SpinnerBait_Nut
Honorary Moderator Emeritus
- Joined
- Aug 25, 2002
- Messages
- 17,651
I posted these a while back, August 5 to be exact and thought maybe it would put a smile on some of your faces.<br />Enjoy as I can truely relate to them.<br /><br />But when the crust was on the snow and the sullen skies were gray<br />In sooth, the building was no place where one could wish to stay.<br />We did our duties promptly, there one purpose swayed the mind,<br />We tarried not, nor lingered long on what we left behind,<br />The torture of that icy seat would make a Spartan sob, <br />For needs must scrape the gooseflesh with a lacerating cob,<br />That from a frost-encrusted nail was suspended by a string-<br />For Father was a frugal man and wasted not a thing. <br />When Grandpa had to "go out back" and make his morning call,<br />We'd bundle up the dear old man with a muffler and a shawl,<br />I knew the hole on which he sat, 'twas padded all around,<br />And once I dared to sit there-'twas all too wide I found,<br />My loins were all too little and I jack-knifed there to stay,<br />They had to come and get me out or I'd have passed away.<br />Then Father said ambition was a thing that boys should shun,<br />And I just use the children's hole 'till childhood days were done. <br />And still I marvel at the craft that cut those holes so true,<br />The baby hole, and the slender hole that fitted Sister Sue.<br />That dear old country landmark; I've tramped around a bit,<br />And in the lap of luxury my lot has been to sit-<br />But 'ere I die I'll eat the fruit of trees I robbed of yore<br />Then seek the shanty where my name is carved upon the door,<br />I ween the old familiar smell will soothe my faded soul,<br />I'm now a man, but none the less I'll try the children's hole.<br />________________________________________________<br />Ma tried to wash her garden slacks but couldn't get 'em clean<br />And so she thought she'd soak 'em in a bucket o' benzine.<br />It worked all right. She wrung 'em out then wondered what she'd do<br />With all that bucket load of high explosive residue. <br /><br />She knew that it was dangerous to scatter it around,<br />For Grandpa liked to throw his lighted matches on the ground.<br />Somehow she didn't dare to pour it down the kitchen sink, <br />And what the heck to do with it, poor Ma jest couldn't think. <br /><br />Then Nature seemed to give the clue, as down the garden lot<br />She spied the edifice that graced a solitary spot, <br /><br />Their Palace of Necessity, the family joy and pride,<br />Enshrined in morning-glory vine, with graded seats inside; <br /><br />Jest like that cabin Goldylocks found occupied by three,<br />But in this case B-E-A-R was spelt B-A-R-E----<br />A tiny seat for Baby Bare, a medium for Ma,<br />A full-sized section sacred to the Bare of Grandpapa. <br /><br />Well, Ma was mighty glad to get that worry off her mind,<br />And hefting up the bucket so combustibly inclined,<br />She hurried down the garden to that refuge so discreet,<br />And dumped the liquid menace safely through the centre seat. <br /><br />Next morning old Grandpa arose; he made a hearty meal,<br />And sniffed the air and said: By Gosh! how full of beans I feel.<br />Darned if I ain't as fresh as paint; my joy will be complete<br />With jest a quiet session on the usual morning seat;<br />To smoke me pipe an' meditate, an' maybe write a pome,<br />For that's the time when bits o' rhyme gits jiggin' in me dome.' <br /><br />He sat down on that special seat slicked shiny by his age,<br />And looking like Walt Whitman, jest a silver-whiskered sage,<br />He filled his corn-cob to the brim and tapped it snugly down,<br />And chuckled: Of a perfect day I reckon this the crown.'<br /><br />He lit the weed, it soothed his need, it was so soft and sweet:<br />And then he dropped the lighted match clean through the middle seat. <br /><br />His little grand-child Rosyleen cried from the kichen door:<br />Oh, Ma, come quick; there's sompin wrong; I heared a dreffel roar;<br />Oh, Ma, I see a sheet of flame; it's rising high and higher...<br />Oh, Mummy dear, I sadly fear our comfort-cot's caught fire.' <br /><br />Poor Ma was thrilled with horror at them words o' Rosyleen.<br />She thought of Grandpa's matches and that bucket of benzine;<br />So down the garden geared on high, she ran with all her power,<br />For regular was Grandpa, and she knew it was his hour. <br /><br />Then graspin' gaspin' Rosyleen she peered into the fire,<br />A roarin' soarin' furnace now, perchance old Grandpa's pyre....<br />But as them twain expressed their pain they heard a hearty cheer----<br />Behold the old rapscallion squattinn' in the duck pond near,<br />His silver whiskers singed away, a gosh-almighty wreck,<br /><br />Wi' half a yard o' toilet seat entwined about his neck....<br />He cried: Say, folks, oh, did ye hear the big blow-out I made?<br /><br />It scared me stiff-I hope you-un was not to much afraid?<br />But now I best be crawlin' out o' this dog-gasted wet....<br />For what I aim to figger out is----WHAT THE HECK I ET?'
