The Rusty Old Schwinn

The Red Ryder wagon sat there in the yard
By the sandbox, all ready to go.
And the Big-Wheel trike was there by the tree
Where Johnny left it a moment ago.

But the rusty Schwinn bicycle lay on its side
In the grass, like its will had expired.
Why was it not upright, ready to go?
Why, the poor thing was simply two-tired!

Why There are no Snakes in New Zealand

The story is told of a Maori King bold
Who dared cheat the Prince of Siam.
I’ll leave it to you to decide if its true.
But if you're not convinced, at least I am!

This king was annoyed so he filled his bored void
By selling the fauna of his wee land.
He soon grew in fame, none dared speak his name,
He was the richest in all of New Zealand!

But this roll could not last; the fates swooped in fast
With an invoice for arrogant King Frodo!
A prince of yon borders sailed in with his order
For a half dozen snakes and some Dodo.

“The snakes are all gone!” Frodo said with a yawn.
"And we ate the last Dodo last week!”
Thus the king blew him off with a wave and a scoff;
“Look elsewhere for that which you seek!”

But the prince had prepaid! And he screamed out in rage,
“What is that in the cage with the hasp?”
King Frodo’s eyes narrowed, “I won that from Pharaoh,
And that, that’s a two-headed asp!”

“And though its not fair, it is simply too rare,
Now be off or I’ll soon have your head!”
But the prince made this threat, “Dear King you’ll regret!”
Then he left leaving Frodo to dread . . . . . . .

At daylight’s first gleam, you could hear Frodo scream
As he raced to the harbor to spy,
And lo, by the pier was a note on a spear . . .
“Keep my gold! . . . But kiss your asp goodbye!”

Climb

In a far-away land, far out of my reach
Lies a beautiful island, with a wide sandy beach.
And hiding the splendor of the world there within
Are high rampart cliffs with brier on the rim.

It is there, in that world where most dare not go,
That a dear friend resides, with riches aglow.
For the high rocks, to him, are nothing at all.
He lives for the climb while I fear the fall.

His scarred limbs bear witness; he well knows the fall,
But he’d rather die climbing than not live at all!
I envy my dear friend. . . . For his riches? Oh no!
But for the courage to climb where I’ll never dare go.

I stare up from the beach at the brier on the rim.
And search for the greatness to climb after him.
Somewhere in my soul like that rim o’er the beach,
Lies a rough latent courage, just out of my reach.

Irony in the Sky

White chevron squadrons usher in spring
With squawking and honking and flapping of wings.
Their return brings a weekend to revel in fun.
The locals all love it, and hundreds more come!
But the poor migrant snow goose must be sorely perplexed;
Revered on one weekend, then slaughtered the next!

Horsing Around

If I were a horse, what kind would I be?
A raging white stallion so wild and so free,
Leading the herd to new pastures; green,
Sinuous, shiny; a sight to be seen!
Handsome and striking; pawing the air
I’d be the desire of every young mare.

No, not a stallion; a stunning paint war horse
Adorned with bold markings and feathers of course.
Only a brave chief could sit me astride,
Into the battle we’d gallop and ride!
We’d ride at high noon and into the night
Striking fear in the hearts of all who dare fight!

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m not of that sort!
I’ve hardly the passion to kick or to snort.
A poor sorrel plough horse is what I would be
No stranger to rider nor harness; that’s me!
Wearing white socks; the work I’d enjoy.
With a star on my forehead; I'm such a good boy!

Ego-centrifuge

With iphones, itunes, ipods, argh!
Its always I or me.
In this ingrate, self-indulgent world,
I'm glad we have the Wii!

Turn Me Around

This morning I looked in the mirror
And experienced a curious sight.
The old man looking back at me
Had his left hand on his right.

If left is right and right is left,
Why is not up-side down?
I suppose it would be too difficult
To smile when we wanted to frown!??.