Monday, April 11, 2011
More poems for April by Valary-Mac
This is quite a fix
I need your assistance,
May I ask what you think
Of my cranial existence.
Theres been some delay
In my thinking, I guess
For the words stare right up
At me from my own desk.
My calendar has
"If you don’t have a brain
You don’t use it." It says.
Just a few days ago is
When it all came about
Realization and pondering
My mind held a doubt.
Where in the world would
Could my brain could have got to?
Why would it leave, and
Why would it want to?
I've fancied myself
The intelligent kind
But perhaps not smart
Enough for my mind.
When did it leave
Right out of my head?
It's hard to tell
I've heard it said.
I thought day and night
And to my disdain
My conclusion states:
It's hard to think without a brain.
And tell me please
In the future will
I find my mind
Or be searching still.
So if now you have a brain
You must already use it,
But be sure that you do
Or you're destined to loose it.
Little Dick Dee by Valary-Mac (Lymeric-style nursery rhym)
There was a handsome child named little Dick Dee;
He spun his own clothes from fibrous leaves;
Lived in a house made o' red cherry wood.
'An he figured it out as soon as he could
That his very own age was four plus three.
Now this Devilish child named Dick-
He knew just what made father tick.
When all were gathered 'round the table-
Mother, daddy, an' sister Mable.
He'd shout out loud: "I'm taller than Mick!"
Mick? Mick? Who's this man?
It just so happens he was Dick's dad.
(All the names in that fam'ly end with "ick" & "e",
'Cause that's how Great Grandpa wanted it to be.)
It's quite a tradition I understand.
Now Dick's dad was a proper fellow,
And would never use forks to eat his Jell-O;
All the white sugar must be bought at stores.
But can you guess what he abhorred?
Even more than mother in the color of yellow?
"Children are seen and never heard."
Was his common mealtime word.
That was the rule his father spoke,
And he turned quite red when it was broke.
But turn him purple when Dicky stirred.
But one certain thing will leave him green:
When Dicky is heard but never seen.
However he did it I cannot say,
But little Dick did it the other way.
So I'll tell you more about little Dick Dee.
A speck of dust is his bouncing ball;
The face of a nickel, his dinning hall;
A strand of silk made up his vest;
And if you wonder where he lays to rest-
He don't need sleep 'cause he was so small!
His father would thrash him if he'd hold still-
If not able he has the will.
His ma had a trial in keeping him clean,
But there is a problem with this little scene-
Little Dick's dad is smaller still.
Now fathers are good; in fact quite fine.
And I've never really heard of Dicky's dad's kind.
Whether this is read or put to song,
I'll say one thing 'case you get me wrong-
This poem has no moral but it had to rhyme.