subway car
a Mohawk family
a giant lobby
a giant staircase
a giant saw
a tiny Grand Central,
old firetrucks,
old stock exchanges,
old dead moths and fish,
and real life looking dinosaurs.
.
.
.
LET’S GO BACK!
Tweed Typewriter 