From the author:

From the Author:

I will not introduce myself.
I will not ask "How do?"
I will not wave, I will not bow,
Or shake a hand with you.

For I am not polite, my friend;
I have no social grace.
Like you, I have no manners,
And I never learned my place.

Instead I'll write a poem
And I'll put myself in verse,
And if you like the sound of me,
Well, THEN we might converse.

So read a line or two of me,
Or don't, if it's a chore,
But since you've read fifteen of me
I bet you'll read one more.

Click here to contact the author
(...or don't...he doesn't really trust emails from children. They can be sticky).

Monday, 30 May 2011

Alphabet Soup

My name was Sally Dingle-Pratt.
Now how’d I get a name like that?

     Well, my mother was a Dingle and my father is a Pratt;
     They fell in love, and I was born,
     A baby Dingle-Pratt.

I was the only Dingle-Pratt,
And I was quite content with that.

     Then my mother left my father or my father left my mom
     Then mother married Larry
     And became a Finkelbaum.

Then mother took her Dingle-Pratt.
Away we went and that was that.

     And soon my little brother quite exploded on the scene,
     A little baby Finkel-BOMB,
     A baby poop-machine.

And still I was a Dingle-Pratt,
And getting less content with that.

     For there I was a Dingle-Pratt, and still the only one,
     With Finkelbaums surrounding me,
     So what else could be done?

Well, I became a Finkelbaum,
But dad got really mad at mom.

     With daddy so unhappy and with Finkelbaums galore,
     I gathered all my names around 
     And tried it all once more.

(Now the rhythm has to change;
It happens when a name gets strange):

     So now I’m a Dingle-Pratt-Finkelbaum. Phew!
     A mouthful of names for those with but two. 
     With a mom and two dads and each with a name
     And me with them all, all linked in a chain,
     I feel like I’m found; I feel like I’m bound;
     My name is the longest and craziest sound.

     Oh, sometimes I feel like I’m alphabet soup
     And everyone’s gathered around in a group.
     And each of them eats up a letter of me
     Till I’m swallowed up whole in the family tree.
     But maybe a name is a colourful ruse
     Made to amuse and made to confuse
     And made to disguise us in elegant hues
     And give us a thing that we think we can’t lose,
     Like walking through life with invincible shoes.
     Yes, I can wear any old name that I choose,
     So Dingle-Pratt-Finkelbaum IS what I’ll use.

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