Five Fabulous Poems by Ken Gosse

 

Toddlers’ Tales Entwined in My Mind

 

Tales told often, and many quite old,

can readily soften the sorrows we hold

when it seems times are rife, full of troubles and strife,

but we find hope and comfort through sharing our life.

 

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe;

her cupboard was bare and her children were, too,

except for knit gowns from a woolly black sheep

who said, “I’ll share mine, for it’s warm and it’s deep.”

 

Her cupboard was empty; just seven starved flies.

When opened, she swallowed one—what a surprise!

Since that didn’t kill her, she thought, “I’ll be fine.

Perhaps there’s a spider on which I can dine.”

 

Her skinny old cow had jumped over the moon

so she worried they’d run out of milk very soon.

Her poor, hungry cat, nearly out of his mind,

ran off with the fiddle—his grin stayed behind.

 

She had an old lodger, a crookedy man

who sold pies at the fair—apple, cherry, pecan.

On his way he met Simon who traded three beans

for the lodger’s last pie (Simon had simple means).

 

Since the path to the fair was a long, twisty mile,

he stopped by a brook where he rested a while.

A troll ’neath the bridge shouted “Answer all three

of my questions, old man, or you can’t pass by me!”

 

But he, in good wisdom, returned to his lodging,

not waiting to answer the questions, but dodging.

The woods he traversed on the way were quite deep

yet he scurried along with a promise to keep.

 

On arriving, he opened his pack and he said,

“It’s time for bean stew, even though we’ve no bread,”

but the first bean fell out and it dropped on the floor

where it rolled and it rolled till it rolled out the door.

 

That moment, a peddler arrived with two sacks

full of tin pans and candles and other knickknacks.

Before every sale he’d regale with some tricks,

so he lit and jumped over two tall candlesticks

 

as his wife, lovely Jill, who returned from the hill

where she’d taken a bucket they needed to fill

from the well at the top, and she walked very still

taking care not to fall or the bucket would spill.

 

Although not a liar, Jack’s his pants caught on fire!

Jill soused them and doused them before it was dire

but some of the water drained out the front door

and moistened the bean that had rolled there before.

 

The seed quickly grew till its stalk reached the sky

where it broke through the clouds drifting hazily by.

Growing fast as could be, first two miles, then three—

Jack said, “That’s a sign of adventure for me!”

 

His pants were still steaming when he grabbed the creeper.

’Twas quite a hard climb and it couldn’t be steeper,

but quickly he flew like the down of a thistle

and reaching the top, he let out a loud whistle.

 

The Jabberwock guarded a great castle gate,

but Jack was excited and just couldn’t wait.

From his pack he pulled out the renowned Vorpal sword

and jabbed the Jab-Jab like a butternut gourd.

 

As fast as he could, through the entrance he ran

stopping dead in his tracks when he saw a huge man

who was snoring like thunder to waken the dawn!

This rousted Jack’s courage, and so he moved on

 

through a hall full of riches too great to behold:

in the corner, a cage made of silver and gold;

inside it, a shoe which was carved out of wood;

inside that were three boys in a trance where they stood.

 

Winken and Blinken and Nod manned the boat

which they’d sailed in a dream when it started to float,

flying up through the sky past the eye of the giant

who caught them and caged them, though they were suppliant.

 

Their pitiful pleas brought no ease to his ear

for the giant liked crying—it brought him good cheer—

and though they stayed quiet while Jack slashed the cage,

the noise woke the giant who yelled out in rage!

 

Too late—for their boat had reached such a great height

it was well past his grasp though he flailed with his might.

On this dark, stormy night, now released from his plunder,

o’er treetops they sailed in a great clap of thunder.

 

The bow of their ship held a marvellous sight

which Jack hadn’t seen in the darkness of night,

for hidden away was a sight to behold—

a goose in a nest laying eggs of pure gold!

 

While soaring, their path crossed a trulio dragon

named Custard, who said he would pull their shoe-wagon.

No coward was he (once the billows had passed),

though when danger appeared, he was brave, first to last.

 

Far off in the distance they saw Peter Pan,

John, Wendy, and Michael who crossed the sky’s span

on their first trip to Neverland, floating with ease

as if they’d been tossed from a flying trapeze.

 

At last homeward bound, as they passed the full moon

came an owl, cats, and cow, and a runcible spoon.

One cat was singing, another played fiddle;

two hitchhikers joined them, brers -Dee and -Dum Diddle.

 

On landing, they saw the vine’s flowers had bloomed

sprouting food of all sorts—hunger no longer loomed!

Gold petals and eggs were passed throughout the land,

now freed from the greed of the giant’s fierce hand.

 

The giant was angry! The vine was too small

and he couldn’t climb down to take vengeance on all

so instead, in a violent rage he jumped down

but fell through the Earth a short distance from town.

 

And now they’re all happy, their lives full of laughter

with love, hope, and joy in their dreams ever after.

These journeys we’ve taken, like many before,

still help us believe there is more hope in store. 

 

The Sound of Wisdom

 

The Wise Old Owl ~

A wise old owl

once sat in an Oak.

The more he saw,

the less he spoke.

The less he spoke,

the more he heard,

but when he asked “Who?”

he sounded absurd.

 

Fishing for an Answer ~

A wise old fish,

once swam in a pond

and spoke not a word

till a hook from beyond

flew out from a wand,

then he shouted “Who’s there …”

but he was cut short

when he snapped at the snare.

 

Brazen Wisdom ~

An old wise ass

once stood in the way

for he thought everybody

should hear what he’d say.

So loudly he’d bray

to expound every word

that the noises he made

always sounded absurd.

 

Silence is Olden ~

A wise old man

once sat in an oak.

Some thought he was wise

because he never spoke.

Some said, “It’s a joke—

he’s a looney old bird,”

and when the tree fell,

alas, nobody heard. 

 

The Peaceful Pair Who Rested There

 

A moose on the loose by the name of Tonoose

(like the Lebanese uncle who had a screw loose)

loved to rest on the ground thinking thoughts most profound

(as did Burns on the day that his plans went agley)—

of the humdrum of tundrum, a puzzling conundrum

(no riddle-wrapped mystery in an enigma,

a phrase which, to him, wasn’t even a figma)

for his hapless thoughts were a series of naughts

(not the ones and the zeros of geeky-brained Neroes

whose reign on the plain in the cloud was arcane);

and without plan or palindrome, his mind would roam.

 

And so rested he, although no Tumtum tree

would provide useless shade in his cold, northern glade—

tit-willows weren’t heard from some sad dickybird

to guide his direction to gentle affection—

when what to his wandering eyes should appear

but a Canada goose with a honk loud and clear

as it flew through the air with the greatest of ease

as if flung with full flair from a flying trapeze.

Its down had the grace of fine Chantilly lace

as that cute long-necked goose came to rest its caboose

of top of the moose head he used as a bed.

 

This tale of two friends without need for amends

calmed each dark, stormy night, and each day gave delight

to the pair and to all come to watch them rest there:

an odd couple, mismatched, although none were dispatched

to say “please, move along” to the curious throng

who found they enjoyed the view filling the void

of the chilled, endless plain, which became their domain.

So full speed ahead, any difference be damned,

no intent of pretense therefore neither was shammed.

May this friendship of two without further ado

lend us courage and hope to find peace for us, too. 

 

Odd Couples

 

Walruses and carpenters aren’t singular but plural;

each word means that there’s more than one

though one of each beneath the sun

oft’ walk the shores and have much fun

(for walruses, of course, can’t run),

while ponderings unfurl.

 

And whether beaches they traverse are urban or are rural,

the sand will show their recent trod,

their footprints being rather odd

since both of them are not bipod

and one must waddle on a quad

of fins and flippers as he’ll plod

while dragging an enormous bod

which he can deftly hurl.

 

A walrus and a carpenter may walk along the Ural,

(and when they do, though they are two

yet each is singular, still you

know one of each makes two, not few)

for this is what they like to do

and countless oysters will accrue

(they’ve never eaten too beaucoup)

although their small friends should eschew

their company and their fondue,

they’ll join the dance and twirl.

 

Do pairs of these odd couples ever join to knit and purl?

Do they amass with others in a congo line to curl

along the shores where they’ll eat s’mores and talk about the girl

that they once knew (a date or two, who thought they were a churl,

although, sweet thing, they gave her bling and told her she’s a pearl.

She wouldn’t prance their highland dance—she loathed the bagpipe’s skirl!)?

They may partay but dancing? Nay, for walruses can’t whirl. 

 

The Brew Wasn’t True

 

You knew that it was serious

when she said “sweetest dearious”

and you felt most sincerious

that she’s the girl for you.

 

You must have been delirious

to cook a meal mysterious

(though somewhat deleterious)

to prove your love was true,

 

for suddenly some hottentot

that sizzled in your dinner pot

began to say, “Forget me not!”

before your final chew,

 

and although you were both besot—

for love and liquor hit the spot—

you saw that this would twist the plot,

so, wondering what to do,

 

you found you must abbreviate

your meal and somehow deviate

from hopeful plans, then intimate

your rendezvous was through,

 

full knowing this would aggravate

the lady fair you chose to date;

it seemed most likely she’d berate

sans mercy, full beaucoup,

 

not the kindness of your soul

nor fullness of the dinner bowl,

but call you a despisèd troll

for serving poisoned stew,

 

and knowing that you’d lost control—

and there was naught which might console—

at last you saw, upon the whole,

it’s best if you withdrew.

 

Her faded love for you now gone,

the time has come—you must move on—

your bound’ries once again redrawn

another time or two.

 

And there you stand, your hopes withdrawn.

Excitement slowly yields to yawn.

There’ll be no thunder ’fore the dawn

nor drop of any shoe.

   Ken Gosse usually writes short, rhymed verse using whimsy and humour in traditional meters. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, since then in The Offbeat, Pure Slush, Parody, Home Planet News Online, Sparks of Calliope, and others. Raised in the Chicago, Illinois, suburbs, now retired, he and his wife have lived in Mesa, AZ, over twenty years.