There was an old man of Mosul,
Who wanted to go back to school;
They said, “You’re too old!”
He said, “So I’m told!
But I never learned to listen, Mosul!”
There was an old lady of Ottawa,
Whose daily routine was a lot o’ blah;
To give it some spice,
She fought tigers thrice,
That bored old lady of Ottawa.
There was an old man of October,
Who cried, “It’s over! It’s over!”
It had only begun,
His cries were undone,
That alarmist old man of October.
Eye satte doun att tha taibl
Annd preyd, “Dere pome gaud, iph yo’r aybl,
Pleze healp mea wiht mai poming.
Mai eyz r blerd, mie thenkr’s romeing,
Llet mea sea tha tail, fyned theh wirds,
Sind tham two mee en hartfelt heards,
Folang frum teh thanking are
(Ai’ll taik credyt, bot bey shur tue shayr).
Ey nede sum halp, Ai knead et badd,
Y’ve ulmost oozed al thu wyrds Eye haad.
Aye liek thess wark, et’s kwite eksiting,
Ai’de jusst lyke ittt betor wethowt tho ri-“
Frown felt down…
So he pulled himself in
Leapt off the chin
And went for the grin!
But smiles can be miles
From any sort of worthwhiles.
A smirk didn’t work,
He just felt like a jerk.
He tried chubbed up cheeks
Livin’ life as a blowfish,
You might not even know this,
Your eyes can still run creeks…
Down frown hung…
Until he stuck out his tongue!
I pledge allegiance to the weird
Of all this oddball land,
And to the curious
For whom it stands,
Any creation under God, inderisible,
With hopeful possibility for all.
Rapini Tamari Crumb was a special kind of fool,
The kind that drapes himself in red and charges at a bull.
This tale’s about his turn as tormenter to the cruel,
The day he made a devil deal and didn’t end up fuel.
He called dear Devil up to make a most enticing sale,
“If I give up my holey sole, you’ll give me your tail.”
Our Devil knew without a soul that gumptious Crumb was through,
And that’s a deal that Devil takes all ten times out of two.
Crumb reached down (with terms confirmed), pulling off a well-worn shoe,
Now Devil limps collecting dues with balance all askew.
You are not alone.
And I don’t mean that a character is with you.
And I don’t mean I the writer am with you.
I mean you’re with this poem.
There was a young lady on Mars,
Who hauled up a whole sack of jars;
She filled them with dust,
Thought she’d sell it as rust,
That industrious young lady on Mars.
There was an old man of Brisbane,
Who carried a very sharp cane;
He poked and he popped,
He couldn’t be stopped,
That nasty old man of Brisbane.
There was a young lady whose blouse,
Was lived in by squirrels as a house;
They wouldn’t move out,
So she hauled them about,
That gracious young lady in a blouse.