Babysitting Ted

Last night I went to babysit

a little boy named Ted,

and everything went really well

‘til I said, “Time for bed.”

Ted looked at me and shouted, “No!”

and then ran from the room.

I called his name, got no response —

my mood, now one of gloom.

To the kitchen I then went

and there stood little Ted,

holding up a dozen eggs

high above his head!

“Come on, Ted, give me the eggs.”

He lowered them right then,

and from the carton, took an egg

and clucked just like a hen.

He said, “I’m going to throw these eggs

unless I get to play.

There’s no way that I’m going to bed,

so now what do you say?”

What would you say had you been me?

I’d never felt so cross!

All I knew is that I must

continue to be boss.

“I give up, Ted. I’m going home.

Just tell your folks — I quit!”

You should have seen his little face

as I put on my mitt.

He started crying really hard —

t’was music to my ears!

He put the carton in the fridge;

and couldn’t control his tears.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’ll go to bed.

Don’t leave me all alone.”

I looked at him a long, long time —

he gave a little moan.

“Okay,” I said, “but not a peep,

so off you go to bed.”

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll go to sleep”,

and to his room did head.

Thinking Ted would throw those eggs

was honestly quite tough,

and I’m just grateful Ted’s so young

he couldn’t detect my bluff!


My sister’s learning how to cook;

Mom makes us eat each meal,

and cause Meg needs “encouragement”,

we can’t say what we feel.

Dinner used to be a time

when I’d relax and eat,

because my mom’s the greatest cook,

so each meal was a treat.

My sister’s meals are not like Mom’s,

despite the fact she tries.

She always makes a huge mistake,

and then she screams and cries.

“It’s fine,” Mom says. “It still tastes good”,

but that is not the truth.

Yes, just last week, when Meg made buns,

one nearly cracked my tooth!

I’m really tired of choking down

her latest recipe,

and if Meg doesn’t soon improve,

then I’ll need therapy.

Yet her bad meals, I realize,

should give me some relief,

cause I will need “encouragement” —

yes, that is my belief.

Tomorrow is a special day;

reports cards we will see,

so Mom must say, “It’s still quite good”,

when looking at each “D”!

Artistic Pursuits

Kenny was a drummer

and he was only four;

that’s why when once you heard him,

you hoped to hear no more.

He had no sense of rhythm,

but thought he sounded good,

and so he played as loudly

as his drum set could.

He crashed and banged each hour,

so happy in his youth,

and cause his mother loved him,

she couldn’t tell him the truth.

He really sounded dreadful,

and she was driven mad,

but thought of a solution

with help from Kenny’s dad.

They bought their boy an easel,

some paper and some paint,

and Kenny took to painting

with simply no complaint.

His drum set was forgotten

and soon it disappeared;

cause while he painted madly,

of drums his memory cleared.

His pictures sure have color

and have a certain style,

and though he is no artist,

they make his parents smile.

These parents learned a lesson,

and what, indeed, they found

is though paint sure is messy,

loud colours have no sound.

Cleaning My Room

The reason that I’m mad today

is cause my mom won’t let me play

until my room is neat and clean.

That’s why I think my mom is mean.

And so I’m standing by my bed;

my piles of junk fill me with dread.

What to do with all this stuff

makes my decisions really tough.

What should stay and what should go?

That’s the problem — I don’t know!

You see, I simply don’t have space

for all the things to have a place.

Two hours later, you can see

my room is tidy as can be.

Cleaning’s hard and time sure drags.

What really helps is lots of bags.

Mom’s been shopping all the while

I’ve cleaned my room and now can smile.

I couldn’t decide what I should trash

so took those bags and hid my stash.

It’s down beneath the basement stairs,

far from all parental glares,

hidden in the crawl space gloom.

Now I can play — I’ve cleaned my room!

Next Christmas

We’re taking down our Christmas tree

cause holidays are done.

Tomorrow is a school day

which means I won’t have fun.

I won’t be watching Christmas shows.

I won’t be sleeping late.

I won’t be eating candy canes.

My days won’t feel that great.

I hope the time won’t be too long.

I hope the months go fast,

so Christmas will be “coming soon”

and not be in the past.

But, for now, I’ll sit right down,

and tears I will resist,

and, for Santa, what I’ll do

is start my next year’s list.

New Year’s Resolutions

My New Year’s Resolutions,

are right here on this list,

and judging by the number,

there’s nothing that I’ve missed.

I’ve said I’ll walk the dog each day

and pick up all his poo.

I’ve vowed I’ll get my homework done

and even study too.

I’ve promised I’ll no longer tease

my little brother, Jake.

I’ve stated I will shovel snow

and grass and leaves, I’ll rake.

I’ve said I’ll make my bed each day

and keep my bedroom neat,

and with that final promise,

my list is sure complete.

So now I sit and watch the clock;

my New Year’s list is done,

but acting like “an angel” means

that next year won’t be fun.

My Sandwich

I made myself a sandwich

and cause I thought I could

make the best one ever

with all things that taste good.

I put those things on white bread

because I love each one —

mustard, pickles, relish,

and honey, just for fun.

I loaded on some slices

of good old cheddar cheese

and ran out to the garden

and got myself some peas.

I put on some baloney,

and then some marmalade.

This sandwich was to be

the greatest ever made.

So when it was all ready,

I took a big, huge bite,

and as I chewed my sandwich,

the taste was just not right!

And so I’ve learned a lesson

cause really — I’m not dumb —

my sandwiches taste best of all

when they are made by Mom.

Other Things 24 – Poemlet 18

“The Magic Running Shoes”

My mom bought me new runners,

and they’re the brightest blue.

I also think they’re magic —

there’s nothing they can’t do!

I’ve noticed that they make me

run faster through my days,

and when I’m playing baseball,

I make the greatest plays.

It really is exciting

to have these running shoes,

but cause they make me play so hard,

I think I’ll take a snooze.

The Christmas Pig

A mean old woman bought a pig

cause pork she liked to eat.

She planned to fatten up the hog

and named the poor pig “Pete”.

Now Pete was not a stupid beast —

he knew what she had planned,

and starring on a menu was

just more than he could stand!

Pete’s pen was right beside her house;

its drainpipe stretched right down,

and each night Pete would dream about

pork baked a golden brown.

Since Christmas Eve was coming soon,

a great escape Pete planned.

He’d climb the drainpipe to the roof

where Santa then would land.

Finally, Christmas Eve arrived;

Pete shimmied to his fate.

He hid behind the chimney praying

Santa wouldn’t be late.

At last, the poor pig heard the sound

of sleigh bells in the sky.

He spotted Rudoph’s shining nose

and watched the reindeer fly.

They landed right beside the pig

who grunted with delight

and greeted Santa with a hug,

then told him of his plight.

Soon Pete clung on to Dancer’s back

and flew through clouds so murky.

All the while, he thanked the stars

that he was not a turkey.

Waiting for Santa

For Santa Claus I’m waiting here

crouched down behind this chair,

cause never having met him

is just more than I can bear.

I have so many questions ‘bout

Rudolph and the team;

if I don’t get some answers soon,

I know that I will scream.

I want to know how reindeer fly!

I want to know how fast!

I want to know how they can see

if skies are overcast!

I want to know how long they sleep

once they have made their trip!

I want to know why, from a roof,

their little hooves don’t slip!

I’m yawning now and kind of tired —

I think I’ll rest my head,

but I won’t go to sleep because

I ————-