BIRD BRAINS

It’s great to be a bird in a town
where the lawns are always mowed
Whenever I want an earthborn snack
there’s never a long way to go.

While my country cousins
love their cornfield
I say, all those tall stalks
keep the good stuff concealed.

Here the grass stays short
so the worms can’t hide,
There’s so much to choose
I can hardly decide.

So complain if you want
of the noise from the mower,
And its belches of smoke
with their grassy odor,

I’ll stand by relaxing
while all down the street
My lawn obsessed friends
find me something to eat.

ARM CONFLICT

A new snow-ski Vest
I got from my mom
I’ve heard nice things about it
Except from my arms.

“We just bet,” they both say,
“That thing is the best,
If you’re a belly,
A back or a chest,

“Sealed in from the chill
Inside puffy armor,
Not two nude kazoos in
Full vibrato arm-brrrr.

“While you think it’s real smart
a ‘lightweight sleeveless jacket,’
we brothers-in-arms say:
Vests are a racket!”

“I guess,” said the Vest,
“About as much as gloves,
And long johns, wool socks and
Those things ears call ‘Muffs.’

“Pipe down out there, Arms,
Save your noise for the beach.
The value of vests
Seems well past your reach.”

When my snow-ski vest’s on now,
My Arms roll their eyes,
The chips on their shoulders
Big and undisguised.

All they talk about’s summer
And how it’s the best.
Wonder how they’ll like
My new water-ski vest.

 

THE GRAY SHAKE EXPRESS

On every other ride
of the Nantucket Rail
the caboose is the front
and the engine the tail,

When in a straight line it goes
then backs up straight,
Club cars of sightseers
and seafood, its freight.

So much saved steel!
All those safe dunes!
All the time saved to ‘Sconset
AND back by noon!

See Lighthouses, Windmills,
Cisco in your pail,
on the Commonwealth’s finest
The Nantucket Rail,

Like no other train,
it drives forward and back:
A steam-powered pendulum
Criss-crossing ACK.

KID WARNING

Caution: children
Are out on the loose
Boiling up ways
To deep fry your goose,

Everywhere lurking
Hiding scheming
Believing they’re harmless
Is crazytalk dreaming.

Caution: children
Prowling about
Quiet at songtime
At bedtime they shout,

Listening always
Except when you ask
Too busy plot hatching
To complete your task.

Caution: children
Don’t think they’re not smart
They’ll come for your wallet
And leave with your heart,

You cannot afford
to ignore the sign
Not if there’s 1 out there,
Let alone 9.

Whatever the number
They’re all worthy foes
How many are watching
Nobody knows,

So caution: children
When your spirit they’ve torn
Your body they’ve wearied
Don’t say you weren’t warned.

YOUR DAY

This day may be like
None ever before,
When a who-knows-what ceiling
For you is in store,

When a leap in the bay
From a motor boat side
Is only the start
Of your who-knows-where ride,

Today may be when
You write your first song,
A number so good it sounds good
On a gong!

You might tour a city,
Paint portraits pretty,
Learn who-knows-what game,
Write jokes that are witty,

Cook from a new page of your recipe book,
Decode that mistake you feared would stay mistook.
Just after that where next this day may go,
If you play your cards right, who-could-possibly know?

Maybe fishing with brother,
Or soccer with sis,
Or the last chapter of
“The Great Adventuress.”

Today’s who-knows-what ceiling
Is … well … who can say?
Only you because this
Is going to be your day.

FISHY STORY

In the crick by our house
It shimmers like glass
We’re gawn off to catch
Some Chilean Sea Bass

We swear that we’ve seen them
Sunning with koi
How reeling one in
Would be such a joy!

We’ll watch and we’ll wait
Prepared for the battle
With hand-crafted sea bass
Bait hooks and tackle

We’ll stay still and silent
So our bass won’t be scared
As he moseys up crick from
Far down the Delaware.

Then once he’s netted…
Can you picture it:
Our beautiful full color
Trophy portrait?!?

The whole gang all smiling
With our new pal from Chile
We’ll send a framed copy
To Mum-Mum in Philly

Or we’ll bring her some
When we’re back from the crick
When she tastes those filets
She’ll be so proud she’ll frick.

Don’t think we can’t do it
You take back your laughs.
We’re off on our bikes now
For Chilean Sea Bass.

RED ALERT

Money does not grow on trees,

No circus truly features fleas,

But believe this: for giving flack

This little box lets you talkback!

To your mother, to your dad,

Aunt Petunia, Uncle Thad.

Press this button and you’ll see

Talkback happens easily!

It fits in almost any pocket,

Wireless models need no socket,

Have super-charged rebuttal lips

Right there at your fingertips.

Just 19.95 it costs,

Such a steal to be the boss!

Get yours now, do not dare chintz:

Make the world your audience!

Will folks be angry, will they care?

Grow loud, throw hands, or sternly stare?

Well if your top speed is not HARE,

Let’s just say: buyer beware.

JOHNNY CORKFORBRAINS’ LOST CUP OF TEA

This morning Johnny Corkforbrains
Lost a cup of tea
He hasn’t got a clue
Where on Earth that it might be.

“It was so piping hot,” he thought,
“I had to set it down.
“I wouldn’t go and call it LOST.
“At the moment, it’s just unfound.”

He scoured the garage
Re-traced steps through den and potty,
In the office, in the kitchen,
Attic, bedroom, basement, pantry.

“I’m stumped,” John thought while wandering,
“Just where that cup might be —
“Wait.
“What’s this here?”
(He took a sip.)
“What luck!
I found iced tea!”

IN THE MOVIE

In the movie near the start
We will make a scene
In which the family of the heroine
Is plain unfair and mean.

And in the movie when his bosses
Tell him flat out, “NO!”
On a lonely late night lakeshore stroll
We’ll have the hero go.

In the movie just as the
Cool kids have it figured out
We’ll have mystery baggage surface
And stir up all new doubt.

Then near the movie’s core
For the wise friend it’s a must
To advise something akin to,
“It’s apples to apples, crust to crust.”

In the movie “In the movie…”
The magic spell will be
For which the final battle’s fought,
Evil and Good, between.

Because whatever happens
A dose of “In the movie…”
Can turn any situation
Useful, funny, sad, or groovy.

CUTTING OFF YOUR NOSE TO FEED YOUR FACE

My smeller may be broken
I cannot get a smell
Is that chicken noodle soup?
Or creme brulee?
I cannot tell.

My nose is on the fritz,
At least that’s what I think,
We drove past a manure farm
And I could sense no stink.

In fact it’s all non-scents,
No matter what I sniff,
The assembly line of my olfactory
Can’t make a whiff.

Whatever might be in the air
I can’t a bit detect
But if I may, those cookies in your hand….
Might I inspect?

They look delectable,
My eyes are Frisbee big.
Would I like one? Well I shouldn’t….
I don’t want to be a pig.

But maybe just a bite
A nibble, and another,
Wait! I can’t believe it ….
I think my nostrils tingled, brother!

Better take another cookie
They have the power to heal!
Every scrumptious crunchy byte
Makes my nosy muscles squeal!

What’s that – you’re out of cookies?
Now that they did the trick?
That’s a shame. Condolences.
At least my odor motor’s fixed.

YOU CAN’T, LEAF!

You there, leaves,

Back on the trees!

You may NOT yet come down

And blanket the ground!

You must help us stall

The beginning of fall,

Because the end of summer

Would be such a bummer.

So up, up, you go

To those branches you know,

Back up in place,

This isn’t a race!

Then in one month feel free

To LEAP off the trees,

Right now I can’t take

The thought of a rake.

AUTUMNA NON GRATA - (Photo - PaC)

AUTUMNA NON GRATA – (Photo – PaC)

ON THE OTHER SIDE

I can see it there …
Just beyond the bus door …
Just down the bus stairs …
After just one stop more …

Hissing brakes
Lurching stop
Squeaky hinges
I stand at the top …

Then step step step, down I go,
When feet hit street it’s begun:
The summer, sweet summer, there it is, right there,
Just beyond the bus door, all that fun.

GRAINIACS

They have rice by the silo
Risotto by the truck
Without oatmeal or cornmeal
They’re never stuck.

Next to their quinoa
And rye piled high
They keep sorghum on hand
In mountains scraping the sky.

By a longshot there’s less
Pasta than Theirs in Italy
And certainly than Them
Ireland has less barley.

Maybe you think
They need granola?
About as much as
Coca needs Cola.

They are the Grainiacs
With more grains than you know
Now all they need is oceans
And oceans and oceans
(did I mention oceans?)
of water to make all those grains go.

NOT A SQUARE ANYWHERE

There was a block party
The Lincoln Logs hosted,
Being metal the Erector Set
Ran marshmallow roasting.

Like a social chair would
K’Nex networked non-stop,
The Magformers stuck together,
The Wood Letter Cubes did not.

The Megabloks, Nanobloks
And Kreos all came.
Jenga tried to sneak in again.
Why’s he so lame?

Often Bristle Blocks skip these things
But not this time:
They were chilling with Goldieblox,
Who, as usual, looked fine.

Typically they don’t
But the Play-Dohs got the invite,
But that wasn’t even
The big surprise of the night,

Which came when the Legos
Walked through the door
Their snap-on hair smooth
As they found the dance floor

Where they boogied down with
All the Playmobil ladies
When ‘New Kids on the Block’ played
The whole place went crazy.

Oh what a block party it was
It’s true,
Not a square anywhere,
And the Legos there, too.

THE CLOUDY CROWD

The dour damsel
Jade Lowbar
once ran a Cynic Clinic

Which marketed to
optimists Jade’s
“Cynic Fixaminic.”

Half-empty cups
were all Jade offered
to her sunny guests

In hopes they’d look
back and agree
that “What Was” was the best.

As time went on
Jade’s blue drink grew
famous with blue folks
…then others, too…

To not be happy
got sooo cool
it got too cool for
kids in school.

So Jade shelved plans
for “Grown and Groan”
her new sad syrup because

Adults didn’t need
and kids didn’t want
help celebrating “What Was.”

THE NAMING CONVENTION

Nick Name monikered all he met
with handles that explained
what were the things he noticed
that stuck most to Nick Name’s brain.

He’d say, “There goes Steamboat Sally
here comes Ragamuffin Joe!”
and Beany Fred and Jolly Jed
who if you saw you’d know

by those handles Nick Name issued
to organize his world
from Exotic Esmerelda
to the famed Non-Descript Girl.

SPUR CRAZY

Fewer things more than The Duke on a Schwinn embody what it means  to be Conveniently Texan

Fewer things more
than The Duke on a Schwinn
embody the meaning
of Conveniently Texan

I got boots for fightin’ brutes
but love to sip from champagne flutes,
I get burrs on my spurs
but have a closet fulla’ furs.

There’s a Stetson on my head
on my belt a giant buckle,
but the aftershave I wear
comes from lovely honeysuckle.

Mama had me on the banks
of the mighty Rio Grande
but the outdoor life is one
of which I’ve never been a fan.

Rassle me from the Lone Star State
if you think you can
but if there’s one charge I won’t fight,
it’s I’m conveniently Tex-an.

SAND HASSLE

Go away birdies
leave me be,
I want to relax
here by the sea,
But your pecking is creepy
your breath smells like gill,
I want to sleep
and your cawing is shrill.
So go away birdies
go fly away,
there are no crackers here,
no reason to stay.

bird_venicebeach_og

“Early Bird of Venice Beach” (Photo: PaC)

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.

licked_edit

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.

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This photo first appeared on Instagram.  For more like it, click here.