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It's not that I'm afraid to die. I just don't want to be there when it happens.

-- Woody Allen

 


Editor's Pick:
WHEN I'M AN OLD LADY

When I'm an old lady, I'll live with each kid,
and bring so much happiness, just as they did.
I want to pay back all the joy they've provided.
Returning each deed! Oh, they'll be so excited!
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

I'll write on the wall with reds, whites and blues,
and I'll bounce on the furniture wearing my shoes.
I'll drink from the carton and then leave it out.
I'll stuff all the toilets and oh, how they'll shout!
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

When they're on the phone and just out of reach,
I'll get into things like sugar and bleach.
Oh, they'll snap their fingers and then shake their head,
and when that is done, I'll hide under the bed!
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

When they cook dinner and call me to eat,
I'll not eat my green beans or salad or meat,
I'll gag on my okra, spill milk on the table,
And when they get angry. I'll run. if I'm able!
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

I'll sit close to the TV, through the channels I'll click,
I'll cross both eyes just to see if they stick.
I'll take off my socks and throw one away,
and play in the mud till the end of the day!
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

And later in bed, I'll lay back and sigh,
I'll thank God in prayer and then close my eyes.
My kids will look down with a smile slowly creeping,
and say with a groan, "She's so sweet when she's sleeping!"

-- Author Joanne Bailey Baxter, Lorain, OH

 -- Submitted as a favorite of Kimberly Scaggs from Corvallis, OR



TAIL CHASING

 Running, running, here I go
To catch my tail but I'm so slow
And lagging, dragging, my behind
To try to catch up with my mind.

 Tripping, falling on my tongue
That is often too high-strung,
Dropping words I have to eat
And spitting them upon my feet.

 Keeping up with things today
Is harder than my words can say
For every time I think I've won,
There I fall down on my bun.

 My body's old, my mind is young;
Upon a cloud, my dreams are hung
And so if you should see me cry,
You will know the cloud's passed by.

 Slower, slower, now I go
Like Wisconsin winters in the snow,
So if you want to walk with me,
You'll have to slow down or me carry.

-- Submitted by Gloria Sarasin from Trinity, North Carolina
e-mail: sara689@yahoo.com



WHEN I'M DEAD

 When I die, don't look at me
And say she looks at peace,
For in my grave, I'll toss and turn
Until you come to me.

 And don't you say, the same old thing,
She looks just like her mother,
Cause I'll rise up and choke your neck
For insulting my poor mother.

 Of course, it is, that I look pale,
I'm dead, you stupid fool
But after choking on that grape,
You'd think that I'd look blue.

 Now run along and let me be;
Can't you see I'm trying to sleep
And by the way, this pillow's hard,
Why did you have to be so cheap?

 -- Submitted by Gloria Sarasin from Trinity, North Carolina
e-mail: sara689@yahoo.com



FAIRY TALES

A princess in a castle;
a prince in make believe
But if it's not a fairy tale,
Then only yourself deceive.

A wart upon your nose
May be closer to the truth
And if you think I'm negative
Then you're still in your youth.

I believe in poison apples
For I've been given one or two
But never did my prince come forth
To keep me from turning blue.

That magic mirror, I'd like to choke,
For it is cruel what it says to me.
You were the fairest long ago
But not today as you can see.

I pricked my finger upon a needle
And saw it hurt and bleed
But there was no prince to rescue me,
Not even Johnny Apple seed.

I've spun the hay and guessed the rhyme
But never did see gold,
I know that life's no fairy tale
Like in those books are told.

-- Submitted by Gloria Sarasin from Trinity, North Carolina
e-mail: sara689@yahoo.com



MARINATED

Am I aging like wine
Or Limburger cheese?
A lady so fine
Or pan of old grease?

My age spots just freckles
To point out my dimples
And what of the skin tags
On my skin that just sags.

The cellulite that seems
Deep enough to plant beans
And what of the brain
That seems now insane.

If old styles come back,
I may give a whack
At wearing a chemise
To the marquees.

I'll tease up my hair
And style it with flair,
Put on those red heels
And flip some cartwheels.

My mind is still young
But loose seems my tongue
To think that this old mare
Might still have some flair.

-- Submitted by Gloria Sarasin from Trinity, North Carolina
e-mail: sara689@yahoo.com



I begin each morning as I wake.
It's a slew of classes today, I'll take.

 I hop the bus and ride to school.
Bags under my eyes make me look like a ghoul.

 Georgia History is my first period class.
I'll sleep it through and wait for it to pass.

 I wake up just in time for reading.
I'm late...on my forehead, sweat is beading.

 It's this class that I'm really hating.
Guess what! I left my teacher waiting.

 I get a lecture and have to read.
And for punishment, I have to do a stupid deed.

 Banging erasers after class is what I am doing.
The rest of my class is watching, wooing.

 And off to media production, I run.
I know that there, I'll have no fun.

 That class ends and it's time for health.
It's there I get education wealth.

 Then the 5th period bell rings.
It's time for algebra with numbers and things.

 I get to the class a few minutes late.
It's time for the number debate.

 Everyone's problem has a different answer.
I hate this class. I'd rather have cancer.

 Finally, when I think I'll die,
Algebra ends and to science I fly.

 Oh, great!
This is the teacher I hate!

 After pulling my hair out and biting my lip,
this class ends and to English I skip!

 English ends and it's time to go home.
I leave the class and the school halls I roam.

 I get to my house and think I can lay down.
I remember homework and put on a frown.

 I finish my homework and head off to bed.
I lay down and rest my head.

 I think of how I'd love to just play.
But, it's to school tomorrow for another greuling day.

 -- Submitted by Ashley from Jonesboro, GA
e-mail: the_wookie_777@hotmail.com



TURN UP YOUR HEARING AIDE

 Turn up your hearing aide;
Grandma's a courtin no more.
No more wanting herself a man
To hear him fart and snore.

 So turn up your hearing aide
and hear what I have to say;
I no longer want a man
nor a toss upon the hay.

 When you're a turning eighty-two,
No need no more for one;
So Grandpa you put back your shoe;
With me you'll have no fun.

 So turn up that hearing aide
And hear me when I say;
I no longer want a man
Nor a toss upon the hay.

(A FOLLOW-UP TO A VERY OLD SONG
CALLED "GRANDMA'S A COURTIN AGAIN)

-- Submitted by Gloria Sarasin from Trinity, North Carolina
e-mail: sara689@yahoo.com



THE OLD SHOE

I'm an old worn out shoe.
I am not very new.
Sitting all by myself
On an old dusty shelf.
My white laces are worn
Tattered, tacky, and torn.
I've walked a million miles
On carpet, floor, and tiles.
My slick, slippery heel
Is a banana peel.
My color is faded,
The style out-dated.
My mate has gone astray.
I'm left here to decay.

-- Submitted by Andrew Lutz from Baton Rouge, LA
e-mail: hockeyman71331@yahoo.com



BY A HAIR'S BREADTH!

This tale unfolds a long time back,
When chivalry had not yet been given the sack,
In an old ruined tower, there lived a princess, beauty's child,
A perfect setting was the forest, untamed and wild,

There came along a prince on his customary horse,
Need I give you the rest of the sauce?
All was love and love was all,
And so the princess would let her hair fall,

Down from the window, down to the ground,
And up climbed the prince, never a sound,
For the princess was held captive, romantic enough,
And sad and sorrowful and all that stuff,

The only villain of the story, it seemed was the witch,
And by god, she was an itchy hitch!
But the prince, love awoke the lion in him,
And the daylights of the witch soon turned dim,

Then our prince and our princess, they set up their home,
And by sunset, she would, her crown of glory comb,
The prince loved the raven cascade, he banished hair pins,
And silver strings and pretty clips lay buried in the bins,

The princess, she made him dishes royale,
And so would have ended a happy tale,
But fate, ah cruel fate, delivered a punch,
for a strand of hair found its way to the prince's lunch,

Prince Charming, he read the newspaper, he never noticed,
Until stomach pain stormed him, gruesome and grotesque,
The physician was summoned, he shook his wise head,
There was nothing he could do, but ask the prince to stay in bed,

So Prince Apan De Zidis, for that was his name,
Lost his princess, but earned medical fame,
For after him was named a type of stomach pain,
Appendicitis was what it later became!

-- Submitted by Sowmya from Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India
e-mail: sowmya_86@rediffmail.com


FROG LEGS AND FISH SCALES

Frog legs and fish scales
mixed in the soup
A pinch of pepper
and seasoned bark root
Four pieces of liver
Two slivers of heart
Cast into the kettle
and stewed by the hearth
Stirring
Bubbling
Burbling
Soup

Add a new flavor of dry vermouth
Toss in Grandpa's time-worn boots
Stir in a handful of wild grown moss
Perhaps some cuman and indigo dye
Will embellish the taste and make you cry
Whirling
Bubbling
Gurgling
Soup

-- Submitted by Mary Amoriello from Coatesville, PA
e-mail: Lacy2374@aol.com



DON'T MESS WITH MAMA

Chicken pie in the oven and I think it smells burnt,
don't mess with mama until her work is done.
You're gonna get a lickin, you'd think you had learnt,
don't mess with mama, do you hear me, son?

Don't mess with mama until her work is done,
two baskets of laundry still waiting by the stairs,
don't mess with mama, do you hear me, son?
Go help your mama or get out of her hair.

Two baskets of laundry still waiting by the stairs,
beans need a snipping and apples need a peeling;
Go help your mama or get out of her hair,
scat, get a going before mama hits the ceiling.

Beans need a snipping and apples need a peeling,
crust needs preparing for a fresh apple pie.
Scat, get a going before mama hits the ceiling,
run, get a going boy, if you don't wanna die.

Crust needs preparing for a fresh apple pie,
you're gonna get a lickin, you'd think you had learnt;
Run, get a going boy, if you don't wanna die,
chicken pie in the oven and I think it smells burnt.

-- Submitted by Gloria Sarasin from Trinity, NC
e-mail: sara689@yahoo.com



As I inhale the smoke, I start to feel good,
My eyes are closing just like they should.
I'm getting thirsty, my mouth is dry,
I'm feeling great, just like I could fly.

The rotation's set, it's coming around,
Reggae's jammin; Man I love that sound.
Past the gums, down the throat it'll go,
Look out lungs, here comes the dank flow.

Filled to capacity, I think I'm gonna choke,
Nobody warned me of such a big toke.
I'm on the ground, coughing like a fool,
I hit it so hard I'm wiping up drool.

My eyes are red; they look like tomatoes,
My stomach's hungry, I'm feigning potatoes.
Damn that was great, far from just good,
That's what it's like to get ripped in my hood.

-- Submitted by Jason from St. Louis, MO
e-mail: Chirco@aol.com



He is at one with a computer
electronic gadgets are a blast
While I am more at ease with
familiar things from the past

Instructions for computerized gadgets
he devours like a comic book
While I stand by helplessly
with a parent's stupified look

So what if he has more neuron connections
I am the boss, what I say goes
It is my proud parental predilection
to let my ignorance show

His gentle jibes to his dumb dad
I refuse to take to heart
because I know something he doesn't
'it's more fun to be boss, then smart!

-- Submitted by Edward McBeth from Red Deer, Alberta
e-mail: edmcbeth@hotmail.com



MY COMPUTER

My computer has a language
That is foreign to me
It speaks of RAM and Gigabytes
And what could ROM be!

 I don't understand the Windows
My computer says are there
Nor the Gem Clip at the side of my page
With eyes that blink and stare!

 I don't understand the cures
That maintenance wizards do
It's called defragmenter, scan disk,
And virus cleaning too!

 Yet, computer and I work hand and eye
With a mouse to translate
The tasks that I want it to do
While IT points out my mistakes!

-- Submitted by Burmah M. Teague from Chickamauga, GA
EMAIL: burmahteague@msn.com



WINDMILL

 There's a house not to far from our own
With a windmill standing on four legs,
Its blades a spinnin', standing alone
It looks at you, for help it begs

Looks like its go'en hell bent
I'll bet a thousand miles it thinks it went
But it hasn't gone a step from its startin' place
Getting nowhere fast it's a goen

Feel kinda sorry that it keeps such a pace
Seems happy though, as long as the wind's a blowin'

-- Submitted by Kendall Ropp from Ft. Lauderdale, FL
e-mail: k.ropp@att.net



A GENTLEMAN'S GAME PLAN

Let's play cricket, said a pal of mine
Being a gentleman's game, I said "fine"
So let me explain how this whole mess started
How events took place when my pal departed.

 I was approached by a stranger, totally unknown
He had in his hand a bag and cell phone
By way of intoduction he said to me
For some information I give, he'd give me a fee.

 What sort of info do you need, I queried,
He looked around, and he got me worried,
I was just here to play my game
Not looking for glory or for fame.

 Just tell me how many runs you'll score
To which I replied "I'll try a hundred, maybe more"
No, no, he cried I've got a present for you,
A hundred thousand, to get out in "two"

 I thought he was joking, this stranger was mad,
I better get moving and put on my pad,
Just then he made a call on his phone,
Thank God he and I were alone

 For I dread to think what anyone would say
If they heard his phone conversation that day.
He said all was done, and I was party to crime
And a whole lot of rubbish and garbage and slime.

 And as he left, he dropped the last shocker
By placing his bag inside my locker
Now that I finished with you, he cried,
I'm off to fix the other side.

 The next day's headlines read in the press,
Our country's cricket's is in a royal mess,
For none of our players scored more than two
But you know how it happened, between me and you.

 Now eagerly awaiting the next big match
Where I'll be paid to drop a catch,
In the end it's the public that would be the fool
They don't know cricketers graduate from "acting" school.

 -- Submitted by Sorab Bhathena from Pune, India
e-mail: sorabb@hotmail.com



LITTLE THINGS

Oh! It's the homely things.
The come running friendly things
The won't you let me help you things.
That make our pathway light.
And never mind the "trouble" things
"the laugh with me",
It's funny things.
That makes the world bright!
So! Here's to all little things
The "done and then forgotten" things
Those "oh-it's simply nothing" things
That make life worth the fight.
But for enigmatic humans!
Simply little things.

 -- Submitted by Hyacinth Nnamdi from Lagos, Nigeria
E-mail: vigozinitory@onebox.Com



THE INFANT

 My son is born
I hand out cigars
 My wife says,
"He has your eyes."
And everyone agrees,
but then they open

 -- Submitted by W.W. Scott from Phoenix, AZ
e-mail: wws3@msn.com


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