I wrote this for my kids when they have a bad attitude

[Batguy21784]

Beware the Grumpies

Have you ever felt like being angry
but you had no idea why?
You stomp around making faces
and give all the evil eye.

Mom and Dad ask, “What’s the matter?”
But you just walk away and growl.
You’d better look around because
the Grumpies are on the prowl.

These wee beasts ride upon your shoulder
or get caught up in your hair.
They whisper stinky cheese thoughts
and try to tell you, “It’s not fair!”

They’ll lead you into fixes.
They’ll make you whine and grumble.
And if you don’t get rid of them,
you’re bound to take a tumble.

But bug spray does not stop them,
and you can’t put them in a zoo!
Pest Control won’t save the day,
But I’ll tell you what to do.

Green Grumpies are the easiest.
Just pluck them from your ear.
Stomp them twice with your left foot
and feed them to a deer.

The fuzzy, yellow Grumps
are harder than they seem.
You must hit them with a hammer
and drown them in whipped cream.

Blue, spikey Grumpies can be beat
in just one way:
Stuff them in a stinky shoe and hurl
them far away!

But the purple, polka-dotted Grump
is the most wicked one of all.
They’ll have you throwing tantrums
whenever they come to call.

You must drop them in a blender
and let the motor race.
Then put the pieces in a slingshot
and launch them into space!

by Wayne Thomas Batson

[Batguy21784]

Signs

Dear God,
I have this very good
friend who’s as confused as he can be.

He says he wants to believe
in you but wants a sign that he can see.

So we lay beneath the stars one night, and I thought
for sure, that would set him right.

But as we stared into the heavens deep,
Wouldn’t you know? He fell fast asleep!

“If I could just hear God,” he said, “Maybe just a word or two.”
As the rain pitter-pattered down and the wailing wind blew.

“Or maybe if I could touch Him,” he said while skipping stones on a lake,
“That would be something that I could not mistake.”

“What about a letter?” I asked. “Straight from God to you?”
“I suppose,” he replied, “that would mean that God is true.”

So I handed him the Bible, and do you know what he said?
“I won’t read that old thing. I’ll just wait for a sign instead.”

Wayne Thomas Batson

[Batguy21784]

T.C. and the Christmas Tree

T.C. was a kitten
who was nearly nine months old
He liked to play inside
when the weather got cold.

He liked to play with yarn.
He liked to chase a string.
And sometimes late at night
he even liked to sing!

But one day in December
when frost first iced the ground,
T.C. searched high and low
but there was no one to be found.

No big man with a flannel shirt,
nor the wife he called Mabel.
No cute and cuddly children
To feed him food scraps from the table!

There came a scratching at the door,
A really raucous din.
And to T.C.’s great astonishment,
a big ole tree walked in!

The man lugged the great green needly thing
with his family close behind.
They stood it near the window
and opened up the blinds.

Out came some boxes,
T.C. had never seen.
And the children pulled out sparkly things
And hung them on the tree.

A set of twinkly lights came first,
and T.C. mewed to ask for more.
But when they drew out a silver garland,
T.C. chased it all across the floor!

Shiny colored balls came next
And then on top a silver star.
T.C. began to wonder
If he could jump that far!

When the room grew still and quiet,
T.C.’s ears wiggled up and down.
The children brought a little building
And placed it on the ground.

It was a place for little animals,
A donkey, a cow, a lamb.
And in the middle by the feedbox
sat a woman and a man.

The children put something tiny then
in the feedbox as gently as can be.
And when the family went out to dinner
T.C. came out to see.

In the multicolored glow
A little baby lay.
T.C. wondered who he was
And why they put him in the hay.

So T.C. crawled into the building
And curled up around the child.
He liked the baby’s bright, bright eyes.
He liked the baby’s smile.

T.C. purred himself to sleep,
as kittens often do.
“Look at T.C.!” said the children.
“He loves Jesus too!”

-Wayne Thomas Batson

[Batguy21784]

Once Abigail


I try to pretend,
imagine I don’t know what
you’re going to do.
It’s possible for a very little, tiny
while, the warmth of you all around, drifting, losing
myself. Often I think back to when I
began. At first I was nothing.
Then I was. And your heartbeat told me
I was alive.
Your heart, heavy
rhythmic, hypnotic, lately
more abrupt.
Mine, rapid, thin--
blending in tender
percussion.
Constant sound, fluid
warmth, blanketing
comfort--But then reality cuts
in, the illusion
removed.

Why are you doing this Mommy?

There was so much love, hands on the belly love, and I kicked
you and Daddy, heard murmurs of delight for a time.
His voice, though, less often, then not at all, gone…
I wondered why you trembled, screamed, sobbed
and things tightened.

When we went to the different doctor, I knew.

He spoke in shameful
whispers, but I heard pieces
of his advice: pain-
less, treatment, the right choice.
You were frightened, at first, but then you hardened,
I didn’t feel hands on the belly love anymore.
My restless squirmings,
kicks and jabs,
met only your suffocating
silence.

You’re cold,
shivering now, Mommy,
laying among surgical
noises, tones shrill, alarming,
strange, mechanical vibrations, foreign pressures--
the different doctor.

I could have been

your little bundle, your princess,
your honor student, valedictorian.
I could have braided
your hair, made soup
when you were sick--
worn your wedding dress.
Dreams empty
as the fluid
around me
drains.
I never liked being called Choice.

I could have been Abigail.


by Wayne Thomas Batson

[Batguy21784]

Silver and Red

Jerusalem’s dusty streets watch money changing hands
among the robed merchants, traders who parley silver
for gain. In the sepulchral halls where lush tapestries kiss
cold stone behind the throne of the chief priests in their red
robes, it is no different. A being, bent and burdened, comes across
their hallowed threshold to hammer

out a deal. Whispering oaths, an offer, his heart hammers
with fear, indecision. All the while he holds out his sweating hands
to the holy men whose phylacteries are light upon their brow. Ghastly smiles cross
their lips for a triumphant moment as they smugly deliver thirty silver
pieces for a life. Reclining later with his rabbi at a table of pale bread and red
wine, he feels on his thigh the electric chill of the new coins, like a harlot’s kiss

teasing. Fleeting like a tryst, the wealth leaves him empty--the betraying kiss
delivered later that night costs his life--and more. A hammer
strikes a bell with forlorn finality as the soldiers with their drawn swords and red
torches surround his rabbi, the gentle man, roughly bind his hands
like a common thief. Marching down the mountain with moonlight silver
upon breastplate and helm, they drag their outlaw across

the streets where he mended lame legs, gave sight to many--though cross,
bitter men chose to stay blind. Made to kiss
the ground before the lofty seat and silver
signet ring of the Roman Governor, he rises to one knee, is hammered
with questions. No guilt found but pressed by mobs, the leader washes his hands
of blame only to gouge the name Pilate red

on the stark scrolls of history. The frenzied crowd, filthy, sweating, seething red
faces, demand a murderer set free while the innocent one goes to the splintered cross.
Centurions mock the condemned man, placing a reed scepter in his hands,
a scarlet robe on his now flayed back, and, upon the head once kissed
by Mary, a crown of biting thorns. With the black weight of sin, the hammer
falls three times. Bleeding, barely breathing, he’s held to that tree by more than silver

nails. Memory of that brutal hammer haunted Judas, crosses time. Will we covet
silver above red or kiss, pierced for us all, the sweet scarred hands?

by Wayne Thomas Batson

[Logos]

I've merged your topics, please see below:

http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=21394
.
.

[Batguy21784]

Sorry about that. I should have realized.

[Logos]

Ok, no problem ;) I like these, and this post bumps your topic to the first page, I hope some other people see/read your poems too :)

[Lioness_Heart]

Wow! They are amazing!
I love the grumpies one best... I wsa feeling stroppy a few minutes ago and now I feel more like laughing...
Thanks!

[Batguy21784]

Thanks, LH

It's fun to help my kids stomp their grumpies!

[mir]

Wow! those are really amazing poems! :eek: The grumpies one is great; so is the T.C. - very cute. :)