The Boogeyman lives in the night,
Haunting all of your dreams.
But if you walk right up to him,
He isn’t what he seems!
He’s really a very nice fellow,
Though his teeth are really yellow.
He is not the one giving you nightmares,
He told me.
But he is surprised,
That you all act like baloney!
He says it’s just a trick of the mind,
Not his fault at all,
So never blame him again,
I’m tellin y’all!
Once there was a language called Zoish,
The best of them all.
It was just an improvement of English,
But it was still the best of them all.
They were long lost words,
The oldest of them all.
When everyone had herds,
The biggest of them all.
Here is glass,
Here’s a clear plastic curtain.
Both translucent,
I’m very certain.
Why are you here?
Ahh, now I see.
This
Poem
Might
Not
Be
What
You
Were
Expecting
Of
Me
But
I
Wrote
This
Inside
A
Snake,
Sorry.
Little Mo, Son Of Joe,
Needed something.
Something that told him his ancestry,
Something that he wanted very badly,
So he looked, and looked, and looked, and looked, and looked.
And while he did,
He said to Sid,
I will find it.
He said it to all the people in town,
Until they never wanted him around,
I will find it.
First, he searched around his house.
Nothing.
Then he searched around his street,
Nothing.
He then searched around his whole neighborhood!
But still, Nothing.
He saw Nothing everywhere,
But Something just wasn’t there!
So he sat and pulled out all his hair,
As the Bald Mo, Son Of Joe, he set to work again.
He searched, yes, he would peek and peer,
Until he broke the atmosphere,
But, as you can guess, Nothing.
So as he came back down,
He saw a beautiful sight to see,
Where people aren’t like you and me
They were all as different as could be!
And came back down, gracefully,
And he knew who he would be,
Himself.
They all say I did,
They say I flipped my lid,
But I didn’t!
They all call me fraud,
Never do they applaud,
But I haven’t!
They will never understand,
That I didn’t!
Like they’re on cue,
They all say stuff I didn’t do,
Not you too?
Gus friend best my were you thought I
fuss a making you are Why
perfectly see can you That
accidentally backwards poem this wrote I (Splat)
Papa says to be silly,
To call your best friend Billy,
To pick a rotten lily,
Just to be really silly.
Why should you really,
Be silly?
It’s funny and happy,
And it makes you very clappy.
Everyone will cheer.
They´ll say to have a happy year.
The upside down boy lived in an upside-down world,
Where all he could eat was just one cheese curd.
And he walks on the ceiling instead of the floor,
And he would open the window instead of the door.
The upside down boy had no friends.
He said it was a happy beginning, instead of a sad end.
He would be sad but call it happy.
And when things were straight he would call it flappy.
Oh, he’s upside down, Oy!
No one could understand the boy,
Because he was so upside down in his words.
And I told you about the cheese curds.
Well, I guess he was crazy,
Though he was wonky and lazy.
He would plant stuff inside,
And he would live outdoors.
He would vacuum the sidewalk,
And get mud on the floors.
He wouldn’t care,
Why he was going or where,
Because he was the upside down boy.
‘Tis the game of murder and death,
‘Tis the game of betrayal.
‘Tis the game of not pure health,
‘Tis the game of I’m not okay’ll.
‘Tis the worst of all games,
Where all you do is sit,
Can I download it?