When Alice Met Cheshire

When Alice was a little girl,
Back before she became a cat,
Her head was spinning in a whirl,
So she found a rock and she sat.

In the oak tree above her head,
She saw a grin, smiling so broad.
“You are very happy,” she said.
“But yet, something seems kind of odd.

“You have many teeth, shining bright,
But have no body and no face.
Such a nice smile does not look right
With nothing to hold it in place.”

Cheshire grinned more as he appeared,
Growing by one stripe at a time.
An invisible cat is weird,
But it surely is not a crime.

“Now I can see you, pretty cat,
And you look oh-so much better.
I love your stripes, and must say, that
Would make such a lovely sweater.”

“And I see you too, pretty girl,
If indeed that is who you are.
A fine dress and hair with a curl,
As good as you have got so far.”

“I will grow to be a woman,
As the years pass along the way.
There is no need to rush the plan,
To be the lady I’ll be someday.”

“As you wish, if you don't wish more.
Grow, dear child, to be a lady
And you will have many a chore –
No time to lie where it’s shady.

“But I prefer to be a cat,
To nap, doze, sleep and rest all day,
To wake to eat and to get fat,
And to play only when I say.”

“But a girl cannot be a cat –
No more than I could start to fly.”
“Not with an attitude like that –
Not until you’re willing to try.”

“Oh, now, Cat, that is so silly.
Just why should I listen to you?”
“No, don’t listen to me really,
I don’t care what you care to do.”

And with a grin, Cheshire was gone,
Left without a wink or a scrunch.
And Alice awoke on the front lawn
And hurried inside for her lunch.

But she started to think that day
Of the easy life a cat led.
Such foolish thoughts are hard, they say,
To get out once they’re in your head.

So, maybe, if you can believe,
When you pet the cat on your lap,
Alice did figure how to achieve
A life with a lovely catnap.

The Last Poem for My Mother

There is a tree frog perched in our family tree.
He is not there just to watch over you and me.
His life is work, but the sight of him brings me joy.
He stirs up memories of when I was a boy.

Memories are what builds this tree and lets it thrive.
It is the lives we shared, its leaves and branches archive.
As the tree gives this frog his place to feed and spawn,
Our family is still supported when we are gone.

Our lifes nourish the tree and pass its strength forward.
We plant our seed and welcome the next kin aboard.
We convey what we were taught by those before us
And add our own voices to the ancestral chorus.

Even that tree frog and his descendants to come,
‘Though we have scant genetic relation to them,
Are fortunate indeed for all the gifts you gave
To family and friends which in our hearts we save.

At the Farmers’ Market

(tune: The Girl from Ipanema,
Antonio Carlos Jobim (1962))

Small and warm and brown and tasty
With my empanada I go walking
And as I eat
Each bite makes me go aaah

‘Round the booths, stroll like a gawker
At foods so good and oh so tempting
That when I pass
Each booth makes me go oooh

But I must skip by sadly
How can I sample all those treats?
Yes I would break my diet gladly
But each day, when I swallow my pills
They tell me food is why I'm ill

Small and warm and brown and tasty
With my empanada I go walking
And today that’s all I will get –
But yet …

Happy World UFO Day

Grandad, did you ever see an UFO?
Well, now, I guess I must say I do not know.
You mean you never saw a flying saucer.
Does it count if you’re the one to toss’er?
You have not seen strange lights in the sky.
Each night unvisited stars pass by.
I mean spaceships with alien men.
Would that include a Mexican?
The green guys from outer space!!!
I’d notice that face-to-face.
You don't have a wild tale?
I once rode on a whale.
Never beamed aboard?
Too much to afford.
Not even once?
I am no dunce.
No spaceship?
Not a trip.
Good night.
Sleep tight.
Sigh.
Bye.

New Constitutional basis for re-establishing right to abortion

With the recent dismissal of the Constitutional basis for privacy and personal control of one’s body and property derived from the Fourteenth amendment (protecting “persons born or naturalized in the United States” i.e. irrelevant in protecting unborn entities), the proponents of the right to abortion need a new approach. With the decision that fetuses are a matter of controlling interest to the government (prenatal wards of the state, perhaps?), I propose that the Third Amendment now has relevance to this issue.

“No Soldier shall, in time of peace, be quartered in any house without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner prescribed by law.”

The Government (Supreme Court, GOP, whoever) has apparently decided that the fetuses are not in control of the person in whose body they reside. The Supreme Court, etc, are demanding that these unborn non-citizens be involuntarily housed in nonconsensual wombs. Since the Supreme Court has chosen to conscript these “individuals” under Government control, the term “soldier” is not a far stretch to cover the relationship newly established. It is likely that the Third Amendment would also prohibit the Government (federal, state, and local) from compelling the quartering of postal workers, FBI/IRS/CIA agents, or any other governmentally controlled person. And so, the Government-”adopted” unborn wards should be properly prohibited from peacetime involuntary quartering. If the Government wants these fetuses, it must arrange alternate housing without the nonconsenting Owner of the womb. Wartime “baby factory” legislation will be required to be enacted to provide the needed “prescribed by law” condition.

Hooray for Charles Babbage

Today has been two hundred years
Since Babbage proposed his design
For his first machine built from gears
For calculations to streamline.

They did not build one at that time,
Not until nineteen ninety-one;
It would cost too many a dime
And would weigh over fifteen ton.

But from his thoughts and bit of loom,
With punched cards to give instruction,
Came computers to fill a room
And our personal seduction.

Automation does labor save,
As was Babbage’s intention.
But the ease can also enslave
To this versatile invention.

So, thanks to you, Charles Babbage,
And I regret that Rhymezone says
Your name only rhymes with cabbage,
But it made me lazy these days.

I’m A Toad Again

(tune: On the Road Again, by Willie Nelson (1980))

I’m a toad again
That witch turned me into a toad again
My princess left me when my eye wandered
And here I am as a toad again

I’m a toad again
With my life going down the drain
Sitting in a pond, out in the pouring rain,
And here I am as a toad again

I’m a toad again
My bride was the daughter of the witch
Life with her was a strain
So to another I made a switch
And ‘cause of which

I’m a toad again
It just seem that’s my life’s bane
Seeing swarming flies coming at me again
Oh yum, I’m a toad again

Bargaining With A Witch

“I don’t want to be a frog” was my furtive plea.
“The taste of flies and such has no appeal for me;
If not warts, it will most certainly give me acne.
Do you have other choices of what I could be?”

“This is not a McDonalds,” said the angry witch,
“There is no menu for you to choose which is which
And I do not care how much frog skin makes you itch.”
She was getting madder; I could tell by her twitch.

“Well, I guess you are right; I am sorry I asked.
It is for you to select what curse will be cast.
I’d no thought to offend when by your house I passed –
‘Though this mistake is my first, let it be my last.”

“So, you will admit that you did me a great wrong,”
Said the witch, with a stare, so frightful and so strong.
“You trespassed in my woods where you did not belong
And you tortured my ears, singing that awful song.”

“That is what I did, and I readily concede,
That it’s hard to forgive such a dastardly deed.”
So elegantly sorry it was I did plead,
By the tear in her eye, I thought I would be freed.

But some small flaw in her character I did miss -
Perhaps, where her heart should be, she had an abyss.
So that, fair maiden, is why you find me like this.
Do you think you could spare me just one little kiss?

Monster Under My Bed?

When I asked who was under my bed,
“Well, not a monster” was what he said.
Before that reply I had my doubts,
If that indeed was his whereabouts.
But now I knew and I was quite sure –
‘Though not if to fear him less or more.

“If not a monster, then what are you?
And under my bed, what do you do?”
But he did not answer right away,
He needed to think of what to say.
How could he explain his presence there
In a way to calm me, not to scare?

“Oh, I am nothing much, made of fluff,
Dust bunnies, socks, and other lost stuff.
I never come out – I’m too afraid –
I do not like sun, only the shade.
I am no worse than dreams in your sleep
And believe secrets are made to keep.”

It made me think and try to fathom
The life of an underbed phantom.
In his place, quiet and secluded,
He has heard everything you did,
But if to Mom you don’t turn him in,
He won’t tell on you – that’s a win-win.

Dragon in the Garden

There is a dragon in the garden
Carefully pulling up unwanted weeds.
He asks each plant to beg his pardon,
But he needs the space to raise his seeds.
He loves the sight and scent of flowers
To bring forth their beauty to his plot
And will happily work many hours
Where weeds a place in his plan have not.

But this dragon is so kind-hearted,
He could wish no harm to each pulled weed.
So, to the side, a bed he started
With hopes that there they could succeed.
For a weed is still a living thing,
Although uninvited, even despised,
That struggles into its niche each spring
And can carry on unsupervised.

Many think a dragon too is bad
And fear and loathe him at the first sight.
He finds not a welcome to be had
And his new neighbors prepare to fight.
But if they give the dragon a chance
And pause to hear why he really came,
They may learn about his love of dance
And be invited to join his game.

Do not rush to discard the misplaced
If a proper new home can be found.
Do not treat the unplanned with distaste –
Think again and find the work-a-round,
First impressions are often shallow
With too little time to see what’s true.
Like weeds and dragons, please allow
We all have need to be someplace too.

What Do You Get When You Have a Baby?

(tune: I’ll Never Fall in Love Again,
Bacharach & Hal, 1968)

What do you get when you have a baby?
A small one to demand your attention
To do smelly chores which we won’t mention.
Oh, will I ever get to sleep again?
Oh, will I ever get to sleep again?

What do you get when you feed a baby?
You get a few burps and then the throw up
And you wonder if she’ll ever grow up.
Oh, will I ever get to sleep again?
Oh, will I ever get to sleep again?

I’ll tell you what it’s all about
Because I’ve been there, but now I’m out.
Beyond those chores, those chores that tire you.
I will tell you what to aspire to.

What do you get when you have a baby?
You start a life of trials and wonders,
A series of triumphs and blunders.
Although you will get to sleep again,
Life will never be the same again.

No, Life will never be the same again.

Seance with Isaac Singer

Last night I had a small chat
With the late Isaac Singer.
Asked by an aspiring rat,
What advice would you give her?

You do not need to be first,
Nor the idea yours alone.
Your lineage may be the worst –
You could still be an unknown.

But dreams will not get you there –
They do not finish the race.
You need lots of wear and tear
Before you will see first place.

Hard work will not guarantee
That ideas to success grow.
But without, take it from me:
Wishing does not make it sew.

The Lonely Rabbit Peeks Out

They say it’s safe for us rise again
Despite the news of the latest strain.
Bunnies are not known as the bravest,
But now, I think I really crave this.

It’s time to make the baskets and treats,
To hide treasure eggs in fields and streets,
To visit all and yet go unseen --
Leave only a trail of jelly bean.

So, ‘though you do not see me this year,
You will still know that I have been here.
It’ll take me longer to make my rounds –
I think I still need to lose some pounds.

Earlier in the Lonely Rabbit saga:
The Lonely Rabbit - April 2020
The Lonely Rabbit Revisited - April 2021

National Tell A Lie Day

If I tell you I am lying,
Will you believe me on this day?
Is it a half-truth you’re buying
If you choose to trust what I say?

Some think once a year to let us
Get our prefabrications out.
For one day, liars won’t upset us
If they test our power to doubt.

If I were asked what I preferred,
I would rather a day of truth.
All other days, tales may be blurred,
But on that day, all’s true, forsooth!

For, truth be told, it’s very rare
To get through a day without lies.
If your lungs still suck in the air,
You likely have things to disguise.

Perhaps it’s a joke or a bluff
Or something to lighten the blow.
We all are filled with lots of stuff;
Even silence hides what we know.

So you can choose if you believe
What I try to reveal today.
I’ll be back later to deceive,
On gullibility to prey.

The Pony Express

Hooray for the Pony Express,
They say linked the East and the West!
It ran for a year and a half,
‘Til they put up the telegraph.

Pony riders had to be thin –
One twenty-five in their bare skin.
Twenty pounds of mail in a sack,
Twenty for water, gun, and snack.

Ten hours to ride, through night and day,
To the next station on the way.
If the next rider was not there,
Back up astride to do a pair.

Deliver in ten days they claim,
Express was the key to their name.
Drop your letter in St. Joe (MO)
And they’ll read in Sacramento.

Happy 162nd Anniversary of the first Pony Express departures, April 3, 1860

Hippopotamus in Your Pocket

When you have a hippopotamus in your pocket,
You may feel that you can do anything,
If you wish it, well then, who can block it,
With a hippopotamus to do your bidding?

But please consider the feeling of that hippo,
Who trusted you enough to ride along.
You are the responsible one in this duo,
And it’s up to you to tell right from wrong.

So, have a pleasant adventure with your buddy,
And be home again when it is suppertime.
We would like it if you don’t get too muddy,
And please don’t the two of you commit a crime.

Heard It On The Apevine

When you listen to the chimps chatter,
You will hardly believe
All the tales that they weave
And how far this gossip they scatter.

Don’t be away when they talk about you;
Soon tales are all around,
The big talk of the town,
And even you may think they are true.

It may be hard to stop the attacks
If you too tell such tales.
To tell minnows from whales,
Let me suggest, you stick to the facts.

The Skiing Cow

I once did see a skiing cow,
She may still be on the slopes now.
For her size, the lift was too small –
She rode the plow up, gear and all.

Her helmet shone bright in the sun.
She wore her goggles on each run.
Her scarf waved behind in the breeze
As downhill, she slalomed with ease.

Folks stared at the cow in the sky
When off the ski jump she did fly.
‘Though graceful she sailed off the jump,
Often she landed on her rump.

In truth, I never learned to ski,
So you cannot be taught by me.
But there is hope you can learn how,
If someone could have taught that cow.

New Tricks

As we age, we repeat ourselves,
Rereading the books on our shelves,
Watching the shows we saw before,
Wearing clothes we already wore.

There is comfort in the old ways,
The things we know from bygone days.
When we think we have done it all,
That is when into ruts we fall.

Perhaps we need a few new tricks –
Something different, just for kicks.
Is comfort just too overrated?
Are some of our tricks too outdated?

So stretch a bit, take on a dare,
And give yourself a little scare.
You do not need to do it twice,
But just this once, it might be nice.

The Spelling Bee

The smartest bug I ever did see
Was a rare studious spelling bee.
Like others, she spent her daylight hours
Flying out and back to the flowers.
But nights she read the dictionary,
Which seemed, to me, extraordinary.

She danced around to communicate,
A skill I had to learn to translate.
PhD in entomology
And postdoc in etymology
Before I could tell at a glance
The letters embedded in her dance.

You might think she could spell “dog” or “cat”,
But maybe not words like “aristocrat”.
How about “syllabification”?
You heard that in bee conversation?
So vast was her vocabulary,
More, for a bee, than customary.

I asked her if she wanted to tour,
To see colleges, museums, maybe more.
But she would miss her apiary
And she thought that cities were scary.
I cracked the window and out she flew,
Bidding to me “a-d-i-e-u”.

Memories of Baby Care

Goodnight, baby, sleep tonight maybe,
As we slumber too.
But when you wake, the racket you make
Will summon your crew.

Rub-a-dub-dub, baby in a tub,
Splashing with wild glee.
Although you get both soapy and wet,
Not wetter than me.

Now open wide, your food on a ride,
Airplane soaring in.
A direct hit, you ate all of it,
A fine scoring win.

I smell a stink, it’s you, I do think,
Time for a pit stop.
Diaper and wipes, make a few clean swipes,
Set for the next drop.

Time for a nap, in crib, not my lap,
I get some work done.
After your rest, then I like the best,
We can have more fun.

Sweepings Off the Floor

Various songs generally written with someone specific in mind to amuse. Saved here for posterity.

---

Poppy on the Sonogram

(tune: I'm Popeye the Sailorman,
by Samuel Lerner (1935))

Oh, I’m Poppy on the sonogram.
I’m Poppy on the sonogram.
When I get to the finish,
They’ll make me eat spinach.
Can I just stay where I am?

I’m one cutie fetus,
Rated at least “so sweet plus”,
Who’s growing so big in here.
I stretch out and roll ‘bout
And wish I could go out –
Waiting for the “all clear”

If you looks from my nose to toes
During my next doc exam,
You’ll see my great progress
Towards my new address.
I’m Poppy on the sonogram.

Oh, I’m Poppy on the sonogram.
I’m Poppy on the sonogram.
I’m near to the finish –
Okay, I’ll eat my spinach.
Let’s find out who I really am.

---

Off the Road Again

(tune: On the Road Again,
by Willie Nelson (1980))

Off the road again,
I am waiting here off the road again.
A quick swig when I took my eye off of my lane,
And here I am off the road again.

Off the road again,
Goin’ nowhere til I clear my brain,
Seein’ flashing lights coming’ for me again,
And here I am off the road again.

Off the road again,
Like a bunch of chumps, we had too many nips
They’re the best of grains
Distilled spirits sipped before our trips
And our trips

Are off the road again
Just can’t stay on that road again
Seein’ flashing lights coming’ for me again,
And here I am off to jail again.

---

Loan Shark’s Anthem

(tune: 500 Miles,
by Hedi West (1961), sung by Joni Mitchell)

If you miss a payment now,
You will go back on your vow.
You will see the interest grow day by day.
That’s fifty more, That’s fifty more,
That’s fifty more, That’s fifty more,
You will see the interest grow day by day.

Add one day. Add two days. Add three days. Add four days.
Now you owe 500 dollars on your loan.
500 dollars, 500 dollars,
500 dollars, 500 dollars,
Now you owe 500 dollars on your loan.

Not a shirt on your back,
Not a penny to your name,
I think that maybe you’ll never pay
Never pay, Never pay,
Never pay, Never pay,
You know I can’t let you get away.

If you miss a payment now,
You will go back on your vow.
You will see the interest grow day by day.
That’s fifty more, That’s fifty more,
That’s fifty more, That’s fifty more,
You will see the interest grow day by day.

---

2B70: You've Gotta Be You

(tune: I’ve Gotta Be Me,
by Walter Marks (1968), Sung by Sammy Davis, Jr)

Whether you’re young or whether you’re old,
Whether you are telling the troops,
Or the one being told.
You gotta be you, you gotta be you,
Who else can do you better than you?

You lived a life, with both joy and strife,
You built your career and cared
For your children and wife.
You gotta be you, you gotta be you,
Who else can do you better than you?

You reached for the prize, success in your grasp,
You ran a fine race, you’re still on the track.
Much is behind, more before your last gasp.
Let us pause a while, as we reflect back.

You were not alone, ‘tho you forged the path.
We have and still will cheer you on;
You get more with help, you can do the math.
So you should just continue on,
Whatever you do, we are your crew,
But you’ve gotta be you.

---

Winter Freeze

(tune: Summer Breeze,
by Seals & Crofts (1972))

See the lizards droppin’ from the palm trees
In the evening of Florida night
A little cold a-blowin’ in the breeze
Lets us know that’s a weird sight

Winter freeze makes them feel cool
Chillin’ by the jacuzzi at the pool
Winter freeze makes them feel cool
Chillin’ by the jacuzzi at the pool

See the geckos layin’ on the sidewalk
A little ice cube, stiff from tail to jaw.
Leave them alone there on the sidewalk
Until the sun can help them thaw.

Winter freeze makes them feel cool
Chillin’ by the jacuzzi at the pool
Winter freeze makes them feel cool
Chillin’ by the jacuzzi at the pool

---

Habbie for the Bardie - Bonnie Burns Birthday

Habbie for the Bardie

Sona Co-là-breith, Robbie

Ne’er the blackguard I would need be,
O Bardie, for me to be like ye,
Nor seen those things then you did see,
     Far and long ago,
‘Though I wish my dreams were as free
     To put on a show.

I did not dance and prance with lasses,
Nor sow my seed amongst the masses,
Nor spend nights clinking drinking glasses,
     In youth too well spent,
To tell others what an ass is,
     Seen as a belle gent.

So many from you have found pleasure,
Reading through your Scottish treasure.
My grasp sometimes cannot be sure,
     Puzzling through a line.
But blest be your graven leisure –
     You need not read mine.

---

For previously posted purlioned poetic posing:

Gang Aft Agley

Sleeping Dogs

When you watch a dog asleep,
You see his wildest dreams be told.
He fought a bear and made it weep –
There never was a dog more bold.

As leader of his fearsome pack,
He chased all squirrels from his yard
And had them give the birdseed back –
For him, that was not very hard.

In a game of fetch, he can fly
And perform tricks that can’t be true.
But you should let sleeping dogs lie –
Unless they tell fibs about you.

Too Cold to Get Up

Nowhere to go,
No hurry to get there.
Lying in bed,
Wondering if I care.
Some men have plans
Beyond their own lifetime.
For me, perhaps,
For the next line, a rhyme.

After this life,
There will be … who knows what.
Promises are made
I don’t trust in my gut.
One time around
Seems more likely to me.
What you are here
May be all you will be.

If that be so,
Can it satisfy you?
Would it then change
What today you will do?
Too cold today
To add more to your fame.
Maybe Monday,
Immortalize your name.