Children’s Poetry and Other Things
Billy liked his Cheerios.
He liked to put them in neat rows.
His spaghetti, he would loop,
around his fork with lots of goop.
He’d pitch a grape which then would drop
into his mouth and loudly plop.
With mashed potatoes he would play,
moulding shapes like they were clay.
Yes, food, he thought, was just plain fun,
as he juggled one last bun,
and so for Christmas, this dear boy,
asked for Jello — not a toy!
My brother got a mohawk,
and that kid sure looks dumb.
He went and got a haircut,
his first time without Mom.
And so he got a mohawk —
he thought it would be cool,
but now he has his mohawk
and feels just like a fool.
My mom is really angry
cause Bobby looks so dumb.
He knows he’s been a moron,
and so he’s really glum.
Mom says she’ll shave his mohawk,
and you can bet on that,
so Bob will be the bald kid
who always wears a hat.
My dog is sitting in our car,
and I can tell he’s mad.
His tail is sure not wagging
which means he isn’t glad.
I’d thought it would be funny
to play a little joke,
and so I’d hollered “Car, car!”
My sleeping dog awoke.
His tail began a-wagging,
just like I knew it would,
so in the driveway by the car
the two of us soon stood.
I opened up the car door,
and Henry jumped inside,
and then I started laughing
and called him to my side.
But Henry wasn’t budging.
His tail no longer wagged.
“Come here, Boy! We’ll go inside,”
I whined before I nagged.
So now my folks are mad at me
and said that it was bad
to get poor Henry all worked up
then make poor Henry sad.
And so they have decided,
and I’ll admit I cried
cause extra chores I now must do
while Henry gets a ride.
I’m going to be taking a little time off from my blog because, at this point, I don’t want to have any deadlines at all. I’m Type A to the point that I have to post once a week, my commitment to myself, or I won’t be happy because even self-imposed deadlines have the ability to cause me stress.
My life has been increasingly difficult for several months because last summer, I was diagnosed with advance osteoarthritis in both of my hips. I was stunned since I hadn’t been feeling pain in my hips, and still don’t, for the most part. My family doctor suggested that he refer me to a surgeon so I could get on the list for hip replacements as I would be needing them, and it can take a while to even see a surgeon, let alone have the operation.
Within a few weeks of the referral, I was sitting in the surgeon’s office, and he told me that he was putting me on the “urgent” list. Once more, I was stunned. I didn’t feel “urgent” — just awkward. I could have had my operation soon after that, but I told the medical people that I wanted to finish my school semester and have the operation in the spring when I had several months off.
I got through the semester well enough, and I’m happy that I waited, but I have started walking with a cane and climbing the staircase to the second floor is becoming quite a challenge.
I have now been given a surgery date of May 2. I’m thrilled that I’m finally going to have the operation because I do want to get on with it so that I will be doing well by the fall when I’ll return to school. Most of all, I want to be able to walk with ease and climb stairs. Both hips will be done in the same operation, unless the doctor decides to do only one. I’m a healthy type, more or less, so I expect that all will be well and both hips will be done at once.
After the operation, naturally, there will be a number of weeks of unpleasant recovery, but I’m feeling grateful that I’m living at a time when hip replacement surgery is commonplace. I’m also thankful that Canada has the healthcare system it does have and that I don’t have to worry about the cost of any of it. I’m thankful I have a husband who has been helping me as much as he can and will do all that he can to help me after surgery. I’m thankful for the daily phone support of my sister who lives in Vancouver, and I’m thankful for the support system I have from my many good friends.
When I’m through all the “drama of recovery” and I feel up to facing deadlines, I’ll get back to blogging. I hope I’ll be able to write some poetry as I’m recovering, and I’ll doubtless be reading your blogs. I greatly appreciate that you take the time to read The Lonely Meatball which is why I’ve filled you in on what’s been happening in my life and will be happening soon. So, until we meatball again! (I know that’s pathetic, but I couldn’t stop myself.)
Nancy has the meanest dog;
they tell me he broke free,
and that the rotten flea-bag
is hunting now for me.
You see, I am the paper-boy
who tries to do his best,
but it really isn’t my fault
that rotten dog’s obsessed.
I must deliver papers
before the hour of eight,
and when I get to Nancy’s,
I see the dog I hate.
He barks and growls hysterically
the whole time I am there.
His leash is my salvation,
but he gives me quite a scare.
So I quickly throw the paper,
cause I know he wants me dead,
but it really isn’t my fault,
it keeps landing on his head.
This is the first poem I posted on this blog, and since few people have read it, and it is one of my favourite poems, I decided to repost it.
On April 1st, my brother, Fred,
couldn’t believe what I had said.
I’d said that if the wind was right,
even trucks could be in flight.
“Of course,” I said, “it is the truth;
a truck could land right on our roof.
Even cows can fly around.”
Now my brother really frowned.
“It’s April 1st,” he said to me,
“and what you say just cannot be.
Trucks and cows sure cannot fly!
I’m not a fool — I know you lie!”
“I know I’m right,” I said with glee,
“but why not make a bet with me.
A bag of chips will be the pay.”
He shook my hand without delay.
On April 1st, dear Fred did learn
tornados are a real concern.
I knew he’d doubt me on that day,
and that the chips he’d have to pay!
I had a nightmare late last night
that two men stole my dog,
and when I went and looked for him,
all I could see was fog.
The fog was just so thick and dense
that nothing could I see.
Then round my legs I felt a rope,
so now I wasn’t free.
The men that stole my dearest friend
soon had me all tied up.
I pleaded with them, “Let me go,
and give me back my pup!”
They laughed at me and disappeared,
and cause I was so bound,
I really could not move at all,
nor could I look around.
My heart was racing in that dream,
and it was filled with pain.
Then suddenly — I woke right up
though foggy was my brain.
I felt relief in great big waves,
but still, I was all bound
cause sleeping right on top of me
was Jack, my crazy hound!
My grandma’s coming Sunday,
and I can hardly wait.
I love my grandma lots and lots,
and she sure thinks I’m great.
She loves to give me special treats!
Her cookies are the best!
She’s taught me how to say the grace,
and so our meals are blessed.
She reads to me and never says
she doesn’t have the time.
I get my books that I want read
and on her lap I climb.
Hide and Seek’s our favorite game,
and I know how to hide,
and grandma only finds me,
once she’s tried and tried.
But if I’m tried and grumpy
or acting kind of dumb,
I’ve noticed that’s when Grandma
always goes and gets my mom.
I have a cowlick in my hair
that drives me quite insane.
Those strands of hair will not lie down;
it’s hair you cannot train.
Yet Tuesday morning when I woke,
I had a different thought —
I’d make those hairs behave for once,
no matter how they fought.
I combed and brushed and combed some more,
but still they would not lie,
and so I got my brother’s gel —
it sure was worth a try!
I took a great big glob of gel
and slapped it on that hair,
so when the cowlick popped back up,
all I could do was stare!
Five bobby pins would not keep down
those nasty, stubborn strands,
and neither would, you won’t believe,
my sister’s three hairbands.
I now agree I lost my cool!
In fact, I went too far!
I used a tube of Superglu
before I used the tar.
Despite all that, those hairs soon poked
out from that tar so black,
yet I would not admit defeat,
and made one last attack.
“You’ll stand no longer, stupid hair!”
I ranted and I raved,
but now I’m truly sorry ’bout
the bald spot that I shaved.
“The Cowlick” was originally published in my poetry book, The New Toe: Poems To Tickle Your Funnybone”, in 2001.
I really know that I’m in love,
even though I’m eight,
cause when I see her smile and laugh,
the whole world sure feels great.
She’s at school every day,
and every day we talk,
and at recess, I don’t play —
with her, I’d sooner walk.
Someday when I’m old enough,
I’ll marry her, I know,
cause I can tell she loves me too —
her smile sure tells me so.
And until then, I’ll study hard,
so my goals I’ll reach,
cause Mrs. Stewart, my true love,
sure knows how to teach!
The Lonely Meatball 