You Should
You should wake up early
You should never stop to play
You should not waste your time
You should work hard every day
You should save up every penny
You should put it all away
You should be very frugal
You should plan for rainy days
You should maximize potential
You should see what you can be
You should live to make more money
You should be just like me
by Richard W. Bray
Robert J. Dutton
Robert J. Dutton, a nice little boy
For both his folks, a true pride and joy
He’s kind and helpful in all manner of chores
He does all the dishes and oils creaky doors
But young Robbie Dutton has one little flaw
So minor it’s hardly worth mentioning at all
Despite bribes and threats and forecasts of doom
Robert J. Dutton just won’t clean his room
As days and weeks and years passed by
Robert J. Dutton—this wonderful guy
Began to emit an unhealthy aroma
One kid who smelled it went into a coma
The source of this odor, of course, is his room
I’ll attempt to describe it with minimal gloom:
It’s fusty and musty and dusty and dank
Kids in Australia complain ’bout the stank
The haphazard pile of waste on the shelf
Could only be seen by a junkman as pelf
Green grimy grunge covers the floor
It oozed ‘cross the room and spilt out the door
The garbage and junk and offal and rubble
And gunk and debris are a great source of trouble
The litter and rubbish and refuse and trash
Threaten to cause the walls to collapse
Beneath it all (this hurts to explain!)
Are twelve frozen meals—or at least their remains
The walls are caked with much muck and mire
The strong methane fumes are a real risk of fire
When finally the neighbors couldn’t take any more
They called the police who didn’t wish to explore
The cavern of filth at the end of the hall
So Officer Murphy decided to call
Federal agents, all the great masters
Of famines and floods and natural disasters
Who red-tagged the house they would not dare enter
That haven of crud was smut’s epicenter
The room was declared off limits to all
The army reserve has been placed on call
The Duttons, of course, have all been sent packing
For raising a boy whose neatness was lacking
by Richard W. Bray
My teacher got annoyed and said,
“You’re skating on thin ice”
I said, “Let’s make some snow cones”
And I got detention twice
The skeleton in my closet
Cannot come out to play
It’s not that I have secrets
I’m scared he’ll run away
If the fork in the road
Had been a spoon
My piano would be
Out of tune
We can cross that bridge
If we actually get to it
Or we could swim the moat
I’m not afraid to do it
Did you pull my leg?
Or did you really lose my keys?
I can no longer walk
You dislocated both my knees
I threw my watch off the cliff
To see if time would fly
My daddy sent me after it
I’m not a happy guy
“Do you want to wet your whistle
With pop or tea?”
“Can I please have a drink?
I’m not a referee”
“If you don’t do your chores
You’ll be in hot water”
“I really can’t believe
That you’d boil your only daughter”
by Richard W. Bray
Remembrances
I’m too big for the baby bars
On the jungle gym
I’m too old to make mudpies
With my little brother Tim
I no longer have tea parties
With imaginary friends
One must give up silliness
When early childhood ends
I retired my blue blanket
It was tattered, worn, and torn
And it made me look so foolish
Like some kid who’d just been born
My rubber ducky’s in the trash
I’ve started taking showers
Now I’m texting all my friends
On the phone for hours
I miss those carefree days
When a kid could be a kid
Sometimes I reminisce
About all the things I did
by Richard W. Bray
Tick, tick, tock, tock
Take your hamster for a walk
Tock, tock, tick, tick
Twenty miles should do the trick
Fie, fum, foe, fee
Chase a monkey up a tree
Fum, fee, fie, foe
Do not let the ladder go
A, B, C, D
Pick some posies just for me
D, B, C, A
Any color is okay
Flip, flip, flop, flop
Elevator to the top
Flop, flop, flip, flip
Have yourself a happy trip
One, two, three, four
Shoot the ball to raise the score
Two, one, four, three
Time to pass the ball to me
Ding, ding, dong, dong
Sing yourself a happy song
Dong, dong, ding, ding
O what joy the day can bring
by Richard W. Bray
Fear
Bugaboo, bugbear
Who’s afraid?
I don’t care
Hurry, hurry
Run and hide
Worry, worry
Don’t go outside
All day long
Fret and flee
Won’t sing that song
Don’t bother me
by Richard W. Bray
Pride
If you don’t say you’re sorry
We’ll never speak again
And you will be so lonely
Without your favorite friend
I have my pride to think of
It makes a man a man
So I hope you’re on the brink of
Doing what you can
To drop your petty grievance
And put bygones away
You could be so happy
If we could go and play
by Richard W. Bray
The Birdman
Walter Wendel Whitebrow, the Third
Is fully convinced that he is a bird
This, of course, makes him seem quite absurd
And none of his doctors believe he is cured
With wet worms washed by Wilma, his wife
Walter had the great grub of his life
He caused a major domestic strife
By refusing to cut them up with a knife
Instead, he slurped them down like spaghetti
And all the folks in Freaksville said he
Was quite insane when he grabbed a machete
And chopped up his chairs till they looked like confetti
He gathered all the string he could find
Furiously, he started to bind
Till half his possessions were tightly twined
He couldn’t comprehend why his family would mind
Every time he would visit a house
Walter took something away in his mouth
He dove off the porch while hunting a mouse
As winter approached he began to head south
Today you can seem him up in the sky
For somehow he taught himself how to fly
Whenever a gaggle of geese passes by
Poor Wilma looks up and asks herself, “Why?”
by Richard W. Bray
Peripatetic Paul
Peripatetic Paul went to the mall
He went to the beach and the zoo
He went near and far in his very own car
Still he found nothing to do
by Richard W. Bray
Considered alone they’re simply two foots
But together they make up my feet
They endure wherever I take them
This pair is hard to beat
Daily I pound them with pressure
And each time I walk down the street
The entire weight of my body
Comes crashing down on my feet
Cruelly I encase them
In sandals or stockings and shoes
At home I keep them in slippers
Protecting from fixtures that bruise
I wasn’t designed to walk upright
But you won’t see me swinging in trees
I’m resisting all primeval yearnings
To return to the salty old seas
Supporting my frame for a lifetime
They’re loyal and faithful and strong
Through corns and fungus and bunions
My friends keeps moving along
I’m planning on keeping my tootsies
I’ll treat them with kindness and care
Publicly now I salute them
This most deserving pair
by Richard W. Bray
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