The Demented Lounge

Happy Birthday, Kookoo

2009-02-25T22:52:00.000-08:00

I love you. I hope your birthday is fun and exciting and full of happy birthdayness!!!!

I wrote a little poem for you...

Today is not a day when
you have to wear a sweater.
It's like the day you win a prize,
only a little better.

Today is not a day when
you're forced to put on suits.
It's more like a day when
there's puddles for your boots.

Today is not a day where
they tell you "Stand up straight"!
It's more like going on theme park rides
where you do not have to wait.

It's better than pizza with extra cheeze,
better than mexi-corn.
It's just like all of these because,
its the day that you were born.

Love You!

Steve

2009-02-15T20:47:00.000-08:00

I stepped outside, one Sunday night,
to grab a little air.
When I looked up, I was surprised
at what I saw up there.

There was a guy with many arms
soaring above the trees.
He waved a few, so I waved back
politely as you please.

At first I did not notice how
he stayed above the ground.
Until I saw the jaunty cap,
propeller spinning round.

I knew at once this canny guy
must be so very bright.
So then I asked of algebra,
and my belief was right.

He knew of "x" and "x + 3"
(he even knew the answer)
and once my questions were all through,
he showed he was a dancer.

I asked him why he was about,
His answer: "Water Tower!"
He likes to swim around in them,
(he doesn't like the shower).

But my new friend was out of time,
he had other engagements,
with monkey bars, and reference books,
and rescuing arrangements.

And so I said a fond farewell,
then wound his hat’s accessory.
Away he flew, into the blue
An excellent new friend, for me.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

2009-02-05T22:39:00.001-08:00

Happy Birthday, Mag-Rat! I love you and hope your day is half as cool as you are. I will see you tonight at the Derby.

Oh...and I finished a poem about "Grape Head". It was a challenge, but just consider it one of your Birthday Presents.

Love you,

Dad

Grape Head

2009-02-04T21:55:00.000-08:00

“Listen closely,” the old man said,
“there’s nothing to fear and nothing to dread.
This here tale, which I heard from Fred,
is about the boy they called ‘grape head’.

When Grape was a baby, all could see
his head was green and the size of a pea.
He’d just lay in his crib, silently,
from breakfast time until evening tea.

The scary old woman who lived down the street,
did not believe that young Grape would be sweet.
She’d cackle and curse whenever they’d meet,
then would trip-trap away with a tap of her feet.

Time passed, as it does, and up Grape grew.
Grape’s wee little noggin grew up too.
It was no longer green, but a purplish hue
And was bigger than any I ever knew.

But Grape still was silent, quiet as a mouse.
Whether sitting at school or back at his house.
And the creepy old lady would still grumble and grouse
And would say she was sure that Grape was a louse.

Then it happened one day, out in the sun shine,
Grape was at the bus stop, stop seventy-nine,
When a couple of toughs, who were feeling quite fine,
thought it would be funny to throw Grape a line.

One of the boys, well, he said to his bud,
‘Grape’s noggin, there, doesn’t look so good.
Do you think that he would consider it rude
If the two of us squished it as hard as we could?’

And squish it they did, one on each ear,
pushing on poor Grape, until a tear
rolled down his cheek, it’s true I fear,
and caused the bullies both to cheer.

After the bullies decided to fly
the creepy old woman just happen by
and seeing Grape’s tears, she gave a great sigh
and took out her kerchief and wiped his eyes.

You won’t hardly believe this next part, though,
it is hard to believe, Fred told me so,
but the tear that from Grape’s eye did flow
smelled and tasted just like a fine Merlot."

RIDDLE ME THIS: What did the grape say when it got squished?
ANSWER ME THAT: Nothing. It just let out a little wine.

Emergency Room

2009-02-04T21:00:00.000-08:00

I twisted an ankle today, I did,
And, painfully, I banged a knee!
I blackened an eye and I didn't cry,
but just gritted my teeth, you see.

I didn’t cry out today, oh no,
when I twisted a finger so.
With a stoic grace, I made not a face
though I achingly stubbed a toe.

Now I sit and wait for Dad, I do,
‘cause of what was told to Mother.
All that injury, didn’t happen to me,
but, instead, to my little brother.

Beard Buddy

2009-02-03T21:50:00.000-08:00

There's something weird inside my beard,
I often feel it creeping.
How I abhor its thunderous snores
that wake me when I'm sleeping.

There's something weird inside my beard,
that steals my food at dinner.
It sneaks my grapes, and berry crepes,
and now I'm clearly thinner.

There's something weird inside my beard,
that just cannot stop it's chat.
Sometimes in class, it's very crass.
I get in trouble for that!

There's something weird inside my beard,
I'm pretty sure it's growing.
My dainty chin, which once was thin,
is full to overflowing.

There's something weird inside my beard,
and boy, I hate it so.
You have a cure? Please tell me, sir.
Shave off the hair? I do declare!
That mad advice does not suffice,
It took a year to grow!

Bum Stripes

2009-02-02T23:20:00.000-08:00

The sign said clearly not to sit,
but I was stubborn, I admit.
And so I sat, for just a bit
upon the green park bench.

It felt quite nice to just relax
amidst the ducks, among thier quacks,
but now there's lines upon my slacks
from mentioned green park bench.

The children at the bus stop peer,
and point at what they see as queer,
the zebra lines upon my rear,
green like the old park bench.

And when, at last, home I do come
with transfered stripes upon my bum,
what will I tell my angry mum
about the green park bench?

Perhaps the story I'll relate,
about the angry reprobate
whose vengeful brush I dodged too late
while sitting on park bench

will cause her angry heart to cool.
She'll think her boy is not a fool,
she'll call me precious, mommy's jewel,
accosted on the bench!

And then again, I must admit,
I probably won't derail her fit,
she'll yell and scream and cry and spit
about the green park bench.

You see, I truthfully must say,
this is the seventh time, today,
I've come back home looking this way,
from sitting on the bench.

I think I 'll rest, my fate delay,
agaisnt this fence along the way.
Oh, what's this sign? What does it say?
"Wet Paint"