Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Who's There?

"Knock, knock!"
"Who's there?"
"A platypus."
"How could you be a platypus?
A platypus is small and furry
and never, ever in a hurry;
its nose is long and wide and flat;
its feet are webbed — you aren't like that.
Forgive me if I don't concur,
but platypine you aren't, I'm sure."

"Knock, knock!"
"Who's there?"
"A brontosaurus."
"No, you are not a brontosaurus!"
"Am too."
"Are not! A brontosaurus
lived a million years before us.
He's awfully big and very tall.
No, you are not like that at all.
I hate to put you on the spot,
but brontosaurusish you're not."

"Knock, knock!"

"Who's there?"
"A great white shark."
"A great white shark? Don't make me laugh!
A great white shark lives in the sea,
not right across the hall from me!
He's very fast, his teeth are vicious;
he swims around and gobbles fishes;
he's never fearful of the dark.
You cannot be a great white shark."

"Knock, knock!"
"Who's there?"
"Your little brother."
"Aha! Well, now you've gone too far.
My little brother is a pest.
He never, ever lets me rest;
he's always doing things he shouldn't
and bothering me. No, you couldn't
be him — you're too polite, by far.
Say ... wait a minute! Oh! You are!"

— Ender

This poem is dedicated to my new friend and prolific artist/illustrator, Tom Brannon. If you or one of your children have ever read a Sesame Street book, chances are you've seen some of Tom's art: http://bit.ly/RrMRfT. I don't know what he gets paid to do his work, but it looks like he has fun with it ... and he's a personal friend of Elmo!

Click for Amazon list of Tom's books

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Used Bubble Gum

I found a piece of bubble gum
just layin’ on the ground;
I thought it was an awful shame
to waste it.
I picked it up and brushed it off,
and then, I looked around,
and I put it in my mouth
so I could taste it.

It chewed a little hard at first
and kept me rather busy,
but I finally got it softer
— and I’m proud of it.
And then, I blew
                      and BLEW
                                and BLEW
until I was quite dizzy.
But someone’d already
blowed the bubbles out of it.

— Ender

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Song for Matilda, Who Would Never Dot Her i’s

Matilda was charming and full of grace,
and light of hair and fair of face.
When leaving the table, she’d say, “Excuse”;
and she always minded her p’s and q’s
— a dear little girl, if one ever was.
But Matilda was destined for ill, because,
although angels fashioned her otherwise,
Matilda would never dot her i's!

Well, she closed her o’s and she crossed her t’s;
her l’s looped magnificently, and her g’s.
Her writing was neat — why, her spots were spotless —
and a joy to behold; but her i’s were dotless!

Her mother had warned her, with much dismay
("Matilda, dear, what will the neighbors say!?")
that while, yes, dots had something, well, dotty about them,
the world looked unkindly on i’s without them.

Her teachers in school were, of course, nonplussed
("Matilda, be reasonable ... you must
learn to finish your i’s!"
). But Matilda insisted
her letters were better and, so, resisted
— though, she knew what was right and she knew she should.

And Matilda turned out, in the end, no good.

Although this comes as no surprise;
for, never did she dot her i’s.

— Ender

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Tattle Tale

I’m tellin’! I’m tellin’!
I saw you, I caught you!
You jumped in that puddle
in those new shoes Mom bought you!
You did it on purpose —
she’s gonna come spank you.
What? You’ll give me candy to shut up?
No, thank you!

I’m tellin’! You’re done for!
You’re gonna regret it!
What? You’ll give me cookies to clam up?

Forget it!

I’m, tellin’! It’s over!
Be quiet? No way!
What? Two frogs and a stink bomb?

I’m thinkin’ ...


— Ender

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Bug Breakfast

My big brother made me eat
a bug for breakfast yesterday.
He told me if I didn't, he would hit me.
He handed me a beetle;
then, he jumped out of the way
and he said to eat it fast, before it bit me.
I put the beetle in my mouth
and crunched and mashed and grinded.
It tried to get away once while I chewed it.
It wasn't very tasty,
but I really didn't mind it,
'cause it made my brother sick to watch me do it.

— Ender

Monday, November 21, 2005

Your Feet Stink

Your feet STINK!
— they’re really awful!
And I think
I’m gonna DIE!
If I go
into a coma,
Mom’ll know
the reason why.
If I melt
into a puddle
’cause I smellt
’em, Dad’ll see ...
what’s that nasty,

repulsive odor?

It's your FEET,
not me!

— Ender

Saturday, November 19, 2005


Bananas new
are good to chew.

Bananas old
are not to fold.

— Ender

Something Afoot

My feet are pretty ugly
— I often wonder if they shouldn't be
attached to someone else,
because, well, frankly,
they don't resemble any part of me.

My toes are quite disturbing
— they point in all directions left and right,
the second one is longer
than the first one,
and the little one's a most peculiar sight.

When I go walking in the park,
I have to wait 'til after dark.
I can't wear flip-flops at the pool
— it's just too scary, as a rule.
My brother, who almost never lies,
says my feet are aliens in disguise.
Gosh, could it be that they're from outer space?
Could I be standing on some Martian's face?

I wish that things were different.
I'd gladly change my feet if I could choose.
But then, I guess I'd better
learn to like 'em,
'cause without 'em, how could I put on my shoes?

— Ender


Worms are slimy,
gooey, sticky,
squashy, squirmy
GAAHHH! they're ICKY!
They're all slippery,
slithery, scummy ...

I just ate one —
it was yummy!

— Ender

My Sister

My sister spends forevur
in the bathrum in the morning.
She says she hasta make herself
all beootiful 'n stuf.
And then, she puts five dreses on
and sevun pares of earings
and makes our house all dusty
with her stoopid powder puf.
She asks me if she's pretti,
and I tell her, "pretti ugli."
She waks me with her harebrush
'n sez, "You ar such a pest!"
I say, "I noe you ar, but what am I?"
'n stick my fingurs in her maikup.
There's lotsa things I like ta do,
but buggin' sisters is the best.

— Ender

Friday, November 18, 2005

Mr. Monster

The monster under my bed
is eight feet tall and smells like cheese.
His fur is green and his eyes are red,
and his dandruff makes me sneeze.
His teeth and his claws are an awful sight,
and he growls and he howls and he snores all night
... but other than that, I guess he's alright.
"Goodnight, Mr. Monster!"

He only comes out when the sun goes down,
and he hides from my mom and dad.
He pokes me and pushes my bed around,
and his breath is really bad.
He has spiders and centipedes in his hair
and he never changes his underwear,
... but it's morning now, and I don't care.
"Goodbye, Mr. Monster!"

— Ender

Mad Mike

I'm Mad Mike,
and I wanna ride my bike,
but my doctor says I hafta stay in bed.

And I'm so mad
that I'm utterly, utterly bad,
and my temperture's hot and my face is turnin' red.

Mom says, "Please,
cover your nose" when I sneeze,
"and go back to sleep because you need lots of rest."

But I'm Mad Mike,
and I'm gonna ride my bike,
'cause there's no school today and I know best.

— Ender

Herald Harold

Meet Harold, boogeyman first-rate,
a terror to the Nth degree.
"Incorrigible" would understate
his mischievous supremacy.

For, Harold is a "mean machine"
— a hurricane, undisciplined ...
All other furies quit the scene
when Harold blows his ugly wind.

No greater grief man ever gave.
No ornerier ogre ever was.
A futile hope, that he'd behave
— for, THAT is NOT what Harold DOES.

No, Harold's nasty, Harold's vile.
No sin for Harold is too great.
Contemptible as a crocodile ...
and, Lord help us, he's only eight.

— Ender

About Wild Willy's Kid Stuff

There's something wrong with me. I've got all this gray hair, but I still act and think like a kid most of the time. My wife says most men are like that; one female friend of mine used to say that men are, basically, "bears with furniture" — I think probably they're both right. In any case, when I'm feeling particularly childish, I write kid stuff. I've also been known to bang out a bear poem now and then.

If you have any ideas for subjects, feel free to post here as well, or e-mail to me at enderprise@me.com. I'll keep writing them as long as the ideas keep coming ... or until I grow up — which probably will be never.

← Wild Willy