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Dumb Poem Collection - # 1 through # 12
How they happened
Dumb poems are fun to write, and they are also meant to be fun to read. Here are twelve of them, the first twelve I ever put together.
The first of them was really that – the first. It came about because a young man who worked with us also sang in the chorus of the Houston Grand Opera Company. One day he wandered around our place sort of clutching at his stomach and doing a lot of moaning and groaning. We all thought that he was getting ready to die or the like. When he explained his agony to us, it was that he dreaded the thought of going to opera practice that evening. Why? Well, he hated the idea of having to listen to the imported soprano’s singing. She didn’t seem to be able to ever quite reach the intended note, and if she got close to it, she never could hold it properly. "She gives me a stomach ache," he complained. The thought came quickly that he was obviously suffering from "C-sickness." Out came the dumb poem, jotted quickly onto a little piece of paper with my name, Gus, below the lines. I told him to stick the thing up onto the bulletin board at practice and, every time he was feeling that tummy ache, he should take a look at the dumb poem and he would feel better right away. That is what he did. His friends in the chorus also looked at the poem and began to laugh. The bigtime soprano, curious about what was causing everyone to laugh and carry on, also looked at "her" dumb poem. The next day the young man told me that it was really funny how the soprano ran around the practice hall hollering, "Where is that Gus person? I want to talk with him!"
For those who may not know it, Dramamine is a medicine commonly taken to prevent sea sickness and its uncomfortable nausea and bellyaches.
The illustrations here are all by my friend, Al Kaeppel.
The soprano launched into the scene
of an opera that should not have been.
Her notes were begun,
but were never quite done,
so the audience gulped "Dramamine."
The Problem with rabbits
Everyone knows, of a moonlit night,
that rabbits are loving and never will fight.
And, too, it is said that on nights very dark,
rabbits won't feud while on love they embark.
The problem with rabbits, you see, is profound.
It's loving - not fighting - they spread all around.
And now that these truths have been amply declared,
It wonders me much that we're not overhared.
Life on the farm
Our near-sighted bull
loved our far-sighted cow.
Each spring came a calf,
but we'll never know how.
The spreading of the gnus
Gnus items are real tough to print
and put in distribution.
Each makes his contribution.
Gnuseditors run around the place
with gnus they will be paring.
Gnusmachines grind at fast pace.
The strain on all is wearing.
Gnuscarriers try to do their stuff
to spread the gnus around.
Their job, at best, is very rough,
as most of them have found.
Gnuspeople's methods are quite cruel
in their filling space with gnus.
They need to learn of Nature's rule
and stop doing as they choose.
The method's simple - really grand -
when you want to spread the gnus.
Just let them be in their own land
in loving sets of twos.
Our business is so doggone tough.
Sales are few - just not enough.
Workers goof. Some take two lunches.
Products fail in real big bunches.
Our finance method's "on the cuff."
The North Woods by moonlight
The porcupines here are so spiteful.
The damage they do is most frightful.
They'll eat anything loose,
be it man, house, or moose.
Each night around here is a nightful.
Casey at the bat
Mighty Casey looked up at the ceiling.
He'd had a most bothersome feeling.
Hanging there was a bat
over Casey's clean hat.
The whole deal was most unappealing.
"I like my glass bear,
clay worms from brass apple,
my little wood frog,
and tin horse painted dapple.
They're all over my desk,
and that's where they'll stay,
singing and dancing -
they're not in my way.
It's with folks just like you
that I cannot quite grapple."
The Houston Heights
In Houston, there once was a mayor
who was quite a fine speecher and sayer,
but his thoughts were so dim
he stayed out on a limb
playing politics up in the air.
There are statues I know
that have watched the world go
and have felt the wind blow.
Changes in them are slow.
They shrink little - won't grow,
and no tantrums they throw,
nor can they say "Hello,"
brag, or put on much show,
yet - they're up - we're below
where the crowds ebb and flow.
There's one thing, even so:
Don't feed the pigeons !
Law west of the Pecos
Custer's white horse was tall and mean,
and with Custer on board, a sight to be seen.
But Custer rode him to the river
with no concern for heart or liver.
He was Siouxed halfway between.
In Consequential, Texas,
They vote eight times a year,
and, in between, both day and night,
a middle course they steer.