Tag Archives: Poetry

Flimsy the Frog King

Flimsy Flotsom Filtreet, herald he,
a frog that sits on yonder tree,
a frog of strength, and might words
a frog who speaks to men and birds.

This frog you see, a king is he,
of royal blood, and stately steed,
a frog to rise above the heavens
but if you prick him, does he not bleed?

But one may ask of this tall tale
how this frog was known so well,
and how of all the names that he,
would wind up called, the King Flimsy.

The story thus is short and sweet,
his mother’s name was Flim Filtreet,
and marrying thus to Sy the Bleak
he came to be known Flimsy Flotsom Filtreet.

The Beast

I duck under cover
as the beast comes around,
I breathe very soft
and make hardly a sound
but his powerful smell
and his wandering eyes
will certainly find me
under soft starlit skies.

He’s got furry brown hair,
and his teeth razor sharp
and his claws bent so fine
like the strings on a harp,
and he watches and waits
letting no one come near
is he scared of the dark
or perhaps of my fear?

So I watch and I wait,
for his breathing to slow
and his eyelids to close
blocking out falling snow
For it’s hard to be brave
with something so rare
but I’m protected tonight
by my soft teddy bear.

Ailing Frail Old Mom and Her Son the Peeping Tom

Big boys bottom boxers bought a big ball.
And the ball was round and rather red and rolled on down the hall.

Halfway down the hall it hit the switch that runs the light.
And the light lit up to illuminate the landing, bright and white.

And while I watched the window I could see a peeping Tom,
who had taken time to telephone his ailing frail old mom.

She pondered who had called from somewhere sounding out of doors,
with the sound of cars and birds and crickets making lots of noise.

But Tom was sly and stealth and quick and told his mom a lie,
so she left it alone, logged off the phone, and drank until she died.

The Alphabet Song – Part II

There isn’t a part one. Well, there was, but it was crap. Not that part two is any better.

After the rain clouds have Burst in the sky, out Comes the sun and Dries up all the rain.

Even though you thought I was Fooling you with that rhyme, the Goal of the poem, is not to keep time.

How can you expect me to know every Itsy, bitsy thing Just because I’m the King?

Lately I’ve been thinking that Most of the work done around here is done by No one. That’s right. The Only one who seems to have a grasp on what is Possible is the Queen.

but her problem is that she Refuses to let anyone else offer advice, or do anything to Steal her Thunder.

honestly she really does Underestimate the Value of a good companion.

When will she ever learn that Xenon headlights are better for night driving?

Yesterday is too late – if she doesn’t get with it the Zephyr in the sky at night will hit her.