It’s So Loathsome I Wonder Why

(tune: I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry,
Hank Williams,Sr or Paul Gilley (1949))

See that nightly news report,
Enough to make you cry.
The news from all around the world –
It’s so loathsome I wonder why.

Each night it is more of the same,
It more than makes you sigh.
Crime and war, even politics –
It’s so loathsome I wonder why.

Will we ever see a world of peace,
Love for the other guy?
Will maniacs and madmen leave?
It’s so loathsome I wonder why.

The good of man is hard to see
When evil blinds your eye.
It takes so few to spoil all –
It’s so loathsome I wonder why.

REPLY:

What’s The News?

(tune: Close To You,
Bacharach & David (1963))

Why do moths fatally appear
Every time flames are near?
Like we do, they need to know,
What’s the news?

Why do we turn in day and nights
To see all the awful sights?
Like we do, we need to know,
What’s the news?

From the day that we were born
The world is filled with unknowns
And who knows what troubles will come along
So, we stay alert and feed our fears of old
And hope to avoid all that’s wrong

That is why ‘though it makes us frown
It’s bad news that abounds.
Like we do, we need to know,
What’s the news?

Talk Like A Pirate, Me Fair Laddie

(tune: The Rain in Spain (My Fair Lady),
Loewe and Lerner (1958))

(Cabinboy)
Jest some da rum, sez Mum ‘cos he’s a bum

(Cap’n (to Mate))
Yarrh, Ah think he’s hold o’ it
Yarrh, Ah think he’s hold o’ it
(Cap’n to Cabinboy)
Now, wha’s, ye scum, ta give da bum?

(Cabinboy)
Ah gives ‘em rum! Ah gives ‘em rum!

(Cap’n)
And how much of dat rum?

(Cabinboy)
Jest some! Jest some!

(Cabinboy, Cap’n, Mate)
Jest some da rum, sez Mum ‘cos he’s a bum!
Jest some da rum, sez Mum ‘cos he’s a bum!

(Mate)
Fer bilgerat, brig’dier, and ‘lubber …?

(Cabinboy)
Walk da plank and feed da fishes!

(Cap’n)
Now, wha’s, ye scum, to give da bum?

(Cabinboy)
Ah gives ‘em rum! Ah gives ‘em rum!

(Cap’n)
And why’s ye jest give some?

(Cabinboy)
Sez Mum! Sez Mum!

(Cabinboy, Cap’n, Mate)
Jest some da rum, sez Mum ‘cos he’s a bum!
Jest some da rum, sez Mum ‘cos he’s a bum!

Maple’s Tail

I am just a little wolf
In labradoodle clothing.
You may think I am a goof
When, asleep, I go roving.

But I have the wild instinct,
At least so in my deep dream,
To hunt and prowl my precinct
To maintain my self-esteem.

So I will do tricks for you
And you may feed me your snack.
But don’t think that’s all I’ll do
When I run wild with my pack.

Creature Verses Frankenstein

(tune: You Made Me Love You,
Monaco & McCarthy (1913))

You made me, Victor.
Then you wanted to do it
Later did you rue it
You made me ugly
A monster and you knew it
I guess you always knew it

You made me like this one night
Next day you left me alone
I knew noone and nothing
You left me on my own

You made me sigh ‘cause
I couldn’t even tell you
Everything’s so brand-new
I want some love, that’s true,
Yes, I do, indeed I do, but where are you?

Give me, give me, give me what I cry for
You know if you don’t there are people who’ll die for
You know you owe me, you do.

You made me cry more
So much I might kill you
Or taunt, haunt, and chill you
I wanted some love, that’s true.
No, said you, so said you, so now we’re through

Give you, give you, give you so much to cry for
You know I said people were going to die for
You know you made me hate you

Ballad of the Neighorhood Watch

You'll Pay the Fine

(tune: I Walk the Line,
Johnny Cash (1957))

I keep a close watch on this neighborhood
I make sure everyone does what they should
I expect our visitors will be good
But do the crime, you’ll pay the fine

I find it very, very easy to watch you
I’m alert to spot whatever you do
All will be okay if you just pass through
But do the crime, you’ll pay the fine

As soon as daylight turns into dark night
I patrol the streets with my big flashlight
I’ll go home happy if all is right
But do the crime, you’ll pay the fine

You find no place from me where you can hide
Because I have a whole posse on my side
We like it if to the rules you abide
But do the crime, you’ll pay the fine

I keep a close watch on this neighborhood
I make sure everyone does what they should
I expect all my neighbors will be good
But do the crime, you’ll pay the fine

---

Jogger on Our Street

(tune: (Ghost) Riders In The Sky,
Stan Jones, (1948))

A young jogger went runnin’ out one cold and rainy day
Upon his heels he rested as he went along his way
When all at once a mighty swarm of sharp-eyed guards he saw
Starin’ through their windows there with bile risin’ in their craw

Their stares were hot as fire and their glares were made of steel
Their phones were at the ready and suspicion he could feel
A bolt of fear ran through him as his safety he did doubt
For from their home, out stuck their heads and they began to shout

Hippie-move-along, Hippie-move-away
Strange jogger on our street

Their faces stern, their eyes were tight, and their stances a clear threat;
He’s working hard to catch his breath, but now he’d better get
‘Cause they’ve got to defend their homes, ‘though courtesy they flout,
They’ve got to keep any strangers movin’ through their route.

With the neighbors staring at him, one calls him a bad name
“If you wanna save your butt from jail, trespassing’s not a game.
So, jogger, change your route today, find another way to run
‘Cause if you come this way again, we guarantee you no fun.”

Hippie-move-along, Hippie-move-away
Strange jogger on our street
Strange jogger on our street
Strange jogger on our street

Your Pet Porcupine

When you have a pet porcupine,
You should pat with the greatest care.
There are sharp quills all down its spine
Where most other pets have soft hair.

You should choose too not to snuggle
Or to hug your friend very tight.
Playful wrestling is a struggle
Learning how to hold it just right.

It does not mean you cannot love
Such a prickly little buddy.
Be smart and get a good thick glove
So your hands do not get bloody.

You can with love give it a snack
And perhaps share your toys and balls.
Remember to stay a bit back
And remove the quills from your dolls.

The Light in the Tunnel

The light at the end of the tunnel may be good,
But maybe not so much the one in the middle.
Near the exit the light will be placed where it should,
But the one where it should not be is a riddle.

That is not to say all riddles are bad for you,
Nor that you can avoid all of your life’s tunnels.
You will sometimes need a tunnel to get you through,
Although they will limit your options like funnels.

That unexpected light may be another path
Or somebody coming the opposite way through.
It is best to be ready to redo your math
And change your course when it is what the clues tell you.

But remain thankful for whatever light there be
When you must travel where the darkness is the rule.
Seeing may not be knowing what it is you see,
But shutting your eyes is the practice of a fool.

Little Bear Got Lost

Little Bear woke from her nap
And went for a walk one day.
Noone asked where she would go,
So she simply did not say.

She wandered out the cave mouth
And then out of her front yard.
Someone should have stopped her then,
But nobody was on guard.

There was a scent in the breeze
Which she had not smelled before.
She had to know what it was
And so she went to explore.

She thought it came from the woods,
Somewhere amongst the tall trees.
The scent grew so very strong
That it almost made her sneeze.

Through the whole forest she went
And all the way down the hill.
She had never gone so far
And it gave her a big thrill.

She saw a strange kind of home
Made out of both stone and wood.
That was where the scent came from
And it smelled awfully good.

And through the hole in the wall,
She saw what she was smelling.
Three plates of pies sat out there
On the table in the dwelling.

One plate’s pie had cooled too much,
The big one had a huge bite,
But the small pie sitting there,
Well, it smelled really just right.

Little Bear climbed through the hole
To examine them up close.
‘Though it’s true, she ate all three,
She liked the little one most.

But it had been a long walk –
So tired after her snack –
She looked around for a while
And found three beds in the back.

One was way too tall to climb,
Another not much shorter.
The last was a bit small, but
Strong enough to support her.

And that is where they found her
When the Goldbergs came back home.
The girl wanted to keep her
And to share her brush and comb.

So Little Bear didn’t return
To her lost home in the wild.
Now she wears dresses and bows –
Whatever to please the child.

At last Bear’s parents gave up
And didn’t worry where she went.
And she does get pie each day
And so loves its taste and scent.

So be warned if you wander;
Take care following your nose.
If you eat too many pies,
You may outgrow your doll clothes.

Rose is a Four-letter Word

Rose is a four-letter word,
Risky message may be borne.
What by the receiver heard –
Be its flower or its thorn?

Is any language so pure
The hearer hears what is said?
How can the speaker be sure
What enters the hearer’s head?

Some listen for the right words
And others judge by the deed,
A gift, a walk to see birds,
Or it’s a big hug they need.

Even when you get it right
You may be off the next time.
Better to forgive than fight –
Love may have no perfect rhyme.

Hear the try and not the fail
When the other person speaks.
Hope the same when next you flail
To say the truth your heart seeks.

Whales’ Tales

If you ride a whale today,
I suggest you hold on tight.
Best grip is the tail, they say,
But it still is quite a fight.

Some, I hear, prefer the spout
Way up on the giant’s back.
Be careful when he breathes out
Or you will smell his last snack.

Mighty fins are on the side
And mostly underwater.
Off is so easy to slide,
I do not think you oughta.

Safest is in the belly
If you do not mind the view.
It is also quite smelly –
It may not appeal to you.

Or you might stay on the boat
And not lean over so far.
Let’s obey the safety note –
And all get back to the car.

Goodbye, Mom

I probably should write a poem
To get out of my funk.
Lines with less to whom to show’em –
My readership has shrunk.

She did not take my wits with her
And my love is still here.
She would not want me to wither –
She’d rather that I cheer.

She knew nothing last forever
And tried to teach me so.
Mere death does not our bonds sever –
It was her time to go.

And what she left within myself,
A living part of her,
Is not a trinket for my shelf,
But thoughts of who we were.

So, I must say goodbye and thanks
For all you gave to me.
I’ll think of you in rhyming pranks
And imagine your glee.

Miles’ Pet Octopus

Mommy? Daddy? May I have an octopus?
He could have the tub when he moved in with us.
When it was time for my bath, he could stay there,
And scrub my back and toes, and shampoo my hair.

What is more useful than a pet octopus?
Helping around the house, he is a big plus.
When I clean my room, he can give me a hand –
Really eight – he is like a whole cleaning band.

Please, please, please, may I have a pet octopus?
I will look after him – he would not be a fuss.
Check his water every day; bring his meal;
Walk him if he wants a walk – is it a deal?

No, I may not yet have a pet octopus.
Well, maybe … What about a pet platypus?

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