Saturday, February 27, 2010

Monster in My Closet

There's a monster in my closet
And he's trying on my stuff.
Yes, there's a monster in my closet
And I think I've had enough.

He creeps in every evening
After I have gone to bed.
He wakes me with his rummaging
A sound I've come to dread.

It's not just the noise that bugs me
He shows no respect at all.
I'm tired of his shenanigans
They drive me up the wall.

He stretches all my t-shirts
He gets slime on all my shoes.
He puts holes in all my dungarees
I'm tired of this abuse.

If he'd occasionally ask permission
I'd lend him a thing or two.
But he just barges in and takes stuff
And I think that's rather rude.

Now I know he likes my style
But this really has to stop.
'Cause it's my closet after all
It's not a late-night monster shop.

Just last week he wore my new suit
To a fancy monster dance.
He lost a button from the jacket
And ripped the seat out of the pants.

Night after night he's in my closet
Trying on everything I own.
So inconsiderate and loud
He acts like he lives all alone.

I'm not the only one who's tired
Of this thoughtless closet pest.
The poor old monster underneath my bed
Can't get a moment's rest.

Monday, February 22, 2010

A Riddle

I have no legs but I have rhythm
Have no smarts but I outwit 'em
Have no claws but I can burrow in
And bug a man all day.

What am I?

A Fine Mess

I have a sister who has a mother
Who has a cousin who has a brother
Who has an aunt who has a daughter
Who has a son who's me.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Rotten Poem

This poem is a rotten poem
A filthy, stinking, rotten poem
A vile, slithering, quivering poem
That crawls from a hole in my head

Detestable words from a deep, dark lair
My wiggling, wriggling thoughts laid bare
With grimy nails and matted hair
Plops onto a greasy floor

Then glistening with pus and slime
This dripping, oozing, festering rhyme
Slips through the cracks into your mind
An uninvited guest

Modern Man

He leaned back in his kitchen chair
Until he found the razor's edge
A dance choreographed in millimeters
And for a brief moment
He was transformed...

Thrill seeker

And he found himself
in the open cockpit of a WWI plane,
taking fire...

And then he was twisting the throttle
of a sleek black motorcycle,
coming out of a hairpin turn...

And he was taking a step to the left
as an arrow whistled harmlessly past his ear...

And he was breathlessly willing the dealer
to turn over the ten of spades...

And he was hiding in the brush,
downwind from a pride of lions...

And he was holding a machete high in the air,
pausing briefly before the downswing...

And he was locking eyes
with a mysterious redheaded woman...

And he was releasing a Molotav cocktail...

And he was standing on the edge of a canyon trail,
staring into a deep ravine...

And he was squeezing the trigger
of a large-caliber revolver...

For a split second,
he felt the thing men have always felt
as they taste the salty blood of life...

And then, his morning ritual complete
He leaned forward, slowly and deliberately
Carefully letting the chair legs down to the floor
And he finished his oatmeal
In silence
And tried not to drip any on his necktie

Monday, February 8, 2010

Blue Moon

The next time the moon is feeling blue
I'm going to step out into the night
And stare right up at him

I'll wave
And I'll whistle
And I'll jump up and down
Until I'm certain he sees me
And when I have the moon's full attention
I'll offer up my warmest, kindest smile

We will stand there, face to face
With nothing to hide
Sharing a comfortable silence
Like two old friends

And the moon will realize
That somebody down here is thinking of him
He will know that someone cares

They tell me that I'm awfully small
And the moon is terribly far away
But that doesn't discourage me

I'll try my best to take away those blues
I'll try to make the moon beam

Friday, February 5, 2010

The Sailor

There once was a boy who cried for a year
So he built a boat that could float on his tears
And he packed a bag
And he climbed aboard
And he sailed for smiles and smiles

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Plain Jane

Plain Jane has simple tastes
Drives a simple car
Keeps a simple place
Yes Plain Jane lives a simple life
Though her hat is quite elaborate.

(It was a gift)

The Great Sphinx

Though it's clear he once let loose an earth-shaking sneeze,
There's just no proof the Great Sphinx ever had allergies.

The Tea Party

Every afternoon like clockwork
At a quarter after three
Mrs. Mouse and Mrs. Snail
Got together for low tea.
They carried on this bit of business
Inside Mrs. Snail's shell
And although it sounds uncomfortable
They managed rather well.

Now one day as they sat chatting
They heard a knock upon the door
It was their neighbor Mrs. Turtle
On her way back from the store.
And like any proper hostess
Mrs. Snail threw her door wide
She took Mrs. Turtle by the hand
And begged her "Come inside."

But it soon became apparent
Though they squeezed with all their might
They just couldn't fit another
In a home so small and tight.
"Not to worry" said Mrs. Turtle
"The answer's obvious to me
"We'll relocate this fine tea party
"My spacious turtle shell holds three."

So they took their tea and crumpets
From Mrs. Snail's small bungalow
And resumed their little gathering
In Mrs. Turtle's grand chateau.
But just as soon as they were seated
In Mrs. Turtle's roomy shell
They were once more interrupted
By the buzz of the doorbell.

At the door was Mrs. Rabbit
(She lived a few miles down the road)
And beside her, smiling widely
Stood her dear friend Mrs. Toad.
Now this presented a conundrum
As I'm sure you would agree
For there's just no way to fit five guests
In a home that's built for three.

So they put their heads together
They knew they'd need a bigger house
And after weighing all the options
All heads turned to Mrs. Mouse.
"Although I'd love to host you"
Mrs. Mouse said from her seat
"My husband is a pack rat
"And my house is never neat."

And so the girls decided
After a brief and cordial talk
To cancel their tea party
And instead go for a walk.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

The Canary Islands

The Canary Islands probably need
To import the bulk of their bird seed.
To offset the cost of this endeavor
I bet they export pillow feathers.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

We Regret to Inform You

We regret to inform you that the item you were expecting
The thing for which you were waiting, patiently
Has been discontinued.

And although it's not exactly what you had hoped for
Please accept this substitute, for it is a fine item.
We are certain that you will find it useful
And enjoyable.

We appreciate your business.

Tin Soldiers

Tin soldiers lined up in the sand
Placed gently by his soft sweet hand
And some will die

Young boy grows to become a man
Plucked from the vine on which he tanned
Ripe fruit of war

Ten soldiers line up in the sand
A sunbaked, bloodsoaked foreign land
And some will die