Thursday, December 26, 2013

More from the half-used bookshelves of M. L. Hedengren

Here are some more of the weird things I've found in my old notebooks. Ah, what a youth I was..!

Go child-- my mother said to me-- go and and wash the poop from your shoes.
Take paper towel and stick and hose and wash the poop from off your shoes.
For Adam's sake was all man curses that pleasures might a price demand
And for a day's wanterlust and romp, to spray one's treads out will suffice.
For simple pleasures, and carelessness, a simple recompense is made.
So go and use the outside hose and wash the poop from your shoes.

My lad, I'm glad you've some to stay
And watch the house while I'm away
Before I go, just let me say
Don't poke the monster.

If you're feeling bored and dull
Play hide and seek with the mad troll
or eat moat frogs until you're full
But don't poke the monster.

And if it's really dreadful weather
Tie medusa's heads together
and tickle her with griffen feather
But don't poke the monster.

Insist that Vlad become a cat. Then bat.
Then cat again, still cat, then bat, then cat,
until he's not sure where where he's at
But it's better to be a cabacacabacat
Then to poke the monster.

Made it's music you adore
You can join the banshee choir
For about as long as you endure
but don't poke the monster.

[I'm very sorry this one is unfinished, but I think we can all imagine what the logical next step in the narrative will be.]


Don't laugh--those roses
were for you.
Although it sems absurb--
like Stan and Ollie
at the rainy day
I really like holding your hand.
So I though--
perhaps half-mockingly--
I might bring you
some orange flowers
I though maybe
we could be in love.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

From an Unmarked Notebook on My Shelf

 Mr. Gimley was 64 years old, his mother peacefully passed away. Mr. Gimley mad ethe funeral arraignments, spoke at the eulogy and grieved the appropraite length of time.

Then he retired early from his high position at a successful insurance business, sold his house and his condo in Florida, and moved into the orphanage.

"Excuse me," said mean Mr. Stiles, the director of the orphanage, "you don't belong here."

"Excuse me," said Mr. Gimley, "I'm an orphan."

So Mr. Gimley ate gruel for breakfast .... and lunch.... and dinner.

He dressed in patched rags with torn hems.

He scrubbed the floors with a toothbrush.

He played stickball (but not as well as the other orphans)

He learned long division under kind Miss Stu and cheap walletmaking under mean Mr. Stiles.

When Christmas came, he savored every section of his orange, with was naturally his only present.

"Gee, Miss Stu," he said. "being an orphan sure is difficult."

"It is," said Miss Stu. "Everyone needs someone to take care of them."

"What if we just took care of each other?"

"That might work."

"I never thought of that when I was in my high position at a successful insurance business."

So Miss Stu and Mr. Gimley adopted each other (Miss Stu being an orphan herself) and the two of them adopted all of the other orphans and they all ate pizza instead of gruel & got pinatas every Friday and two puppies for Christmas and everyone was very happy, except Mr. Stiles, who did not get adopted, because he was not an orphan and so was sent home to his mother...

who made him eat gruel.