The Peach Tree

In summers past, I wandered free.
One day I chanced to see a tree
Who spoke and started asking me
Some things I couldn’t answer.
He asked me why the earth is round
And where the rarest diamond’s found
And what’s the spider monkey’s sound
And what’s the cure for cancer?

I thought and then began to say
“Who cares about this anyway?
I don’t have time to stay all day
I really should be going.”
The tree looked down and then replied
“For many years now I have tried
To find someone who has inside
Some things that are worth knowing.”

I thought again and said to him
“You know, I’m really not that dim!
You’re asking questions on a whim.
I want to know your reason.”
He quietly began to sigh
Then said “This is the reason why
It really makes me want to cry
Whenever I’m in season.”

I asked him what he meant and then
He started talking yet again
“The only time I’m used is when
You people want my peaches.
I’m really good for more, you know.
I always want the chance to show
My aptitude to think and grow
And give inspiring speeches.”

He said that word and then I knew
The very thing I had to do
And so I got a saw and glue
And fashioned my creation.
I cut the tree down, then I took
The wood and with it made a book,
An then a podium, and look!
An utter innovation!

The book sits on his stand, you see
And rests there very pleasantly
Inside a university
With people always near him.
The book gives lectures twice a day
And speaks so well you have to pay.
At last the old tree got his way
And people always hear him.

Just Suppose

Let's just suppose you underwent

A surgical procedure

To make your face exactly like

Your eighth grade science teacher.
Then when you got to class you'd sit

Where everyone could see

So when your teacher walked inside

He'd say "By Jove that's me!"
He'd give your tests the highest grades

No matter what you do

Because he'd get a lousy score

By giving one to you.

Meditations on a Winter Night

At the foot of a mount in a cabin of log
Lives a hunter, his wife, and an old, droopy dog.
Every evening or so they sit down by the fire
And they listen to tales from the world’s biggest liar.
Now this hunter, you see, he loves spinning a yarn
From the tip of the mount to the top of his barn.
And when he starts a-tellin' those tales that he tells
You can bet there's a stench that the old doggy smells.
It’s the smell of a liar, mark my words, 'cause it’s true.
If you lied bad as that, he'd be smellin' you too!
One cold night as they sat near the fire, big and warm
The house rattled and shook from an oncoming storm.
"Oh my land!" cried his wife as outside the wind blew,
"If this blizzard keeps up, I'm afraid that we're through!"
“No we ain’t!” said the hunter, not seeming to care.
“I survived a worse storm once while fightin' a bear!"
"It began,” he began, “when I hunted this deer,
Then it started to snow, the first time of the year.
I lost track of the deer on account of that snow.
There were flakes big as fists, then they started to grow
Till the biggest one almost knocked over a tree,
But then not even that one could knock over me!
It was cold, I remember, much colder than now,
So I thought it was best I got warmer somehow
And I picked up some sticks, then as fast as I could
Made a bonfire so big it lit most of the wood.
Since I wanted some fish and the lake was all froze,
I broke ice with my feet and caught fish with my toes.
Then I cut down some trees and as quick as a lick,
I constructed a cabin all sturdy and thick.
When I’d finished the last touching up on the place,
This enormous and fierce polar bear hit my face.
Well, I guess that big bear he was fixin' to steal
All them fish I’d caught earlier to eat for my meal
Because bears, as you know, they like eatin' fish too
So we wrestled and rolled and the storm howled and blew.
I took care of that bear, boy I took him to town.
Wasn’t long, I recall, till I had that bear down.
He was screamin' for mercy so I let him go
But he said to me ‘Boy, it’s real cold in the snow.
Once I looked at that fire, well, I thought it was swell
And I thought to myself I might sit for a spell.’
I felt bad for the bear, so I said it’s all right
If he came in and stayed by the fire for the night.
In the morning I told him that next time it snowed,
He could come spend the night at my humble abode.”
So he ended his tale and his wife shook her head.
"I think that's the worst lie ever uttered!" she said.
“When I think you’re done fibbing, you say something new.”
“But this one,” he protested, “is utterly true!”
And just then from the door came a big booming knock,
So his wife went up to it and undid the lock
And the doorway was filled with a white, husky bear.
“Can I please come inside?” he asked. “It’s cold out there!”

You're It

Through the garden, up a tree
I’m so fast, you can’t catch me!
In the house and up the stairs,
What! You tagged me? That’s not fair.

Chilly Willy

Chilly Willy was a goat.
Chilly Willy got a coat,
So Chilly Willy won't be chilly,
Will he?

Always, My Sweet

Butter, oh how thou dost warrant an ode,
For flavors which thou dost preserve.
Always thou hast keep inside mine abode,
But more than that, thou dost deserve.
To treat thee unkindly would be far too rash,
And betrayeth our excellent smarts.
In our land, thy fate is not in the trash,
But rather inside of our hearts.

Fat Ed

There was a man named Edgar Hill
Who never, ever ate his fill.
Each day his cook would make for him
Whatever menu fit his whim.
For every meal Ed tried to eat
A dozen different kinds of meat.
He munched on pancakes by the stack
Just for an after dinner snack.

Although he stuffed himself with ham,
Then steamy buttered rolls and jam,
Thick waxy meatloaf, melty cheese,
Cold snotty soup that's made from peas,
Big bulging bagels, sticky rice,
Zucchini bread with sugar spice,
With shiny donuts, cherry pie,
And Polish sausages stacked high,

Hot crispy bacon, crusty toast,
With pink and drippy tender roast,
Potatoes, lima beans and lots
Of greasy, salty tater tots
With fatty burgers, chips and bread,
There never was enough for Ed.
They say he could consume a horse!
And once or twice he tried, of course.

This food made Edgar happy, but
It gave him quite a hefty gut.
For Edgar tried to eat so hard
He really was a tub of lard.
He almost weighed a metric ton.
He wouldn’t exercise or run.
He couldn’t move his hulking girth
Without a tremor in the earth.

But once as he was eating steak
He got a massive stomach ache.
His doctor tried advising him:
“You know it’s wiser to be slim.
Your stomach ache is caused by this:
Compressogastro stomasis!
It means your gut is much too tense
And food’s packed in there mighty dense.”

“If food’s stuck in my gut,” thought he
“I’ll fix that problem easily.
I’ll just eat more and force it out
And it should work without a doubt.”
He filled himself again with food,
And I say this not to be rude,
But once his stomach was that loaded,
Edgar swallowed, then exploded.

i

Of all the letters in the world
my favorite is the letter i.
I like the things that i can do;
i can do much more than u.

A Warm Wind

I expect to be chilled
But instead I am thrilled.

Simplicity

Isn't it great?

Messy Pete

Messy Pete began to eat
A dusty, dirty grimy treat.
He found too late that what he ate
Was also on a dirty plate.
It was a mess; I must confess
His room was filled with dirtiness.
What caused this scene that’s so obscene
Was Messy Pete would never clean.
He’d never try to clean that sty.
His dirty clothes all piled high.
His underwear was here and there.
His toys were scattered everywhere.
He had a knack for losing track
Of where he’d left his school sack.
I’ll tell you now the story how
Pete overcame the mess somehow.
It was the treat which Messy Pete
Decided that he’d try to eat.
Just one small lick so very quick
Began to make him awfully sick.
So sick, in fact he coughed and hacked
So hard his jaw bone almost cracked.
His fever burned and then he turned
So green his mom became concerned.
He lay in bed, his father said
“You’re lucky, son, that you’re not dead.
The doctor called and he’s appalled
He says your mess here must be solved.
If you don’t zoom to clean your room
It could spell out your sudden doom!”
Pete was aware as he lay there
His room was filled with odors rare.
“This mess,” thought he, “is killing me.
If I get better I’ll agree
To be the best, above the rest
At making cleanliness my quest.”
He hadn’t lied. From then he tried
To clean his room with certain pride.
And what completes this tale of Pete’s?
He’ll wash his hands before he eats.

Addicted to Poetry

Poetry is an odd thing.
Sometimes it has no verse,
With no rhythm,
And no meter,
And flows much like prose.
It may, however, have artistic beats,
A pattern followed with deliberate care
Composed of meter, cadence, beat or swing,
With lengthy sentences and careful thought.
And poems, sometimes,
Are peppered with rhymes.
And as the fruit in fall adorns the trees,
A poem may be filled with similes.
Or else the fruit of purpose from its core
Can plant in poems the seed of metaphor.
Moreover a couplet in deep contemplation
Can banter around with personification.
But the best part of poems, obviously,
Is when you include a hyperbole.
Alternatively, alliteration also adds appeal.
In the end it all combines,
Every aspect in its place.
This conglomerate of lines,
In amenity and grace,
Most effectively invokes
Such a thrill inside my brain.
Fire of fantasy it stokes
'Till delight I can't contain.
In a word (or maybe three):
I
Love
Poetry