There is a tiny village
In a place I can’t recall.
It has a tiny clothing store
And tiny shopping mall.

It has a tiny arcade
With tiny games to play.
And many tiny houses
Along the tiny Tiny Way.

It has a tiny hair salon
And tiny grocery mart
And a tiny fire department
If a tiny fire should start.

It’s a perfect tiny neighborhood,
Or looks like it could be,
Except the residents of Tiny
Are as big as you and me!

 

This poem was selected for my book!

all the mothers mothers

Some kids that i’ve seen
Make a whole stinking scene
About having a mother that mothers too much.

But i wouldn’t offend
If i was one of them
And had me a mother that mothered too much.

It would be kind of nice
To only hear twice
To be careful from mother who mothers too much.

But my family’s older
So i’m grabbed by the shoulder
And mothered by mother who mothers too much,
And grandmothered by grandmother who grandmothers too much,
And greatgrandmothered by greatgrandmother who greatgrandmothers too much,
And greatgreatgrandmothered by greatgreatgrandmother who greatgreatgrandmothers too much,
And greatgreatgreatgrandmothered by greatgreatgreatgrandmother who greatgreatgreatgrandmothers too much!

There is a land
That you can see
Where nothing’s banned
And all is free
You sit or stand
Or bend on knees
Or fly you can
Above the trees
The ship is manned
But waits for thee
The trip’s unplanned
‘Til you agree
In this place where dreams are canned
And cans can dance at your decree

And in this zone
This large estate
That’s made of stone
Or dinner plates
Or trees unknown
Both small and great
But overgrown
Over the gates
Your thoughts are thrown
High and straight
Upon a throne
To head the state
And rule the world you call your own
Employ the place that you create!

For you we send
This information
And we extend
This invitation
Won’t you attend
ImagiNation?

“Nathan, please take out the trash.
It’s right by the back door”
“In a minute”, he told his mom.
“Just let me play a little more”

And so he played for another minute
But his minute turned morning, then afternoon
“Nathan! Won’t you please come here?
I need you to take these red balloons!”

“They’re for Mrs. Finderschnikkel,
I’m sure you’ve heard how she’s been ill.”
“Just one more minute,” Nathan mumbled
“I’m almost done and then I will.”

“And Nathan please return this shovel,
To Mr. Cross across the street”
Another hour passed but still,
Nathan hadn’t moved his feet.

“A big box of socks to go to Ms. Lox,
And also, a fan that needs fixin’!”
With Nathan still playing, Mom just kept saying,
“Please take it to old Mr. Dixon.”

“This picture goes to Mr. Richter
And Barnaby forgot his hat!”
Nathan looked up and told his mom
“I’ll take care of all of that”

“A deck of cards to Mr. Dekkin”
“Okay mother, in a second”

“And Daniel wants his baseball mitt”
“Alright mom, in a bit”

Now when his dad got home from work,
He saw how the pile had grown.
“Nathan, it’s time to do it now,
And take the mail out when you go”

So Nathan got up to do his chores,
But the pile had gotten tall and thick
“I’ll just do it all at once,”
said Nathan, “That’ll be real quick”

“Nathan, careful…” warned his mother
“You could always make a couple trips”
But Nathan sputtered as he lifted the clutter
‘Mom, it’s already ten to six!”

So he picked up the shovel, box, picture, and cards,
The fan, hat, trash, balloons, and the baseball mitt.
“Don’t forget the mail!” reminded his father
As he set down the letters on all of it

“No problem” Nate said, but his face grew red
And his arms began to wobble
“P-p-please open the door”, he squeaked just before
The whole bundle began to topple

“Now, poor Nathan tried to save it,
But he just couldn’t avoid the disaster”
His father will say, if asked today
“It sure wasn’t any faster”

“I truly hope he learned his lesson,
And his mother hopes so too.
But we’ll never know, as he’s stuck below
All the things he didn’t do.”

“A quarter to seven’s too early to meet
And I just don’t believe you can half past a nine,
A ten to eleven just looks at me odd.”
Said the odd Mr. Keating, who hadn’t the time.

It was not the case that he had not enough,
Or he had not a clock for this just wasn’t true.
For he had a fabulous silvery watch,
But he just couldn’t read it, he had not a clue.

“At nineteen to nineteen I’m having my tea,
And at twenty to thirty get fitted for socks.
At half past a quarter I’m looking at books,
And I know I’ll be busy through all the o’clocks.”

“I’ll stop by the tailor’s by twenty-two past,
But I’m not sure past what so I’ll have to stop twice.
I must take a call from a man I’ve named Paul,
Around twelve if it rains but thirteen if it’s nice.”

“I’ve planned to be tickled at five past a pickle.
My serious matters I just must attend.
I have half a mind to go stand in a line,
So I may head to town at a squirrel-to-ten.”

For forty-one minutes his schedule went on,
Mr. Keating reciting and writing his list.
It wasn’t ideal, but he’d scheduled the spiel,
Or for certain a plan of his may have been missed.

“At half past a roast I will sit down for lunch
And I’ve already ordered so guess what I’ll eat.”
“A roast?” was my guess when he looked back distressed,
And said “No! Onion soup, for I never eat meat.”

“And then at a five until quarter-ten past,
Twenty-four from a half and a bit on a dime,
Around all the threes, I will do what I please,
And that looks to be nothing if I have the time.”

“If I can get free from the times when I’m not,
Does a time work for you? Shall I schedule our chat?”
I looked in his book and he wrote in a note,
Between two-forty-scarf and a half past a hat.

The time now decided, he calmed down a bit,
(While I had no idea when to be at his spot.)
“So, why are we meeting?” I asked Mr. Keating.
“Oh beans, now it seems that I’ve gone and forgot.”

“The Fair was fair, but the Bazaar was bizarre,”
Said Peter Repeater three feet from my yard.
“All Monday all the monkeys just monkeyed around,
While lions were lyin’ all over the ground,
The people were peeping, their peepers awide
Staring from stairs at the show shown inside
The amazing maize maze earned ’em A’s, if I may,
But the train treks the tracks for training Tuesday!
Two bucks a head to buck ahead of the line and ease in
So see’em ‘fore they seize’em, as they’re ceasin’ for the season!!”

Whatever you do
Don’t eat the stew
Made by my mother
When she tries to feed you

It may smell delicious
And she’ll claim it’s nutritious
But it is the worst
Of all of her dishes

Worse than her skewered snake
Or her inside-out cake
Worse than any meal
She may try to make

You’ve heard the tall tale
Of my poor brother, Dale
He ate the stew and that night
He turned in to a snail

I can’t tell the story
Of our neighbor named Lori
Who once had a nibble
It is far too gory

While not taking a bite
May seem impolite
Your neck’s on the line
So shut your mouth tight

Trust when I say
You must stay away
If you’d like to live,
And see another day

So don’t eat the stew!
I’ll eat it for you
I’ve had it before
So I guess I’m immune.

Steady Eddie
Is always ready,
Whatever you might try.

You can’t push him down,
Knock him to the ground,
Or get him to lay or lie.

Just try to topple,
He’ll never stop, he’ll
Just keep getting up again.

You can push or pull,
It’s impossible,
He’ll be standing up straight in the end.

This may seem good, after all
Eddie never will fall
So he’ll never scrape his knees.

But it’s also a curse
Because what could be worse
Than having to stand when he sleeps!?!