Eleanor Pritchen

by James von Dielingen

Eleanor Pritchen

Would not clean her kitchen

It made her quite sick and uneasy

Her friends were afraid

Of the food that she made

When they ate it, it made them all queasy

Sherry Shea Farrell

by James von Dielingen

Sherry Shae Farrell

Lived life in a barrel

And never gave thought to a house

Her barrel soon shattered

But it never mattered

From the pieces she fashioned a blouse

Dexter McBerny

by James von Dielingen

Dexter McBerny

Went on a long journey

To find the lost gold of a pirate

Folks thought him insane

To take off in a plane

Without a qualified pilot

Jenny Muldoons

by James von Dielingen

Jenny Muldoons

Loved nothing but spoons

Over everything under the sky

She started to quake

When faced with a steak

And she could do nothing but cry

John Michael Jones

by James von Dielingen

John Michael Jones

Wore naught but headphones

And some power cords wrapped 'round like sashes.

Things soon turned sour

When he wore them in the shower

Now we're cleaning up John Jones' ashes

Selfish Shellfish

by James von Dielingen

Jeb the Giraffe wants the world and a half.

His wish list is long and immense.

From oceans to mounts, and statues to founts;

He wants all your dollars and cents.

An oyster named Carry thought this was quite scary.

She wondered just how this could be.

For no other shellfish had ever been selfish.

She said, “That’s quite foreign to me.”

Carry soon went to see what he meant

When Jeb said he wanted a throne.

She read his whole list and couldn’t resist

To come up with a list of her own.

She wanted a doll, she wanted a ball;

She wanted a feast on a platter.

She wanted razor, she wanted a laser;

She wanted a window to shatter.

She wanted to sing, she wanted a ring;

She wanted some hair growing gel.

She wanted moon rocks, she wanted white socks;

She wanted a bow for her shell.

She wanted a trail, she wanted a tail;

She wanted to see all the sights.

She wanted the sky, she wanted to fly;

She wanted her name up in lights.

She wanted a store, she wanted the shore;

She wanted the deep ocean waters.

She wanted a baker, a candlestick maker,

And butcher to marry her daughters

She wanted more time, she wanted a lime;

She wanted a car for herself.

She wanted to ski, to be on TV;

She wanted a full trophy shelf.

She wanted these things, the joy that it brings

To think what the future contains.

When all you desire is yours to acquire

With no effort and with no strain.

When Carry came ‘round, she suddenly found

That selfishness clouded her mind.

She was concerned how easily she learned

Her shellfish-ness was left behind.

“That’s not for me!” was her desperate plea

To return to the life she was living.

She gave up her wishes, went back to the fishes,

And vowed not to recall her misgiving

Jeb thought she missed the point of his list.

It wasn’t a list for acquiring.

It’s merely a tool, motivation or fuel

For a giraffe to keep on aspiring.

Carry soon got, what she wanted a lot

After giving up the life of kings.

For all she desired, after all that transpired,

Was a nap above all other things.

So next time you think, you want the sink

Along with the rest of the kitchen.

Remember the shellfish who acted so selfish

For stuff that can be so bewitchin’.

I think it’s agreed, you won’t die or bleed

If what you want is not what you get.

As long as you’re well, you’re clean and don’t smell,

There’s no need to become upset.

Ode to the Aged and Aging

by James von Dielingen

Hip hip for the old, and the lazy, too!

To those who groan when they tie their shoe!

Hooray for the creaky, snap crackle, and pop!

Those who don't sit down, but rather, they plop!

Three cheers for the achey, the slow to their feet,

Those who just need a nap ‘cause they're beat!

Huzzah to the moaners, the complainers as well!

Those who just need to stop and to rest for a spell!

Good tidings to the burning and pained, hemorrhoidal, 

And all those engaging in housework avoidal.

Here’s to those who grumble, mumble, and bellow,

You certainly are a jolly good fellow!

To all who are grouchy and showing their years,

I lift my glass and, with a toast, say, "Cheers!"

Ode to Phyllis

by James von Dielingen

I know a girl named Phyllis; I've known her for a while.

She will punch you in the teeth, kick your shins, and crack a smile.

When you're where no one can hear you with no car, no bike, no phone,

She will break your leg and leave you and command you to walk home.

When you are hurt and bleeding she will always be contented

To rub salt in your wounds because she's overly demented.

I tried to run away one day while Phyllis wasn't looking

And now I'm crumpled in a ball and in the oven cooking.

I tell you, friend, if I were you I'd start right now to run

Oh no! She saw you! Hurry! Quick! Phyllis has a gun!

My Mess

by James von Dielingen

"Your place is a mess!" so says my Mom 

and others that come by my pad.

They say the lack of cleaner rooms 

is the only problem they had.

I say the problem runs deeper still,

to a complete lack of understanding.

They do not see just why my rooms

are covered in stacks, piles, and strandings.

There's method to my untidiness,

a reason for my mess

that very few are privy to, 

and those that know are blessed.

It's time that dictates all you see.

The clock keeps ticking on.

For Mary knew, and I do too;

it's here and then it's gone

I know just where to find my things,

each pen and pencil set;

each gas receipt and bill to pay;

each daily news gazette.

The more and more that I can keep

right out in my plain sight,

the less I have to organize;

and I waste less time each night.

I've heard that, next to godliness,

cleanliness is king.

I've always felt God wouldn't mind

My time used on other things.

For some a clean house is a blessing,

something we all should embrace.

If that's the case then next time

We'll hang out at your place.

Hepzibah's Banana Bricks

by James von Dielingen

Hepzibah Wollencraft-Forsythe’s machine

Peels a banana, and washes it clean;

Grinds up the innards, and dumps them into

A giant glass mixing bowl filled with white glue;

Adds in some flour ground from wheat, corn, and soy;

Whips up the mixture with fervor and joy;

Spits out the goo into molds made of rubber

That wiggle and jiggle like fat walrus blubber;

The wobbly mass then goes into a fire,

Which burns so hot that all near perspire;

It stays in the fire for a an hour or two,

And a change overcomes the batches of goo,

Instead of some batter, undulating and thick,

They become something firmer not unlike a brick 

Hepzibah knew not what to do with these blocks

They smelled like a smoothie and behaved like rocks

She tried to eat them, but couldn’t cut through

The bricks were too hard and her knife broke in two

She tried to soak them without any luck

She smashed one to bits and gave each piece a suck

It tasted alright but it wasn’t worth selling

The flavor was too mild and not that compelling

An idea popped into the head of that girl

She grinned and decided to give it a whirl

Right down the street was a quaint little zoo

She felt her idea was the right thing to do

She rounded up friends who were good with some spackle

And into the ape cage they all went to tackle

The building of homes for those hairy gorillas

 And soon there stood twenty-two great-smelling villas

Those primates were mighty fond of their new flats

They quickly moved in and put out welcome mats

The smell drew them in with a tropical scent

And the price was just right, there was not any rent

The primates were thankful for Ms. Forsythe’s construction

The gorillas all gathered for her ape-hood induction

So, topped with banana leaves shaped like a crown

Hepzibah cried with a smile, not a frown

She was so very happy because her invention

Was the first she had built that received such attention

Her hard work paid off and soon went nationwide

Each zoo in the land wanted their monkeys inside

A home not built just of bamboo, twine, and sticks

But a home made of Hepzibah’s banana bricks

Sarah Jo Minor

by James von Dielingen

Sarah Jo Minor quit work at the diner

Serving nothing but burgers and hash

Oh, and french fries and eggs and fried froggy legs

And barrels of corn succotash 

And green beans and steak and devils food cake

And let's not forget all the liver

And creamer and coffee and small bits of toffee

And gelatin towers that quiver

And Boiled pig snout and warm saurkraut

Topped off with a fried half-shelled oyster

And cold lima beans and dried nectarines

Devoid of all of their moisture

And apple brown betty and four cheese spaghetti

And spoonfuls of sour creamed herring

And Havarti cheese and stir-fried snow peas

And chocolate fondu meant for sharing

And warm beef pot roast and buttery toast

And slices of sweet apple pie

And bartlett pear slices, Italian ices

And reubens on heels of rye

And bottles of beer, wines from a good year

And gallons of purple grape juice

And shakes of vanilla and cool sasparilla

And cocktails made with Grey Goose

Not liking work one bit, she walked out and quit

She hated long hours and low pay

Sarah Jo was so tired, the same day she was hired

Became both her first and last day