"Last one there’s a rotten egg!"
"The early bird gets the worm."
"The race will go to the swift," and
All of the losers will squirm
But I have found one simple clue
To living a life of ease:
The first mouse gets the trap, and…
The second mouse gets the cheese!
yes!
by scott sullivan, ©2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
stale butter
(Based on a true story)
On a night long ago when the winter was cold
When I was a lad and not very old
My Daddy told Mommy, “We need food fundamentals—
I’m craving a meal made of something with… lentils.”
“Lentils?” we all said, “And lentils are what?”
And Mommy said, “Stew’s what I’ll brew in the pot.”
Daddy went to the store, Mommy worked really hard
She assembled her spices and something called, lard.
There was vegetable broth and some cans filled with paste
(And they told us that this was to add to the taste)
The colors were green, gray and red and some brown
Mom said, “This stew will be the best stew in the town!”
We were all really hungry and we couldn’t help think
Of the times we’d had meals with much less of a stink
But we kept our mouths shut—didn’t want to cause trouble
As mom’s molten meal was beginning to bubble
Then it gurgled, then belched; dad arrived with the lentils
Mom said, “It’s about time for your food fundamentals!”
Mommy threw the bag in with a fist full of fury
Daddy stirred the big pot –he was in quite a hurry
The more that we watched, the more that it grew
It appeared much more like a big blob than a stew
Mommy and Daddy were not getting along
We were beginning to think that something was wrong
But my sister and brother and I just kept quiet
While Mommy and Daddy and Blob had their riot
With the gurgles and smoke, the Blob seemed to be winning
Mom and Dad added water but the Blob wasn’t thinning
But our stomachs sure were—we began to lose hope
As dreams of our dinner neared the end of their rope
But just when the Blob seemed to curdle and quake
The timer went “Ding!” Daddy said, “Piece of cake!”
But cake wasn’t what we got served in our bowls
They sat us each down with the stew and hard rolls
Our Mommy said, “Eat!” and Daddy said, “Dine!”
They were acting like everything seemed to be fine
But the Blob had divided at least into three
From the bowls it was staring at my bro, sis, and me
We trembled with fear before primeval sludge
Our jaws were all locked, and our spoons didn’t budge
As he picked up his spoon and took his first bite
Daddy smiled really big but his knuckles were white
We wondered inside, “Have our parents gone mental?
Will we eat this new life-form of salt, lard and lentil?”
Mommy looked at the oldest, saying, “Now you will eat,”
Brother meekly replied, “Could I have something sweet?”
We learned something then, both my sister and I
There are things that are worse than from lentils to die
My sis, the next victim of lentil affliction
At age three, she was screaming and losing her diction
And we thought she had won, but her mouth, open wide
Mommy shoved the spoon in, down it went with a slide
The only one left, I knew the Blob had strange powers
To defeat it I had only seconds, not hours
The future will show that fate was upon me
To save civilization from lentil-stew zombies
I said not a word, filled my mouth with some lentils
And pretended to chew with my pearly-white dentals
I wrestled that Blob in my cheek with a fight
Then I raised my hand up, with all of my might
Daddy took a long look, and then he considered
He said, “Put your hand down,” but I’m not a quitter
I obeyed right away, but then raised it again
For the sake of humanity, I had to win
I said, “Mommy, I know what this is—it’s okay…
I have tasted your stew, and I know what to say!”
Dad said, “Control yourself, Son—just don’t open up
Don’t open your mouth, unless it’s to sup."
But I knew the right answer, and I knew what to do
To stop all this madness—share the taste of the stew
“You’re winning, son, careful; there’s no need to mutter!”
But I opened my mouth and cried out, “Stale butter!!!!”
“Stale butter is what this stew resembles to me…
Stale butter is the taste and the consistency
If you want my opinion of food fundamentals,
Stale butter tastes better than stew filled with lentils!”
Everyone paused when I spoke what I did
There was silence except when some steam flipped the lid
Crickets were chirping. We could feel the earth spin
As we waited to see if the stew-blob would win
Finally Daddy said, “Son, Mommy worked really hard
To make this stew taste like it does... with the lard
So lest you cry foul or complain, “Indigestion,”
I need you to answer just one simple question:
“Before you protest that this stew isn’t yummy,
Have you EVER had BUTTER that was STALE in your TUMMY?!!!”
So I paused and I thought; then I pondered some more
I hearkened back to all of the dinners of yore
I twisted my eyebrows and screwed up my brain
To remember the dinners again and again
Where I’d had stale butter—I listed them out,
Then replied, “Never once has it entered my mouth!”
What happened from there I don’t quite understand
Stew flew through the room from my Daddy’s hand
Then Mommy joined in, then all of us kids
Blobs leapt from our bowls, then we grabbed for the lid
Now when people come visit from all over town
They note the distinct gray and green, red and brown
That covers the walls of our kitchen with joy
Thanks to the rallying cry of one hungry boy
So remember, my friends, when your kitchen gets hot
When strange smells are brewing and there’s stew in the pot
Just cry out, “Stale butter,” so that no one gets mad
Like the time when the stew did confuse Mom and Dad.
by scott sullivan, ©2010
On a night long ago when the winter was cold
When I was a lad and not very old
My Daddy told Mommy, “We need food fundamentals—
I’m craving a meal made of something with… lentils.”
“Lentils?” we all said, “And lentils are what?”
And Mommy said, “Stew’s what I’ll brew in the pot.”
Daddy went to the store, Mommy worked really hard
She assembled her spices and something called, lard.
There was vegetable broth and some cans filled with paste
(And they told us that this was to add to the taste)
The colors were green, gray and red and some brown
Mom said, “This stew will be the best stew in the town!”
We were all really hungry and we couldn’t help think
Of the times we’d had meals with much less of a stink
But we kept our mouths shut—didn’t want to cause trouble
As mom’s molten meal was beginning to bubble
Then it gurgled, then belched; dad arrived with the lentils
Mom said, “It’s about time for your food fundamentals!”
Mommy threw the bag in with a fist full of fury
Daddy stirred the big pot –he was in quite a hurry
The more that we watched, the more that it grew
It appeared much more like a big blob than a stew
Mommy and Daddy were not getting along
We were beginning to think that something was wrong
But my sister and brother and I just kept quiet
While Mommy and Daddy and Blob had their riot
With the gurgles and smoke, the Blob seemed to be winning
Mom and Dad added water but the Blob wasn’t thinning
But our stomachs sure were—we began to lose hope
As dreams of our dinner neared the end of their rope
But just when the Blob seemed to curdle and quake
The timer went “Ding!” Daddy said, “Piece of cake!”
But cake wasn’t what we got served in our bowls
They sat us each down with the stew and hard rolls
Our Mommy said, “Eat!” and Daddy said, “Dine!”
They were acting like everything seemed to be fine
But the Blob had divided at least into three
From the bowls it was staring at my bro, sis, and me
We trembled with fear before primeval sludge
Our jaws were all locked, and our spoons didn’t budge
As he picked up his spoon and took his first bite
Daddy smiled really big but his knuckles were white
We wondered inside, “Have our parents gone mental?
Will we eat this new life-form of salt, lard and lentil?”
Mommy looked at the oldest, saying, “Now you will eat,”
Brother meekly replied, “Could I have something sweet?”
We learned something then, both my sister and I
There are things that are worse than from lentils to die
My sis, the next victim of lentil affliction
At age three, she was screaming and losing her diction
And we thought she had won, but her mouth, open wide
Mommy shoved the spoon in, down it went with a slide
The only one left, I knew the Blob had strange powers
To defeat it I had only seconds, not hours
The future will show that fate was upon me
To save civilization from lentil-stew zombies
I said not a word, filled my mouth with some lentils
And pretended to chew with my pearly-white dentals
I wrestled that Blob in my cheek with a fight
Then I raised my hand up, with all of my might
Daddy took a long look, and then he considered
He said, “Put your hand down,” but I’m not a quitter
I obeyed right away, but then raised it again
For the sake of humanity, I had to win
I said, “Mommy, I know what this is—it’s okay…
I have tasted your stew, and I know what to say!”
Dad said, “Control yourself, Son—just don’t open up
Don’t open your mouth, unless it’s to sup."
But I knew the right answer, and I knew what to do
To stop all this madness—share the taste of the stew
“You’re winning, son, careful; there’s no need to mutter!”
But I opened my mouth and cried out, “Stale butter!!!!”
“Stale butter is what this stew resembles to me…
Stale butter is the taste and the consistency
If you want my opinion of food fundamentals,
Stale butter tastes better than stew filled with lentils!”
Everyone paused when I spoke what I did
There was silence except when some steam flipped the lid
Crickets were chirping. We could feel the earth spin
As we waited to see if the stew-blob would win
Finally Daddy said, “Son, Mommy worked really hard
To make this stew taste like it does... with the lard
So lest you cry foul or complain, “Indigestion,”
I need you to answer just one simple question:
“Before you protest that this stew isn’t yummy,
Have you EVER had BUTTER that was STALE in your TUMMY?!!!”
So I paused and I thought; then I pondered some more
I hearkened back to all of the dinners of yore
I twisted my eyebrows and screwed up my brain
To remember the dinners again and again
Where I’d had stale butter—I listed them out,
Then replied, “Never once has it entered my mouth!”
What happened from there I don’t quite understand
Stew flew through the room from my Daddy’s hand
Then Mommy joined in, then all of us kids
Blobs leapt from our bowls, then we grabbed for the lid
Now when people come visit from all over town
They note the distinct gray and green, red and brown
That covers the walls of our kitchen with joy
Thanks to the rallying cry of one hungry boy
So remember, my friends, when your kitchen gets hot
When strange smells are brewing and there’s stew in the pot
Just cry out, “Stale butter,” so that no one gets mad
Like the time when the stew did confuse Mom and Dad.
by scott sullivan, ©2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
me beard!
But it took some time for his beard to grow
I’d really like to get me start
Because piracy is a manly art
A gun and a hat should seal the deal
Yet people keep asking if me beard is real…
All the landlubbers on all the shores
Are a bunch of beardless cowardly bores
I yearn for adventure on the blue horizon
So the life of a pirate I’ve been surmising
To pillage and plunder, wreak havoc and steal,
But people keep asking if me beard is real…
Me bathtub boats I’ve bombed and they sank
I’ve made me big brother walk the plank
I’ve plundered the booty and battened the hatches
Me sword is all plastic, but covered in scratches
When I threaten a flogging, the sailors all kneel
But they always then ask if me beard is real.
I’ve never once shaved it, I answer them back
Just like that swashbuckling Captain Jack
It dangles like Yellowbeard’s—straight from me chin
Like Redbeard’s, it wiggles when blown by the wind
I’m a pirate, I tell you, so what’s the big deal?
Why does anyone care if this beard’s fake or real?
For a sea dog I am, and shark-bait you’ll be
If you question this growth on me chin while at sea
The next bloke who asks me if this beard is real
Will be finding himself being hauled by the keel
Beware all me maties who don’t want to be dead…
What? What’s that, Mommy? Oh I see…
Shiver me timbers, it’s past time for bed!
by scott sullivan, ©2010
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