There ain’t no Book of Life
at the Pearly Gates.
Instead, God sniffs your life potpourri
and (Bam!) He knows your fate.
You see, all your thoughts and actions
from the kind to oh-so-evil
dry into life potpourri
ready for Divine retrieval.
Angels flank him at His sides
(with espresso beans in hand),
cleansing his nasal palate
prevents a misreading of “bland!”
If God wrinkles his nose at your bowl
(or worse!) recoils in disgust:
your plans for everlasting bliss
perchance are a bit robust.
And if God should have a cold that day
and his olfactory sense is missing.
You’ll join the queue in Purgatory
till His nose has had some fixing.
His Saints potpourri is in His sock drawer.
His Angels in sachets.
His do-gooders are on His mantel.
His devotees by His ashtray.
If you wanna-wanna be it
take-a take-a look inside.
The courage and go-go-ness
already in you reside.
Instead of: “I can’t-ta, can’t-ta.”
Try: “I can-a, I will try!”
The pruning shears are in your hands,
life is your very own bonsai.
I’m the flagship store.
I’m the grand debut.
I’m the gasps, the clicks,
the points, the stares.
Did you know that I’m HQ?
I’m the reason for confetti.
The cheers, the “hip hip hoorays!”
I am the Honoree,
the encore at the ballet.
I’m the ceremony.
I take the cake.
In this little thing called life
did you know I raise the stakes?
Sucess-ini’s are small sucesses:
successes of the smallest.
Success-axi’s are on the bigger side:
successes of the tallest.
When your plug is pulled
and your life whirlpool starts a twirling,
just remember things can get much worse:
think of broccoli covered vermin!
Granny smirking in her chair,
a suspicious Granny sitting.
Oh my dentures!
Have you seen
just what Granny’s knitting!?
The early bird may get the worm
but the late bird gets them thrice.
(Worms wearing pajamas
taste very, very nice).
Lindy Loo? Oh how she’s dim!
Just yesterday said she on a whim:
“goodness gracious me you’re slim!
My oh my, how you look trim!
Have you frequented the gym?”
Aghast was I at this creature prim
with skin of marble porcelain.
Has Lindy Loo been on the Gin?
Before my mood (now grave and grim)
was shattered by a further synonym,
with face chagrin to Lindy dim:
“Ms. Loo…. I’ve lost a limb!!”
now a mest.
Baby grabbed spoon!
Maybe not so soon…
(spoon on ground).
Peek a boo round four
cute beyond belief.
Peek a boo round thirty-five,
mama wants aperitif.
Birth plan devised
(no nurse shall it hinder!)
plan out the vinder!
sounds great deal like
I thunked a thought, I thunked it once,
then the thunk I thought vanished with a clunk!
I searched the thoughts my brain had thunk
but all I found was much thunk gunk!
I found a picture of skunk
a memory of gramps and of a chipmunk!
(But no trace of the thought that I did just thunk!)
I checked down low (it might have shrunk)
it wasn’t up on brain’s top bunk.
There I thunked with shoulders hunched:
“your vanishing I must debunk!”
My thoughts went quiet, I heard again a “clunk”
and back to my brain came the thought I thunked!
My brain did add (softly like a monk):
“please take this back, it’s utter junk.
And one more thing: it’s “thought” not “thunked!”