Dog on sofa

My dog lives on the sofa.
That's where he wants to be.
He likes to sit there night and day
and watch what's on TV.
He surfs the channels constantly
by chewing the remote,
then watches what he wants to watch;
I never get a vote.
He's fond of films with animals.
He takes in nature shows.
Whenever cat cartoons come on
he always watches those.
He loves the pet commercials too,
and anything with food.
Whenever there's a tennis match
he nearly comes unglued.
I got him from the dog pound.
He didn't cost a cent.
I asked them for a "watch dog,"
but this isn't what I meant.

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kids Lunch

 candy bar.
A piece of cake.
A lollipop.
A chocolate shake.

A jelly donut.
 Chocolate chips.
Some gummy worms
and licorice whips.

A candy cane.
A lemon drop.
Some bubblegum
and soda pop.

Vanilla wafers.
Cherry punch.
My mom slept in
while I made lunch.

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My Kung Fu Puppy

My puppy punched me in the eye.
My rabbit whacked my ear.
My ferret gave a frightful cry
and roundhouse kicked my rear.

My lizard flipped me upside down.
My kitten kicked my head.
My hamster slammed me to the ground
and left me nearly dead.

So my advice? Avoid regrets;
no matter what you do,
don't ever let your family pets
take lessons in kung fu.

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Clippity boop

Clippity cloppity bippity boop.
Flippity floppity slippity sloop.
Hippity hoppity dippity doop.
Zippity zoppty pippity poop.

Mippity moppity trippity troop.
Lippity loppity vippity voop.
Nippity noppity grippity groop.
Tippity toppity quippity quoop.

Drippity droppity jippity joop.
Blippity bloppity sippity soop.
Yippity yoppity whippity whoop.
I wrote this whole poem so I could say, "poop."

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How to Fly

I'm soaring.
I'm sailing.
I'm learning to fly.
I'm leaping.
I'm bouncing.
I'm high in the sky.

I'm jumping.
I'm hopping.
I'm up in the air.
I'm dashing.
I'm diving,
the wind in my hair.

I'm swooping.
I'm whooshing.
I'm light as a kite.
I'm flittering,
fluttering,
floating in flight.

I'm toppling.
I'm tumbling.
I'm falling. I crashed.
And, whoopsie,
my parents
new mattress is trashed.

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Sam Ate Jam

There was a boy whose name was Sam.
The only thing he ate was jam.
When offered any other food,
he'd claim he wasn't in the mood.
He'd say, "I'm fairly full today,"
and push that other food away.
And so he never tasted pie,
or gave spaghetti sauce a try,
and even if you asked him, "Please?"
he wouldn't chew on cheddar cheese.
He couldn't stand potato chips.
Bananas never crossed his lips.
And not a bit of beef or lamb
or deviled egg or candied yam
would wind up on his dinner plate,
for jam was all he ever ate.

Now, as it happened, late one day
poor Sam expired. He passed away.
We don't know why. It might have been
some mineral or vitamin
was missing from the food he ate
and caused this clearly awful fate
or maybe all that sugar made
him fall to pieces, start to fade,
until the day that eating jam
at last became the end of Sam.

We can't be certain why he died
but, maybe, if he'd only tried
some yogurt or some celery,
a piece of toast, a pear, a pea,
a pizza crust, a grain of rice,
a half an herb, a single spice,
a spoon of soup with just one clam,
then, maybe, we would still have Sam.

Alas, he never ate a grape
or chocolate bar or Belgian crepe
or lobster bisque or Irish stew
or sauerkraut or cheese fondue
or casserole or sloppy joe,
so this is all we'll ever know:
Since jam was all he had to eat,
his life was rather short and sweet.

==============================

Upon a Cow

It happened once, I don't know how,
I found myself upon a cow.
The cow was startled, too, to see
that she was sitting under me.
And underneath the cow, a hog
was resting right atop a dog.
Below them in this lofty heap
were piled a goat, a duck, a sheep,
a buffalo, a horse, a yak,
and at the bottom of the stack,
a rather worried-looking cat,
extremely wide and very flat.

So if you never want your cat
to wind up wide and round and flat
then learn this lesson here and now:
Don't ever sit upon a cow.

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My Genius Brother

My brother's a genius;
as smart as they come.
Without his computer, though,
boy, is he dumb.
His screws all get looser.
His lights become dim.
His mind starts unwinding.
His senses grow slim.

His IQ starts dropping.
His smarts start to sink.
It seems to be strenuous
even to think.
His wisdom and wits take
a little vacation.
His head is still there
but his brain leaves the station.

He can't answer questions
or speak off the cuff.
His noggin gets clogged up
with feathers and fluff.
He's dense as a doorknob.
He's thick as a brick.
It's plain that his brain
can't compete with a stick.

When using computers,
he's bright as the sun.
Without them, he's dumb
as a hamburger bun.
He's slow as a dodo,
obtuse as a trout.
I sure hope our Internet
never goes out.

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