Sorry

Sorry

Sorry ’bout the homework.
Sorry ’bout the room.
Sorry ’bout the mix up
With the chimney and the broom.

Sorry ’bout the hamster.
Sorry ’bout the bug.
Sorry ’bout the purple stain
In the middle of the rug.

Sorry ’bout the superglue.
Sorry ’bout the report card.
Sorry ’bout the neighbor’s cat
I buried in the yard.

Mom, I really am so sorry
For not behavin’ like I should.
And if you please just give me one more chance
I promise I’ll be good.

Oh yeah…sorry ’bout the china.
 

From Poem Man

 
 

The Truck Drivin’ Poet

The Truck Drivin' Poet

I once knew an old truck driver
Who’d been drivin’ a rig all his life.
And he never knew a single worry.
Nor was he ever bothered with strife.

His life was oh so relaxin’.
As for stress, he just didn’t know it.
He had not a care in the world,
For he was a truck drivin’ poet.

When traffic was backed up for miles
And he was in a rush to get through,
Instead of getting all upset,
Here’s all he would ever do:

Into his citizens band radio mike
He’d recite a verse or two
Of Blake, Shelley, cummings, or Whitman.
To him any old poet would do.

Cuz it’s poetry that kept him so happy,
And kept his life completely carefree.
It’s poetry that taught him ’bout livin’,
And that life’s what he makes it to be.

But when he recited the oldies
The other truckers would always complain.
Cuz to them those old poets were so boring.
They made staying awake such a strain.

The truckers wanted poems with attitude—
Poems that would make them tap their toes.
They didn’t want to be bored and befuddled
By such pitilessly pretentious prose.

The Truck Drivin’ Poet wasn’t offended.
It happened to him all the time.
So he stopped recitin’ Ferlingetti
And started recitin’ poets who rhymed.

He recited poems that had rhythm,
And poems with discernible beats.
And soon the truckers were much happier
Than they had been while listening to Keats.

Now Keats, himself, had some rhythm
(And the truckers did give him a try).
But for them he was way too Romantic
And his poems just a little too dry.

What those truckers wanted to hear
Were poems with a lively, snappy tone.
Shel Silverstein pleased them the most.
Second were the Authors Unknown.

And what they wanted he’d sure try to give ’em.
Cuz all he ever wanted to do
Was to make them truck drivers happy
So they’d know not a worry, too.

For he knew truck drivin’ wasn’t easy—
It’s tough drivin’ a rig every day.
And that’s why he recited them poetry—
To help drive their troubles away.

 
From Poem Man

My Friend, My Advisor

My Friend, My Advisor

You’re always giving me advice,
You must think that I’m really dumb.
Cuz you advise me on just about everything,
From books to bubble gum.

You know, I’m really not so clueless.
My head is not filled with just air.
Please stop telling me how to dress,
And how I should wear my hair.

To prove your point you’re willing to fight
About anything—even Parchezee!
You ALWAYS act as if you are ALWAYS right. . .
You know, it makes me rather queasy.

So please stop acting like my advisor,
And like you always know best.
And please just shut your mouth, that’s all,
So my ears can get some rest.

Well, you’ll be my advisor until the end,
In my mind there is no doubt.
Still, I do want to keep you as a friend,
It’s just your advice I can do without.

From Poem Man

 
 


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Me

Me

I like bubble gum.
I like bats.
I like baseballs
And cowboy hats.

I like mudcakes.
I like moles.
I like mountain bikes
And deep, dark holes.

I like tinker toys.
I like tag.
I like tadpoles
And greasy, dirty rags.

I like football.
I like fightin’.
I like fishin’,
Especially when they’re bitin’.

I like snakes.
And my backyard squirrel.
But it’s me I like the best
Cuz I am a girl!

 
From Poem Man

Onomatopoeia Flu

Blah!

A sniffle a snort
A wheeze and a sneeze
A belch a burp and a moan.

A slurp a sigh
A hiss and a buzz
A babble a wow and a groan.

An utter a sputter
A mumble and a grumble
A barf a spit and a spew.

A cough a hack
A hum and a yawn
A sheesh then finally…a whew!

There are flues that can make smoke float up,
And there are flues that can make folks lie down.
But the Onomatopoeia Flu is the only flu
That can make you make really weird sounds.

 
From Poem Man

 
 

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Listen To The Colors

Listen To The Colors

Listen to the colors
For they have so much to say.
You’ll be surprised at what you hear
If you don’t let your fears get in the way.

Listening to the colors
Takes more than just your ears.
You must listen with all your senses,
For colors are hard to hear.

Listen closely to all the colors,
For each message from them is new.
What the colors say to me
They might not say to you.

Best listen to every color,
All the purples, pinks, and greens.
For the colors are all our tomorrows:
They’ll be painting every scene.

Please listen to the colors.
And listen closely every day.
For if we aren’t listening to their message
They might just go away.

 
From Poem Man

 

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Wiffle Bats

Wiffle Bats

Wiffle bats, baseball hats,
Touch football,

Flowers in the spring,
Leaves in the fall,

Climbing up the neighbor’s tree,
Swimming in the lake,

A mug of hot chocolate,
A barbecued steak,

Catching frogs and fireflies,
Angels in the snow,

Nighttime crickets chirping,
Thunderclouds so low,

Whistling with my fingers,
Chewing on some grass,

The seasons as they come,
And the seasons as they pass.

Wiffle bats, baseball hats,
Touch football,

I love so many things in life,
I couldn’t name them all.
 

From Poem Man

Pray

Pray

Pray, the poem

This was originally written for Poem Man
However, the editorial staff made the determination that it juuuust wasn’t the right fit.

Perhaps it’s a better fit for this eve of the hallowed and haunted…

And yes, I am already in my costume

Boo!

Let’s Pretend

Let's Pretend

Let’s pretend
That the world is new
And all decisions to make
Are up to you.
You can make your world
How you want it to be.
Where will you begin?
I can’t wait to see.

The world is yours. What will you do?

Let’s pretend
That math is zoo.
And monkey = 1
And tiger = 2.
Giraffe = 3
And llama = 4.
Subtract lion from bear
And you’ll get zebras galore.

What’s your answer for leopard + π

Let’s pretend
That ground is sky,
And we no longer walk–
All we do is fly.
Better keep your head down–
Looking up might hurt.
Cuz when it rains
It’s raining dirt.

If ground is sky, then what is Neptune?

Let’s pretend
That the man on the moon,
Was not a guy named Neil
But a gal named Soon.
She went to the moon
To prove her brothers wrong:
They said the moon is just for men
And that women don’t belong!

If you were Soon, would you make a stand?

Let’s pretend for real
That peace is at hand,
And that the Golden Rule
Is the rule throughout the land.
If we all pretend
Then the angels might sing.
If the whole world pretends
Is it still pretending?
 
From Poem Man

Holdin’ Toes

Holdin' Toes

Holdin’ hands is supposed to be special,
But really, anyone can do it.
Just grab a hand and don’t let go,
That’s all there really is to it.

But my way of holdin’ is a little bit different.
In fact, I’m sure no one else even knows…
Just take off your shoes, and then your socks,
Cuz my way is holdin’ toes.

 

From Poem Man

 
 

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My Town

All my life I’ve lived in a town
Where stop means go
And up means down,

Where happy means sad
And black means white,
Where good means bad
And wrong means right,

Where night means day
And yes means no,
Where work means play
And fast means slow,

Where yesterday means tomorrow
And midnight means noon,
Where give means borrow
And later means soon,

Where lost means found
And water means ice,
Where square means round
And mean means nice.

So, if you ever visit
You’d better learn our ways,
Cuz if you ever try to leave
It means you’ll have to stay.

My Town

From Poem Man

 
 

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Politeness

Politeness

I’m told to be polite to my teacher.
And of course, to my principal, as well.
If I’m smart I’ll be polite to the policeman,
Or he just might put me in jail.

I ought to be polite to the doctor,
Cuz she’s gonna cure my flu.
And I better be polite to the lawyer,
In case I ever get sued.

The rule, I’m told, is to be polite
To all the grownups I see.
But my own rule is I’ll be as polite
As the grownups are to me.

 
From Poem Man
 
 

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The Tickle Café

The Tickle Cafe

There’s a café on the corner,
And it’s a most unusual place.
For the café’s only business
Is to put a smile upon your face.

This café is the place to go
If you’re feeling rather sad.
The waiters there don’t wait at all…
Their job is to make you glad.

So when you’re feeling grouchy,
Or sad, or even just fickle,
Just go to the café on the corner
And have yourself a tickle.

 
 

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