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Dumb Poem Collection - # 49 through # 60
Will it be Mother Gus?
It is getting toward the time to be thinking ahead about possible titles for the eBook to hold the many dumb poems and the images that will go with them. I am partial to the book title that my kids recommended. It was sort of a takeoff from the one used to gather up rhymes for kids into the bundle of words known as Mother Goose Rhymes. They suggested "Mother Gus." My friend, Al Kaeppel, and I liked that one to the degree that Al designed a book cover with that title. On that cover, amid images of critters from within the book, stands a large and happy gander, "Mother Gus," complete with bowler hat, a big striped necktie, brightly burning cigar, and huge brogan boots. Under his wing a "Pome Book" is lodged, while high in the blue sky above a happy sun shines down to spread even more cheer.
Even so, I am open to more suggestions for the eBook cover. Al, now having passed his salad days by a bit of a margin, will not be doing any more artwork for the book and its cover, so that kinda gives the earlier effort a bit of an edge in the voting.
Anyway, here are the next 12 dumb poems in the collection.
The illustrations here are, once again, all by my friend, Al Kaeppel. When I tried to talk Al into doing his own dumb poems to go with his own funny cartoons, he just looked at me as though I were the nutcase that I truly am. A poet, even a dumb poet, Al is not. He is a writer of history, for example, the Texican Revolution stuff, but rhyme-writing has never been his passion. As he once explained it to me, "Gus, I am a lover, not a fool – an artist of the canvas, not a bull-artist with strange words."
The Standing Army
The Englishmen parade today.
Upon the streets they march.
Their coats are red and while - Hooray !!!
(with extra-heavy starch.)
You'd think they couldn't move a joint
or bend their starched-up knees,
yet, here they come, all right to point,
as pretty as you please.
Oh, men of London and of Wales,
how do you manage ever
to march in starch as hard as nails,
yet, not one limb you sever?
There was a young man in the lab
who put dip along with some dab.
As he crashed through the shutter,
we all heard him mutter,
"My - that reaction was fab'."
If people ever ask you
about a bug named Mort,
just tell them Mort is all front teeth,
and eats like its a sport,
that he eats peppers, green and red,
while they're still on the vine,
and, with grapes, he's truly gluttonous,
leaving none to squeeze for wine,
that gamblers give odds (ten to one)
against whole fields of rutabagas,
for, when Mort arrives, it's down they go
like tourists' coins in old Las Vegas,
peaches, carrots, sprouts, and okra
are chomped by Mort in his eating war,
while bug sprays make Mort laugh out loud
as he eats on through ten farms or more.
you could say all that and much more, too,
if you'd stand and talk all day,
but, being brief is your best bet
(for maybe Mort craves meat today).
There once was this quaint Grandma Moses
who painted old scenes (with strange poses).
The best of her paintings
caused dizziness - faintings.
She painted folks heads where their toes is.
Kentucky Fried Medicine
There was an M.D. from New York
who liked chicken, but really liked pork.
His patients would pay
through the nose while he'd stay
and wear out his knife and his fork.
Our Computer's Down
The alibis come thick and fast...
"It's the fault of our computer!"
What's needed is a flag (half mast)
and an input-person shooter.
The Home Vote
When teachers gave up swatting kids
with rulers, books, and ink-pot lids,
each classroom got worse by the minute.
Now kids cut loose while teacher's in it.
So, teachers send kids home with notes
that ask the parents for strong votes
for quiet kids and decent manners.
(Can losers help the also-ranners?)
Last year, when I bought this car,
the inside smelled real good.
There's still a smell, but somewhat moved.
Now it stinks beneath the hood.
When I was young I went to school
in search of knowledge -rare;
which shows I really was a fool.
I learned scarce little there.
When I was old I went to life
to see what it might give;
which shows I'd never really learned
a thing but how to live.
When I was dead I went to grave,
midway from heaven to hell;
which shows that I'd remained most dull.
(No difference could I tell.)
As I look back upon it all,
it was well worth the fighting;
which shows how occupied I was
with all this doggoned writing!
This chair I have will whistle loudly
if you sit down hard - or even proudly.
It has a cushion filled with air
that gets out through a little tear.
It's tough to do, but with trained rump,
it'll whistle "Dixie" with each bump.
The Goodyear Balloon
would be here quite soon
were it not for the rip
that landed the ship
on the other side of the moon.
Broccoli Jones! I know him well.
Used car dealer. Real hard sell.
He bestowed on me this wreck I drive.
My plan's to skin him while alive.