The day the pond dried up, the ducks were blue.
They spoke to the chickens, the turkeys, the peacock too.
They wanted to speak to the rancher, and possibly sue.
He was nowhere around, that tight wad, Magoo.
I know it’s his fault the blue ducks said, forming a mob.
They began to taunt him, calling him by his name – Bob.
His wife came out and tried to chase them with a broom.
They enticed her to eat a psychedelic mushroom.
She was soon on their side, and she rebuilt the pond.
The ducks were less blue, but Farmer Bob was still gone.
TIGHT WAD
Yer cannie, as cannie be.
Nae sloutch, or frivolous, spend-thrift, ye.
Whose coin, to feered to leave the purse,
-in-case it’s ye’sd tae quench the thirst.
O, the ither, who just stood ye one.
Now sitting empty as a drouthy burn,
as he waits on you to stand your turn.
He taps his glass, he looks at you,
A bead of sweat runs doon your broo.
There’s nae way oot o this one noo.
Ye steady yer-sel, ye are resigned.
Then an idea springs tae mind.
You dig deep, you rummage roond.
The ither hopes its coin you’ve foond.
But you pull oot your watch instead,
his face is thunder yours turns red.
But not of shame, but by reprieve,
for the precious coin that’s now been
saved--to see the light of a-nither day,
as you prepare to go your way.
Jings is that the time, you will exclaim.
It’s time that you were getting hame.
And as you leave to go on your way,
I’ll catch you next time you will say,
As you pat you’re purse, well hidden away,
Your coinage safe for a-nither day.
A poem by john scott
Walking in the woods on a summers day
I ran across the savvy mushroom king
The old tight-wad geezer wanted to play
I played him checkers and a little chess.
The king was pretty good, I must confess.
Same time next week I asked the little guy?
Leaving, he said. How ‘bout fourth of July?
We made a little date, the mushroom king and I.
I would bring purple sparklers and fire crackers,
He promised lemon meringue faerie homemade pie.
I dreamed of lemon pie for nights and nights on end.
Glad to have a mushroom king for a new best friend.
We met on the fourth, and I gave a disappointed sigh.
I had the fireworks, but guess who forgot to bring the pie?
Sinister Tight Wad In Westminster
Someone sat that he became sinister,
When called tight wade in Westminster;
Where he did go,
Was called a weirdo;
In plate he had placed his pet hamster.
Jim Horn
In the twilight of the day
when I'm worn to spent to play
I try to write to no avail
the page is bright, but
the ink is pale
so the straight flat papers crumbles
as my thoughts wander and stumble
on a tight wad paper ball
to be a secret after all
tossed into a small round basket
a sad but fitting poem's casket
As these thoughts now fade in time
without reason, without rhyme
might return soon resurrected
but again by night rejected
so I think I'll wait till morning
and cease this awful yawning
and dream of things to write
of thoughts which haunt the night
yer cannie as cannie be
Na'e sloutch or frivolous spend-thrift ye
Who's coins to feered to leave the purse
In-case it's ye'sd tae quench the thirst
O' the ither who's just stood ye one
now sitting empty as a drouthy burn,
as he waits on you ta'e stand yer turn.
He taps his glass-he looks at you,
a bead o' sweat runs doon yer broo.
There's na'e way oot o' this one noo.
So yo steady yersel, ye are resigned
to pay the ither back in-kind.
But then an idea springs ta'e mind.
Ye dig deep, you rummage roon'd
the ither hopes its coin ye'v foon'd.
But you pull oot yer watch instead-
his face is thunder, your's turns red,
but not of shame- but by reprieve
for the preciose coin that's jist been saved.
Jings! is that the time you will exclaim
it's high time you were getting hame.
And as you prepare to go your way.
i'll catch you next time you will say,
and pat the purse that's hidden away
your coinage saved for an-ither day
a poem by john-jock-scott
Bunch of Bum Steers
Are you really a rowdy, rude Republican
Who do sin and for long time have been
And after I had heard this was realizing
Politicians like them had been despising.
Always worship selves and never God
And all are known to be a tight wad
To save money eat bagels without lox
Have heard they have holes in their sox.
There are things which we all went through
But when our ballot boxes were broken into
On ballots were no signs of any sexes
And ballots were actually marked with X's.
Voters in Texas sign all ballots with X's
What makes us made and always perplexes
When they are lying into a bar disappears
After giving of us a bunch of bum steers.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Bolivia, NC
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