Grumblings are always grumbling, about this and that. Go ask a Grumbling to take out the garbage, he'll retort, "What, and waste my time? I ain't doin' no rubbish like trash!" Or tell him to trim the hedge, and he'll growl very low, "Leave me alone, Jack, I'm bushed and am staying planted right here so long as I can't figure out what whack smack you are barking about." Try to get a Grumbling to feed the fish, he'll reply composed and reposed, "I just can't do it, Trish, for I fear the only fish I'm hooked on come off punch-lines and onto my dinner dish." Though, the true problem comes when the Grumblings are more than one. Whereas 'a' Grumbling can be humbled into mumbles with 'a' strategically placed TV (which he'll watch indefinitely), if a number of Grumblings start stumbling though doors, jumbling out windows and falling in a bumble of tumbles down the crumbling chimneys narrow, that grumbling will roar into a rumbling crescendo that even the mayor can't fix, because by then he'll be grumbling, too, with little, if any, clue of how to save a neighborhood that has gone to the Grumbling zoo.
Mike,
this is the best poem of yours ive read for a long time.
It has its own internal logic and humor like the grinch and cat in the hat.
I think you have areally marketable idea for childrens lit here and you should try adn develop it.
It has more milage than gecko man and puzzle yums.
Hey thanks buddy 🙂
Reading Grumblings I kept thinking of Shel Silverstein’s poetry and Theodore Roethke’s “Dirty Dinky” type stuff.
If you published an anthology I bet it’d go over well. Especially with the illustrations.
You know Shel Silverstein has out a new book out? It is called [Bunny Babbit](http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0060256532/qid=1115563122/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/102-6030954-1032924?v=glance&s=books). I loved him so as a kid (and still do). I think that [Where the Sidewalk Ends](http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0060572345/qid=1115562896/sr=8-1/ref=pd_csp_1/102-6030954-1032924?v=glance&s=books&n=507846) was the first book of poetry that was ever bought for me by my own request. My third grade teacher, Miss Archambeau, used to read him to us in class. During Miss Archambeau’s readings of Silverstien, I fell maddly in love with her. She was perhaps my first real crush. When I entered into the 4th grade, I went back to visit Miss Archambeau, who in the interim of my grade change had gotten married. I remember I accidently called her Miss Archambeau out of habit and she corrected me about her new name. I think that was my first real introduction to heartbreak.
actually, dear, it’s called Runny Babbit…:-)
I’m glad you mentioned it. I didn’t want to be the one to break his heart. ;.)
:'(