Christmas at Hogwarts, 1997:
Harry Potter is in heaven
Opening gifts from his first ever friends
And hoping this day never ends
When off to the side he notices one
Nondescript little package and opens it. Fun!
Inside is a cloak made of magical paper
For invisible movement during a caper.
“How does it work?” Harry asked. Ron, compliant,
Said, “It’s made from the list of all Epstein’s clients.”
Then Harry nodded, his heart feeling zen,
And Professor Quirrel was never seen again.
Filed under Poems
No AC?
Just live under a tree.
It’s cool as can be.
Just wait and see!
Filed under Poems
I have a fountain in my yard.
It doesn’t fountain very hard,
Just drips and drips onto a spot
And fills my hose when the weather’s hot.
Some may say that it’s a tap
But I think that’s a load of crap.
If soda and drinking fountains count
Then mine’s a fountain too by my account.
I’m proud of my little drippy fountain.
For it I’d move many a mountain
For when I’m a sweaty yard-working man
I drink from it just ‘cause I can.
Filed under Poems
Super secret base.
Red alert! It’s Mom and Dad
Taking pillows back…
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There once was a good-looking chap
Who spilled juice on a movie star’s lap.
They would, then they wouldn’t,
They could but they couldn’t,
And, my goodness, their acting was crap.
Filed under Poems
Shelly sells seashells at the seashore.
Nobody quite knows what she does this for.
No one buys the shells she sells, so I am pondering
If Shelly’s shells are a shell business for money laundering.
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One under is a birdie.
An even score is par.
One over is a bogey.
What I got is a Zanzibar.
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Fireworks and fireworks!
Kazam! Kazee! Badoo!
One flies up and lights the sky;
It makes me think of you.
Fireworks and fireworks
Far as the eye can see!
One flies up and fizzles;
It makes you think of me.
Filed under Poems
Do vampires get uncomfortable
When writing a lowercase “t”?
When they order at a restaurant
Do they request their water unholy?
Do they avoid places that eat lots of garlic
And even avoid such a smell?
Because my conclusions lead me to believe
Italy is just vampire hell.
Filed under Poems
Do vampires get uncomfortable
When writing the letter “t”?
When they order at a restaurant
Do they request their water unholy?
Do they avoid places that eat lots of garlic
And even avoid such a smell?
Because my conclusions lead me to believe
Italy is just vampire hell.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 