Tag Archives: poems

ETHYLENE THE APPLE QUEEN

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Ethylene the Apple Queen
Has had more apples
Than greenery has green
Than scenery has scenes
Than jeaneries make jeans
When it comes to apples
The girl’s a fiend.
Green, Golden, or Red
To her they’re all delicious
And when it comes to sampling
She’s orchard-big-ambitious:
Ethylene churns
Through bushels of Braeburns,
Pink Ladies, Honey Crisps,
Cameos, Granny Smiths.
On her Jonagolds
Never grow mold,
About the Empire or Rome,
She could write a tome.
Sweets, tarts, for baking,
For biting into’em,
For cinnamon sugaring,
Or chocolate fondu’in’em,
She gives parties for Sonyas
And Galas to girls:
To her around the apple
Spins the world.
No mountain of Fujis
Could be too high,
For Ethylene the Apple Queen
who needs apples like kites need the sky.

SPREADING CHEER - All but the farmers who grow fillings for cavities smile at the sight of a rosy red apple. (Photo by Pac)

NO BIGGER F.O.E. – Happy Apple (above) is one of the oldest known Friends of Ethylene. (Photo by PaC)

PERSPEXERCISE

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“What’s it look like, Dad?”
“Well, that all depends…
On the side you decide
To make the end.”

An Igloo in Candyland

An Igloo in Candyland

A Hockey Stick Rainbow

A Hockey Stick Rainbow

A Woodstock Watermelon

A Woodstock Watermelon

The Ultimate Warrior

The Ultimate Warrior

“So see what you see
When you turn things around…
There’s no telling what’s
Waiting to be found.”

THE BABY SOCK BANDIT

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An hour ago Kid Brother
wore booties on his feet,
till, we thought, the Baby Sock Bandit took’em
and snuck out into the street.

So we found a second pair of booties
and put’em on Kid Brother,
but, again, without us seeing him,
the Baby Sock Bandit made off with another.

So another pair we fetched
and then another then another,
before finally realizing the Baby Sock Bandit
was none other than Kid Brother.

great Separator

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S appears crooked
but it’s a straight line
that separates many and one:

The tall fence between
a taste and a lot
of cookies or pieces of gum.

Take a singular thing,
tack to it one S,
and instantly there is more of it ;

That’s how this two-turned
pluralizer divides
with skill that most barriers covet.

(Drawing: PaC) (Drawing: PaC)

WHEN I SPIED IZZY ROSSELLINI

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I was at the Café Genie
Late at night one Halloweeny
When over at a table teeny
I spied Izzy Rossellini
And her pal Rico Fellini
Washing down some hot crostini
(featuring local zucchini)
With what looked like ice cold bellinis.

Suddenly to their table teeny
A fan approached in a blue beanie.
I can’t say what was said betweeny
Them but it became a sceney:
Off flew Rico’s velveteeny
Coat, revealing a bikini
tee while Izzy Rossellini
Rolled a film camera machiney.
POOF! came smoke to form a screeney
Like something blown to smithereenies.

When the air cleared like martinis
There with Izzy and Fellini
was Harold Horatio Hank Houdini
(Known to his friends as H-Quadrini).
And gone now was that old blue beanie
That made him look like a fan weanie.
Together, H-Quad, ‘Lini, and ‘Lini
Debated flavors of spumini,
Until deciding spearmintini
Was tied for best with rum raisini.

It all happened that night indeedy,
Yes sir, it sure was a sceney
The Halloweeny at Café Genie
When I spied Izzy Rossellini

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

“THE SCENEY, INDEEDY”
Doodles made in tempera on paper from across the Cafe Genie, that Halloweeny.

MEANWHILE MARY

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Mother reads the paper,
meanwhile Mary climbs the stairs.

Sister rides her bike,
meanwhile Mary plays with flares.

Father’s at the store,
meanwhile Mary has the phone.

In the tank the fish are swimming,
meanwhile Mary dials Rome.

While Mary never says it,
We’re pretty sure that she means well,

Even if when no one’s looking,
It seems she’s always raising – “Hell-hello?….Roma?”

pronto_edit

(Drawing: PaC)

BILLY D.IVIDENDS

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Billy’s a Rule Guy
but a happy guy, too,
That’s why “Have fun doing it”
is his Rule #1.

And since, “The more the merrier”
is Billy’s #2,
he made Rule #3:
“Invest in mutual fun.”

slayer-2

FABILLOUS – The real “Billy D.” surrounded by two strong-arm members of his film crew that “he blithely called his goons”, once wore this custom made helmet-camera into a mosh pit to capture the special intimacy of a Slayer concert as it had never been captured before. Not once in the dozen years that I knew him did he respond to the question, “How you doing, Billy?” any other way than with a smile and a single word: “Fabulous.” The world lost a little sunshine this week when Billy left us, but to those who knew him, his image – let alone the images he captured – will never fade away. Here’s a video tribute to Billy Driber: NFL Films Legend, a New York Times profile of him, and the story of his part in the rock’n’roll history of America’s Football Movie Makers. (Photo: Richard Owens)

NO TOPPING IT

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He combined cheese and sauce,
Crust yummy and hot,
Then Pete held a contest
To name his new pizza spot:

The Mush Room? Too moldy.
Aunt Chovee’s? Too lame.
Pepper Ronnie’s? Sir Serge’s?
Pete sent’em all down the drain.

O’Nion’s? Too tavern.
On Ions? Too charged.
Black Olives? Green Olives? Blue Olives?
Too “martini bar.”

Frustrated, Pete sighed.
And that filled his face
With all the aromas
Inside of his place.

The contest ended
The moment he exhaled
And the perfect name hit him.
So onto the wall the sign
“Pete’s Ahh” he nailed.

PETE'S AHH

POOR U

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Whenever you’re feeling
unsure what to do

Then you know what it’s like
every day to be U

Who starts out one way
then turns ‘round halfway through,

no letter’s less decisive
or, maybe, more confused.

Perhaps U’s resemblance
to a horseshoe

Dragged U through the mud
so U’s ego got bruised.

And if U didn’t have
spare ego to lose,

Then U probably grew sheepish.
Imagine, wouldn’t you?

So if one day self-doubt
jams you up with the blues,

Think how hard it would be
if your mirror showed U.

LAST HAIR STANDING

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Winston had just one hair left,
and he’d comb it across his head.

He’d even still visit the barber shop monthly
where all of his closest friends said,

“Winnie, good man, why not hack off that weed
and be bald. Just do it, surrender.”

“Expire my follicular force’s last gasp?” Win snarled,
“Never, never, never, never, never.”

"UTAH…GIMME' TWO!" - Winnie Churchair, pictured wearing the hard top protective case for his last hair (Photo: A. Eisenstaedt).

“UTAH…GIMME’ TWO!” – Winnie Churchair, pictured wearing the hard top protective case for his last hair (Photo: A. Eisenstaedt).

MYBIRTHFIRSTDAY

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Though it sounds spun around
Don’t make the mistake
To waste the good taste
Of a CupsideDownCake.

All frosting on the bottom
Spongy yellow cake on top
So much yummy sweetness in it
Who could care that it’s flip-flopped?

Yes, deserting a dessert
Because it has a scrambled look
Is an eating sin akin
To “Trusting Skinny Cooks.”

cupsidedown_edit

POETIC COMPASS

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Peter’s senses observed
until his notebooks were full
the heat of July,
the blossoms of April,
October’s colored leaves,
December’s deep freezin’,
yes, Peter wrote stories
about every season.

And he loved all his lines,
from the first to the last,
till that fateful day
in Geography class,
the moment he learned
what happens to weather
when it travels down south
below the equator
where December gets steamy
and July has snowballs,
October pops buds
and April is Fall.

Peter worried his work
if published abroad
would make him seem like
an unworldly fraud.

But then his frown flipped as
he wrote these introductory words,
“If reading this in the southern hemisphere,
please do so upside down and backwards.”

Pete’s misfit climate was —
Like that! — a win.
‘And all it required,’ he thought,
‘Was one spin.’

MAMA’S L’IL LOOKALIKE

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L’il Sissy is a spoon
always stirrin’ stirrin’ stirrin’,

Li’l Sissy is a kitty
always purrin’ purrin purrin’,

Li’l Sissy makes me giggle
how she coos coos coos,

which makes Mama laugh and say,
“Your Sis reminds me of you.”

I say, “Mama that’s silly,
I’m growin’ growin’ growin,

A big strong brave kid
filled with knowin’ knowin’ knowin’”.

She smiles’n’says “Yes,
but even though that may be true

Mama can still see the
itty bitty kitty spoon in you.”

BALLOON BALLET

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Tell balloons that you know
in whom dancing passions rage

to visit our Magic Heat Vent,
the Inflatable World’s stage.

When our furnace kicks on, the hot air shoots up
from the flat vent built into the floor

and as long as the warm gusts continue,
the dreams of aspiring balloon dancers soar.

As if choreographed by the swirling heat
balloons rise and climb by the wall,

they bounce up and down, but don’t touch the ground,
‘cause their partner wind won’t let them fall.

In spring when our furnace goes off for the season
the Heat Vent performances stop,

and the dancing balloons all drift back down to Earth
telling tales of winters spent on top.

THE COLD AND THE BEAUTIFUL

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It fell from a cloud
It fluttered around
From tree branch to garden,
All across town.

It hit the ground,
Was kicked back up
And floated onto
The wing of a duck.

A quack and a flap
Launched it again
On a skyward ride rarer
Than a tooth in a hen.

The view it had during
These falls and rises
Was chock fulla fun,
Adventure, surprises,

The real life kind sweeter
Than cookies or cake
That shows how cool it is
To be a snowflake.

flake

FOR REALCICLE – This is a photo of an actual snowflake, captured by photographer Douglas Levere. To see more incredible images from his snowflake gallery, click here.

DUSTY MAMMOTH

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Zoom-zoom!
All around our room

Sister and me
Rolled a ball, one-two-three!

When-woopsy-daisy-
I rolled one too lazy

And under the bed the ball veered
And disappeared.

That’s when trying to recover it
Sis’n’I discovered it:

A dust mammoth so large
And – we swear – about to charge

Thru the regular under-bed-dust-creature zone
To scare we intruders from its dust home.

Our fear and respect for the beast was so great
there was no time to consider our misplaced ball’s fate.

So from the dust mammoth’s sight we retreated
Any hope to recover the ball now depleted.

Right away we found Mom and told her the tale
And right away came her answer, a Mom-one, without fail:

“If you’re afraid of dust creatures bigger than a dust mouse,
Then if I were you I wouldn’t play ball in the house.”

MALADY and HARMONY

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Each year the seasons germs and frost
prompted scores of fret
in the world famous Busskill singers,
The No Waiting Room Quartet.

They said, “It’s simple, really,
when we’re sick we just can’t sing
Any more than a slinky can
Slink stairs on a broken spring.”

So when the duo Cough’n’Sniffle
put The Quartet to the test,
it would quiz right back with a three pack
of Juice and Soup and Rest.

And when its Song of Winter
became a four-cough-harmony,
The Quartet tuned up a dose of health
with cords of Vitamin C.

Because the No Waiting Room Quartet
was not content waiting around
under blankets doing nothing
when there were songs to be sung about town.

THE FOANSILLIES

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The Foansillies never ending
quest is for a ring.
Their evergoing search occurs
staring at the Thing
gripped tight as their Foansilly
Palm can grip it.
From out of their hands
not a Strongman could rip it.

Forever I wondered
about this Foansilly way
‘til I met one once,
and said to him, “Hey,
Should a ring from that Thing
one day arise,
how will you contain yourself
at the surprise?

For it seems all Foansillies
spend all their time searching,
Has any among you
yet found anything?
Or could it be, maybe,
that there is no ring??”

This Foansilly laughed at me,
“No, of course not.
There are so many rings, there are more than a lot.
It isn’t one ring
we Foansillies chase.
It’s the next ring…then the next…on and on.  like outer space!”

I said, “But that search sounds like
time not well spent.”
“Well perhaps,” he replied,
“Our name’s no accident.”

SOUND ADVICE

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“Can a cantaloupe
elope to a slope
with an antelope
in an envelope?”
Said a jackalope
to a taupe-clad pope
who hoped against hope
to sell soap on a rope.

“Well it might make you mope,
but you’ll learn how to cope,
and no, you’re not a dope,”
said the pope, “but, nope.
A cantaloupe
can’t elope to a slope
with an antelope
in an envelope.”

THE DROOLING MACHINE

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There’s a Drooling Machine at our house
They call it “The Baby Boy.”
It’s cuddly and cute and I squeeze it
Though Mom insists it’s not a toy.

It runs like a faucet that’s broken
Leaking everywhere all through the day
But when I grab a wrench to fix the Machine
Mom insists, “Put that away!”

She says, “The Boy’s doing exactly
What it should be at this stage!”
I say “Buyer Beware”’s a good lesson
For shoppers of every age

Lest they get stuck with a Drooling Machine
For which they must apologize
With some on-going lie there’s no way they believe, like,
“Isn’t he the cutest little guy?”