SYMBIOSIS

or

DOWN BY THE HOLLOW

Down by the hollow, in the morsey, gorsey bog,

Lay a big round, green and brown, friendly freckled Frog,

There he lay, night and day,

In his bumpy, lumpy way,

And he’d jibber and he’d jabber to a lone, laconic Log. 

“Garumph!” he would groat, from his pollywoggy throat,

While the Log would just float like a bibble-bobble boat,

Be it sunny, be it shady,

Never ever answer made he,

But would wallow in the hollow of the shallow undergrowth.

Now, that Frog, he understood that the Log was made of wood,

And that all his rattle prattle might not do him any good,

But it didn’t seem to matter,

For the Frog so loved to chatter,

That he cared not if the other understood, or even could. 

While quite opposite, the Log, who lay soaking in the sog,

Loved to listen listen listen to the prattle of the Frog,

So, in symbiotic way,

They each shared a perfect day;

One kept talking, one kept listening, both kept happy in the bog.

 

 

WHAT’S IN A NAME ?

Barnaby Barnaby hated his name,

For the first and the last were exactly the same,

And in the middle was stuck a big “B”,

Which stood for, (you guessed it), one more "Barnaby"!

His father was Arthur, his mother was Nell -

But neither two parents could spell very well,

So when their first child came, they gave their surname

As first, middle and last … yes, each one the same.

It wouldn’t have mattered if there’d been no others,

But after him came 23 baby brothers

And all of them also were named, just as he,

Yes, two dozen brothers, all named Barnaby.

It was “Barnaby!” this, and “Oh, Barnaby!” that,

And nobody knew who was called or for what,

So when nobody answered, and nobody came,

ALL would get punished … but which was to blame?

Finally all twenty four went insane,

From the simple abuse of a singular name!

The doctor, in treating them though, was quite clever,

He’d call them by number, by “Barnaby” never,

And in the end they recovered quite well,

But see what can happen when people can’t spell?

(So, what’s in a name?
If you ask Barnaby

I’m sure he would say
“Quite a lot, actually!”)

 

OODLES OF NOODLES

“Don’t dawdle!” said a Doodlebug

To her big brood of Doodles,

“Come eat your supper while it’s hot,

I’ve made your favorite – noodles!”

But all the Baby Doodlebugs

Cried “Feed them to the poodle!

We’d rather have some cake or pie,

We’re sick of noodle foodle!”

“Well, well …” said Daddy Doodlebug,

Winking at Mommy Doodle,

“Instead of food that makes them ugh,

Why not make Noodle Strudel?”

“Hurray!” cried all the baby bugs!

“Make some, and we’ll eat oodles!”

Now some days Mommy Doodlebug

Makes different noodle soups,

Or ties the noodles into knots

And calls them “Noodle Loops”.

They never know, from meal to meal,

What mom’ll name her noodles,

So when they all sit down to sup,

They’re always in good moodles.

(And all because their mom and dad

Learned how to use their noodles!)

Here are TWO little rhymes that were published in the Wall Street Journal's column Pepper ... and Salt.

The first (That's Telling 'Em! January 20, 1987) displays my particular brand of ... outspokenness(?) ... AND, Steve Allen read this on his WNYC radio program.

The second (Market Malaise November, 1985) was not only published in America, but OMG!!! Imagine our surprise when my late husband and I were in London and he happened to pick up the WSJ - Europe edition, and there to our wondering eyes was my Market Malaise! ;)

That's Telling 'Em!

To the Editor:
I'm writing this letter,
Quite frankly, to say
I abhorred the column
You wrote yesterday!
It was weak and insipid
And words synonymous,
In short, it lacked courage!
                Yours truly,
                Anonymous


Market Malaise

I sell my stocks,
When I should buy,
I just don't have the knack!
Too bad they don't
Give refunds, I
Would take my money back -
(Then after careful
Survey of
The Market for a spell,
I'd probably
Reverse the trend,
And buy when I should sell.)










 

Don’t Ask An Elephant Out To Lunch

Don’t ask an elephant out to lunch,

It will not daintily sip or munch,

Nor will it fit on a dining chair,

But spill all over it, everywhere,

And plunk its trunk across the table

Lean on its elbow, whenever it’s able,

And when it eats, will act like a beast

All sloppy and drippy, to say the least,

Will spill its greens all over the floor,

Or slurp down soda, and bellow for more,

Then wipe its mouth on the drapes nearby,

Or a lady’s dress,

Or gentleman’s tie,

And at the end of the meal, then he

Will burp, and never say “Pardon me!” –

And when the waiter comes with the bill,

Will pretend to mop an invisible spill,

Or will read a book,

Or will check its shirt

For an eensy teensy spot of dessert,

And you’ll have to pay for the whole darned meal,

From soup to nuts, and you’ll really feel

That you should have listened to my advice,

‘Cause lunch with an elephant

Isn’t

Nice!





 

CAT

A cat, unshy,
Will wander by,
Eyeing with curiosity,
The abject, bending,
Condescending
Object it perceives as me.
I bow and scrape,
From knee to nape,
Hoping to win its amity,
But though I try
To win him, I
Know he still thinks
The
worst
of
me.

The only thing wrong
With a kitten is that
Eventually,
It becomes a CAT.

Purr Verse

Give me a mole or a moose or a mouse,
Make it quite small, or as big as a house,
Buy me a bear or a mean old black bat,
But I beg you please, do not give me a cat!

Mail me a whale or a wart hog or worm,
Something that crawls or that creeps or can squirm,
Pass me a buck! Send a hare out of place,
Or do a bad tern, but a cat I can't face!

A snake I can take, (though I quake at the thought),
Or a skunk or a hunk of some "gross" thing you've caught,
An eel or an owl or a newt or a gnat,
Or some fleas, if you please, just don't send me a cat!

However, there's one thing that I dislike more
And that is a Rat! Oh, a rat I'd abhor!
If I found just one little rat in my flat,
I know what I'd do -
I'd go get me a cat!

SERMON ON THE MOUTH

 

My ear is a garden I oft must weed out,
Lest all sorts of bract and wort blossom and sprout,
Purple-hued prose cultivates moss among us,
Encouraging lobes and canals to grow fungus.
It spreads creeping roots that encircle the brain,
Squeezing out any good thoughts that remain...
So please, when you're speaking, try not to be coarse,
You'll just generate spiny thistles and gorse.
Prune out your lingo, use less fertilizer,
When seeding my ears with your muck, be a miser.
Vile language won't prove you're more ripe and mature
And you might attract maggots with all that manure.

A Way of Seeing

 To see beyond the Midnights,
To make a feast of Time,
To view life not as Sentence
But Journey,
And to climb
The Mountains of Perception,
To look beyond the Sea
Of Griefs
And come to know:

Life
Is Possibility.

I had to remove MALL MICE because it may be published as a Kindle book.

I will let you know if that happens. :)

 

Common Sense

 

Katydids

As a rule won't

Do the things

Katydids don't,

But a rooster,

Right on cue,

Will always cock-a-doodle do!

The Gypsy Moon

 

The Gypsy Moon, who begs her Light,

Knows all about the Haunts of Night,

Beggared by her paupery,

She steals the Sun's gold solvency

Pawns it for a silvered mien

And thus pretends a Regent's reign.

 

But Sirius, who claims this right,

Who knows the Moon belongs to Night,

Will not be stilled ... he whispers "Thief!" -

She turns, in shame, to hide her grief.

 

 

 

I Meant To Bring Flowers ...

I meant to bring flowers,

I meant to each day,

I meant to in Springtime

When I passed your way,

I meant to in Summer

There were such a lot,

I meant to in Autumn,

But then ... I forgot.

And now it is Winter,

The fields are in snow

And nowhere and nowhere

A flower to grow.

The bud and the blossom

Have all blown away,

I waited too long

To bring flowers today.

DECISIONS! DECISIONS!

Eeny, meeny,
Miney, mo...
Should I write
In rhyme, or no?
Should I pen
Poems dark and deep,
Using words like
(bleep) <bleep> (bleep)?
Should I write
Like old time bards
That one finds
On greeting cards?
Or should I
Be sonnet-sweet
And sweep lovers
Off their feet?
Should I em-
ulate Ginsberg
And "howl" words
One should expurg-
Ate from the
Vocabulary?
Should I feel
It necessary
To be Bly
Or Ferlinghetti...
And write odes
On, say...spaghetti?
should i use
no caps in summings
up of words
like e.e.cummings?
It's so hard
To choose which way
I should write
My poem today,
But on looking
Back, my friend,
I am done!
(Thank God!)

THE END!

 

SPACE FOR RENT!

King Otto, the Naught

King Otto, the Naught,
Never does what he aught,
And he aughtn't do the things he does,
But the nuttiest thing
About this naught-y King
Is that Otto the Naught
Never was,
Never was,
No, Otto, the Naught,
Never was!