One time when I was in nursey school, Miss Shanahan had everyone sit in a circle and one-by-one say what we wanted to be when we grow up.
It was what you’d expect…
Doctor
Firefighter
Astro naught
Truck driver
Race car driver
Veterinarian
Police officer
Movie star
Baseball player
Actress
Princess
Detective
Engineer…and the like
Then it was my turn:
“What do you want to be when you grow up Bobby?”
I thought about it a minute, and said
“God.”
That threw her for a loop.
There was no braggadocio.
No narcissism, no conceit, no misplaced pride
I didn’t think I had a shot at it or anything.
Just seemed to me it would be the top job.
Can’t blame me.
W T F
Let’s imagine somebody
naive as they can be.
What might they imagine when
WTF they see?
For someone on a diet
could it mean “Withhold the Fat?”
“Wash the Fridge” perhaps?
My mom would think of that!
A girl into clothing could suppose
WTF means “Wear Trendy Fashion.”
“Wear Tight Footwear” no one though
could think and have compassion.
“Wash Tired Feet” might someone think?
Or “Warm the Feet” after time in snow?
“Wrap the Fracture.” Is that done?
I’m not sure that I know!
“Warm the Furnace”? That sounds lame.
“Woo The Folks” could be
a slogan for politicians
who can’t get to ME!
“Whack the Fiend.” I like that.
And “Whack the Fibber,” but
“What‘s the fuss?” sounds better.
than “Walk the Feline”. . . . What?
“Whip the Flesh” works for sadists.
Could “Wave the Fists” sound cool?
I like “Welcome Tiny Folks”
for a nursery school.
Just a few more. How about
“Wake the Family”?
Watch the Fuel” also works
in this economy.
Finally, when I think
of N/A’s from a judge,
if I feel my poem is really good,
I murmur “What the (bleeping bleeping) Fudge.”
Satanic crimes are the most horrific and cruel.
They make gangland slayings look like nursery school.
Remembering my mother,
when a baby, I was
in a cot wrapped up warm
singing me a lullaby to suit
Sleep beautiful,
Sleep a dream happily.
Remembering my mother,
With tears in her eyes
As my cries of pain persisted
While the doctor reassures her
In no danger I was…..
Remembering my mother,
Walking me to nursery school
While as a toddler, I steadied along
Carrying a small lunch box
To sustain my hunger….
Remembering my mother,
Sorting out my newly bought school uniform
Encouraging me to study and learn
As of now, as a student
Far away to be from her…..
Remembering my mother,
Beautifully dressed for the occasion
The mother of the groom, I
Hoping my future with my wife
Shall be secured and fulfilling…..
Remembering my mother,
As white a chalk
As stiff as a statue
Death came and laid her to sleep
Tiring tears in my eyes
With memories of the woman, I loved most.
Why do you do it? Scrooge asks Santa.
What? Santa asks.
All that ho ho ho, Christmas cheer, Scrooge says.
Bah humbug I say.
Santa ponders how to reply,
knowing he will not convert Scrooge,
but wanting him to understand.
Why don’t you do a ride along? He invites Scrooge.
Pull an all-nighter?
Jump down chimneys?
You are kidding, right?
You might enjoy it, Santa says.
Scrooge laughs his feet off.
His laughter is a kind of injured howl.
Who has hurt you? Santa asks gently.
Scrooge stops in mid howl and tears begin.
Let’s start with babies, Santa says.
What do you mean? Scrooge asks, sniffling.
You’ll see. Santa has a big grin.
He has a great idea in mind.
They start at the nursery school down the lane.
All of the babies need to be held, an elf woman tells them.
She hands them both a crying infant and points to two rocking chairs.
Scrooge is astounded; he has never held a baby!
He and Santa sit, and they begin to rock.
Scrooge’s baby quiets down, her eyes close.
He feels loved, cherished, needed.
I get it now, he tells Santa.
There once was a young tot named Fazool
Who attends a posh nursery school
Got himself in a pickle
For charging a mere nickel
Each time he let a girl see his tool.
Fazool was an enterprising lad
He didn't think it was awfully bad
To expose his small private
He would surely survive it
As long as nobody told his dad!
SECOND PLACE WINNER
Written February 26, 2021
For Limericks Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
Syllable count 99779 checked with PS
Syllable count 99779 checked with How Many Syllable
The two checkers do not agree, so required a minor change.
Rome wasn't built in a day
Mexicans like saying "Ole!"
If your horse eats nothing but hay
Teach him how to order on e-Bay
While terriers put sugar in their 'tay'
Cigarette smokers should use an ashtray
People say every dog has his day
Though I was told that crime doesn't pay
First April showers, then come what May
In life one's gotta find his own way
A voice vote's always a yea or a nay
It's lonely tonight -- Won't you stay?
When you're older, your hair might turn gray
Every knight needs some dragons to slay
If a soldier won't enter the fray
Against him will a nation inveigh
On her tuffet, Little Miss Muffet ate whey
When a donkey's upset, it'll bray
In Puerto Rico how those palm trees do sway
Now the sun's out: Go catch a ray
Do you remember when happy meant 'gay'
And nursery school age kids used to play?
From the path it's far too easy to stray
~ Life's choices please carefully weigh!
Where human seedlings
Are aided to grow
To suffer daily rot
When kids are born, we sacrifice –
Our time, our sleep, our food.
Activities we once enjoyed
We sometimes must exclude.
We share our sandwich and our seat;
We schlep to kiddie classes
And sometimes opportunity
Waves smugly as it passes.
The sacrifices, once they start,
Will change as children grow,
From nursery school to college dorm,
Through all life’s ebb and flow.
The offerings we make, of course,
Are given from the heart,
For love’s a force so powerful
It grips us from the start.
While first-time parents may be thrilled
With how this love transcends,
They’ll be surprised when they find out
The giving never ends.
Everything is creased & kept
In right place & order
To avoid even a particle of dust.
But all worms
Are not devised to
Die before a naphthalene.
The dead narcissus,
The spittle of wind on windowpane,
The half-empty dish of rice
Beside the folded mattress
Make me return & recall
The days of nursery school,
The lesson of my favorite farmer.
His corns would come & store themselves magically !
Flying out of ancient hearth
Gods & dogs
Gift me
The vessel of ashes.
( to the tune of "Yankee Doodle")
Grandpa went to nursery school
To fetch his darling grandson;
Put the boy inside his car,
But somehow not the planned one.
Grandpa made a little goof;
Boys had outfits matchin’.
Sound like just a mix-up, not
An evil plan he’s hatchin’.
Why, though did the boy he took
Not recognize a stranger?
Luckily for all, he wasn’t
In what we’d call danger.
Next time, grandpa stays at home
To study grandkids’ faces;
So hopefully, he’ll recognize
The next one he replaces!