Best Wally Poems
Polly Wally waddles all day
She's running for office in LA
She wastes time doodling
Enjoys a daily noodling
But she never earns her pay
Polly Wally was once quite a looker
before politics she worked as a hooker
now she dresses with power
doesn't get paid by the hour
now she's aging no man would book her
Wally Weasel Loves to Paint
Wally Weasel loves to paint, and paints himself a lot.
Some paint goes on the canvas, but most of it does not.
Poor Wally, when he’s finished, is a sight that you must see.
He’s a living breathing rainbow from his head down to his knee.
Wally gets excited when he takes his brush in hand.
If you’re smart, you’ll go across the room and there is where you’ll stand.
His brush goes this way, then goes that way, nothing can escape
The splatters. If you stand nearby, you’ll need a plastic cape.
There are eighty-seven pictures, every one is of himself,
There’s a special place he puts them all upon a special shelf.
He likes the color orange, and must buy it by the ton.
His house looks like a tangerine in every room but one.
And in that room you’ll never guess what color’s to be seen.
His tiny little studio is painted bright lime green!
His painting smock’s magenta and has polka dots of red.
Also, there’s a blue beret upon his little head.
Now let us go, let Wally paint. His work has just begun.
Maybe he will show it to us when the picture’s done.
...inspired by a Dylan Thomas short story.
A breezy day, and two boys biking down the lane,
past meadows green with envy, soft as spring.
Picnic-packed and ready for the day's adventure.
They passed hikers. "Hey, lend us yer bikes!" they cried.
The lads whizzed by, not giving them a second thought.
"I bet them's fire cows," Jimmy said, (he had a wild
imagination.) "Nah, them's Holsteins, don't be daft!"
said John. The air was full of magic, and the sky
alive with seagulls. The ocean glinted to their right,
sparkling like the twinkle in a young girl's eyes.
They hurried to their destination, breathless with
anticipation, hurtling to a Neverland they'd mostly
seen in pictures, a rocky outcrop, pounded by
the waves, a fearsome confrontation with the sea.
A playground where imaginations wander.
“I bet there's dragons in them caves,” said Jimmy,
"and trolls and such, with fangs and fiery breath!"
“You're crazy!” countered John, (he read the Bible),
“'sides there's Jesus, He will shelter you from death
for now, make sure you're well and in good health."
Skittering on slabs as slick as ice fields,
tottering like lambs who've found their legs;
they played until the frigid water beckoned,
then splashed and frolicked, ducking from the heat.
Opening their back packs now, they settled down to eat.
It was then, the first time they'd discussed it,
Wally, Jimmy's brother, gone to God;
dead from cancer barely two weeks previous,
disconnected, laid beneath the sod.
Their tones were sullen, conversation somber.
“Is Wally with the Angels?” Jimmy questioned,
“Yes he is,” said John, “and safe at rest.”
They cycled home in silence, friends together,
and settled in their beds, forever blessed,
the moon endowed their dreams, a welcome guest.
Where’s Wally? where’s Wally?
The customers all cried
Where’s Wally? Where’s Wally?
Do you think he’s gone outside
It’s market day, it’s busy
It just shouldn’t be allowed
We’re never going to find him
If he’s out there in the crowd
We know he’s got his glasses
Woolly hat and stripy vest
It’s kind of like a camouflage
He blends in with the rest
Where’s Wally? Where’s Wally?
Wherever can he be
Don’t worry, here’s Wally
He was sitting next to me
We went on a Lampoon vacation
Drove damn near across our great nation
We found Wally World
The rides made me hurl
(Can’t repeat Wally’s exclamation)
Submitted for: Carolyn’s contest
Wally Weasel Goes Skiing
Wally still loves painting, but he’s now discovered sports.
He made his reservations at a faraway resort.
He’s never skied but has a book with lessons showing how.
After reading it two times plus one, he thinks he’s ready now.
With wooly scarf around his neck and hat upon his head,
he picks up shiny skis and poles that lay upon the bed.
Heading out to hit the slopes, he stops - ‘cause he’s decided
to wear his wooly socks so that his toes won’t get frost-bited.
He puts his ski poles in the snow and gives a great big push,
but all his effort got him was a wet, snow-covered tush.
Brushing off to go again, he says he will not quit.
This time he flies right down the slope – yes! All two feet of it.
He did it! He’s a skier now, and feeling very proud,
but that’s before he hears the laughter coming from the crowd.
It takes a lot of practice, as our little Wally knows,
and he’ll keep right on trying ‘til his weasel nose is froze.
With bended knees, he leans a little. This time he will do it.
When he starts to fly downhill, he says, “There’s nothing to it.”
He turns this way, then turns that way, he’s graceful as a breeze.
He’s being very careful to not run into the trees.
With all the other things he’s learned, he now feels life’s complete.
He’s shown the world that weasels, too, can be good athletes.
We’ll visit him another time and hear his tales of glory.
For now, we’ll have to wait. Another time, another story.
Wally Cleans His Room
When he woke up Tuesday, Wally looked around his room.
It really was a mess and so he went to get his broom.
All his cleaning items went into his purple pail,
the dustpan in his right hand, and the dust cloths on his tail.
He hung his clothes up in the closet, placing them just right,
swept and mopped and dusted, and then polished things so bright.
Next was putting all the toys in toy chests where they should be,
When he finished, Wally thought his room was clean as could be.
His bed was made, the pillows fluffed,
the floor was clear of all the stuff.
He thought that he had done enough.
“I am so proud of me.”
Picking up the broom and mop, he tripped and hit the floor,
gave his head a great big whack, his tail caught in the door.
He got up carefully and put his cleaning things away.
“I tidied up my room real nice. Now I can go and play.”
In his lime green studio, he took out all his paint pots.
The last thing that he painted looked like it could use a spot
of color added here and there to make it better yet.
Now it had to sit a while because the paint was wet.
Wally’s glad he cleaned his room ‘cause now it’s spic and span.
The job was easier than he thought it’d be when he began.
He needs to tidy up each day
He’ll keep his bedroom neat that way
He plans to do it on Tuesday
of each and every week.
Wal-Mart has removed its door greeters,
Replacing them with purchase eyes
Grabbing receipts at exits
Waving them like white flags
Yes, they paid! They paid!
You may pass; thanks!
Do the dance,
Pappy,
lol!
Wally Brummell, fed em on Crow, ...
johnsondon2•261 videos
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0BmZZhbO-U
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Uploaded on Oct 3, 2008
Wally some call him Zip (fed em black duck) (crow actually)Kakadu song man of Gulf town Karumba Australia
Stay alive in 55 and 56 said the roadside sign..
As the Ford Mercury whizzed by on local Brisbane time...
A flat head v8 jumped into a muffled roar...
And Bronco Don gave it its head full bloody bore..
Bill Brummell was a waiting aunty Nell was coming by..
And of course she'd bring the Johnsons little grubs like Mark and I...
So we lurched and wobbled cross country to the coast...
And aunty Grace was awaiting for sure shed cooked a roast..
So I followed cousin Wally about the Cleveland farm..
And watched him eat a melon from the inside without harm
Cut a hole put his head in, call him melon head?..
Just like a giant white ant this I say god strike me dead?..
Down in the valley my love is so low...
Sang old Slim Whitman on the valve radio..
old Don bought an inter truck a droving we would go..
to the Moonie floods back more than 50 years or so...
then Zip some call him Walter, he got a grand idea...
went to shoot some wild duck with a threeoh and some beer.... .303cal
so he lined up a wood duck but a crow got in the way..
so he reefed and pulled the trigger, just tough duck is all he'd say...
yes these ducks had big black feathers when talking they said ark...(not like them squeaky yank crows)
Wally plucked and filled the stew pot says its duck or just a lark..
Drunken ring barkers were hungry scoffed the lot in one quick feed...
And they were farting feathers till the crowing parts were freed...
Don Johnson...
Wally is pretty; he is a boy kitty. He is quite husky and round. And, he makes a loud purring sound; it’s strong and lasts very long. If there was a purring contest, I think he might win as best. He is mostly white with some black on his back. A good color to see him at night; you don’t trip over him when there’s little light.
He loves in his special kitty way; and gives without knowing he is giving. Unlike people, he exists without knowing he is living. Wally is wonderful, without one thought about being anything.
I know Wally will never stray. The door was once left open; he left, but returned before the end of the day. In my bed, he can often be found. He comforts me by merely being around. That’s cat magic! Oh, I almost forget to say; Walter once gave a dog a slap with his paw for growling while sitting on my husband’s lap. What do you think of that?
Wally…my brave kitty cat!
09/12/15
Barbara Campbell
Contest: My Pet
In a beautiful garden long, long ago
Creator God made a man
Man on his own alone was only half the plan
So Creator God made him a woman
And that is how it all began
In a garden called Eden
Way, way down in time
Creator God made a Wally
Wally on his own was only half the plan
So Creator God made him an Audrey
And that is how it all began
In a place called New Zealand
When Wally met Audrey
Creator God smiled down
For in finding Audrey, he had unearthed his treasure
What Creator God had planned for his pleasure
And when Audrey became his wife
Creator God's favour flowed in his life.
Audrey made them a happy home
Filled with blessings from Heaven's Throne
She, her husband's crown, worth far more than jewels
Wove into their Life Loom sunlight, flowers and colors
Skillfully, prudently, carefully reading the pattern
Making their home to others a lantern.
Creator God blessed this man and wife
With children and wonderful grand-children
One to play sweet music, one to act in the play
And all to share love, fun and laughter
To glory Creator God, their Master.
And to them on a warm, clear Sapphire Auckland evening
We gather together to say
We wish you now a very special Wedding Anniversary today
Looking forward to another Golden Morning
When we can wish you again,
May you have many more years together under the sun
To cherish every special moment
Since Creator God made you both one!
*Image of Tony Dow by News.
AUDIO
VIDEO of 500 Miles by Peter, Paul & Mary
Take Care Wally Cleaver
Wally: Watch the hair!
My faculties are under arrest!
I have been subpoenaed by a Board of Inquiry!
Namely, Mr. & Mrs. Parents of OMgoodness Boy!
Begins the questioning! (blah, blah, blah)
Ward: WHY!
Retorts!
Wally: But dad (blah, blah, blah)
Empathetic.
June: Well, why not?
In-kind.
Wally: Well, mom (blah, blah, blah)
Backroom deliberations begin!
Ward: Ohh! Don't give me that look!
June: But my dear he's just a kid?
Ward: I'll even accept the concept of a Billy the outlaw
as there is some hopeful measure of action,
good or bad, but that's not the conclusion you're
drawing is it, sweetheart?
June: I know I've been turning my back on this, and
once I've turned around, there you are, not a
happy camper, our families, friends, and
neighbors, are all staring back at me, so I've
decided to let you deal with him and I'll stand
by whatever the ruling you decide to enact.
Ward: Well, Mr. OMgoodness, we hereby sentence you
to collect all of your electronic devices and game
cartridges and put them in a large box, then
you're going to clean your room, the garage,
and the yard, then mow the lawn, rake the yard,
then water the plants, after you're done, take a
shower and come down for dinner.
Wally: Wow, that's what an execution feels like.
Ward: No, think of it as a life sentence.
Wally: (sigh!)
June: We love you, honey.
Wally: I know that mom.
Ward: Oh, and by the way, I want to see your computer
keyboard in that box and I'll come around when
you're showering to lock it up in the attic.
(Later that night)
Ward: Good night son.
Wally: Good night dad.
June: Good night honey.
Wally: Good night mom.
(Bedroom doors close, and a computer light comes
on as a young MIT wannabe, clicks on settings and
presses "Online Keyboard")
Whatta day! Brutal, just ... brutal!
It'll be a long night ...
Good night Beav!
2022 July 27
...inspired by a Dylan Thomas short story
A breezy day, and two boys biking down the lane
past meadows green with envy, soft as spring.
Picnic-packed and ready for the day's adventure.
They passed hikers who cried "Hey, lend us yer bikes!"
The lads whizzed by, not giving them a second thought.
"I bet them's fire cows," Jimmy said, (he had a wild
imagination.) "Nah, them's Holsteins, don't be daft!"
said John. The air was full of magic, and the sky
alive with seagulls. The ocean glinted to their right,
sparkling like the twinkle in a young girl's eye.
They hurried to their destination, breathless with
anticipation, hurtling to a Neverland they'd mostly
seen in pictures, a rocky outcrop, pounded by
the waves, a fearsome confrontation with the sea,
a playground where imaginations flourish.
“I bet there's dragons in them caves,” said Jimmy,
"and trolls and such, with fangs and fiery breath!"
“You're crazy!” countered John, (he read the Bible),
“'sides there's Jesus, He will shelter you from death
for now, make sure you're well and in good health."
Skittering on slabs as slick as ice fields,
tottering like lambs who've found their legs;
they played until the frigid water beckoned,
then splashed and frolicked, ducking from the heat.
Opening their back packs now, they settled down to eat.
It was then, the first time they'd discussed it,
Wally, Jimmy's brother, gone to God;
dead from cancer barely two weeks prior,
disconnected, laid beneath the sod.
Their tones were sullen, conversation somber.
“Is Wally with the Angels?” Jimmy questioned.
“Yes he is,” said John, “and safe at rest.”
They cycled home in silence, friends forever,
and settled in their beds, forever blessed,
the moon endowed their dreams, a welcome guest.
Little Wally, the caterpillar, was very sad.
He didn't want to hang out with his dad.
Papa asked, "Why are you so down, son?"
I'm used to you having tons of fun, son.
"I want to be like you; dad; I'm really slow."
" You'll get your wings, and you'll go go!
"Really? You were once like me too?"
"Yes, son, long ago, I was like you too.
"Well, when did the change happen, dad?"
" I spent time in a cave, and I was glad,
The coolest thing was I came out with wings".
"Really? That's how you got those flying things?'
"Yes, and it's going to happen to you too, son."
So cheer up, find your pal Al have some fun.
If someone admits to feeling “peely-wally”
It's a Scottish term meaning unwell and crawly
Just stay tuned
I'm really festooned
With tidbits of stuff both inspiring and laudatory