when friend we did get
things have become better yet
his name will be Viet
when poems has a touch
we will always love them much
to heart closely clutch
when Mary gave birth
we would have peace while on earth
Jesus beyond all worth
rode in upper berth
happiness did have a dearth
we would have much mirth
Punishment Inc.
We are called by your elders,
To take care of you,
When you are extra jumpy,
And solve a problem or two
We wait for you round the corner,
At any time of the day,
We jump at you anytime,
You have nothing to say.
We lock you in a room,
We have a stout stick on you to lay,
You may kick and you may shout,
But that’s where you will stay.
We’ll tell you that you have,
Every fault on earth,
From shouting and yelling,
To hanging from the upper berth,
We break you down,
And miserable you feel,
The naughtiness and stupidity,
All begin to heal.
The next morning is a surprise,
Your hair is no more like hay,
Your parents are amazed,
At what we managed to do in a day.
Your room is clean,
Your clothes are neat,
You behave really well,
And people’s heart misses a beat.
(Cos they can’t believe you are neat)
This wonderful behavior,
Goes on for a week,
And our help,
No longer your parents seek.
But after a week,
We are back to the first square,
For your habits are back,
And are efforts have gone where?
Train of Thought
This is a poem about ideas how they come to us and leave us just as quickly just
now as eye began this piece the train of thought has left me standing at the
station in confusion. The epic is gone the best poem ever to be written fled on an
upper berth in the nickelodeon of time in the upper echelon of seldom just gray
matters the ewer has no pitcher handles the morality of life has lost the fight.
Eye am reminded of a skit from the three stooges show when CURLY kept
saying he had fodder for the mudder it was almost more than a young boy could
bear to love in a heart so young the fodder of course was HAY diddle wiggle and
the mudder was the pinto bay.
The elephant ears have not come back to haunt me but there is some smallish
stones that work amid the flys and the insectoid types
There is no reason to cover up my handiwork now gentile reader can you guess
just what this poem was about a train of thought.
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