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!"

 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, NC

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

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

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

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

 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

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