Pranking with Jello and Flamingos

Last night I opened the door to this:

And this:

Apparently there was a prank pulled on THE OFFICE where someone chilled a stapler in jello.  The girls decided to try this with my "singing bowl" after they snatched it.  Didn't quite come out as they planned, but it sure was funny.  But they weren't done yet....

The next morning I awoke to this:

And:

Think there were about 23 in all throughout my front yard.  We had a bit of rain (very unusual for our area), and it appeared my yard sprouted pink flamingos.  But it made for a fun morning, especially after spotting this:



Didn't turn pic upright before posting - oh well, a symbol for life at the moment:  a little sideways.

Yet Another

Yet another poem by Dean Young.  Stumbled upon him through a poetry site and have been quite impressed.  Hope I'm not breaking any copyright laws by sharing these poems.  So always linking back to my source Poetry.Org. Ash Ode
by Dean Young
When I saw you ahead I ran two blocks shouting your name then realizing it wasn’t you but some alarmed pretender, I went on running, shouting now into the sky, continuing your fame and luster. Since I've been incinerated, I've oft returned to this thought, that all things loved are pursued and never caught, even as you slept beside me you were flying off. At least what's never had can’t be lost, the sieve of self stuck with just some larger chunks, jawbone, wedding ring, a single repeated dream, a lullaby in every elegy, descriptions of the sea written in the desert, your broken umbrella, me claiming I could fix it.

Bronzed

As I receive several poems of the day from this site.  I hope to share the ones that  stand out.  

BY DEAN YOUNG

That dusty bubble gum, once ubiquitous as starlings,   

is no more, my love. Whistling dinosaurs now populate   

only animation studios, the furious actions of angels   

causing their breasts to flop out in mannerist   

frescos flake away as sleet holds us in its teeth.   

And the bus-station's old urinals go under   

the grindstone and the youthful spelunkers   

graduate into the wrinkle-causing sun. The sea   

seemingly a constant to the naked eye is one   

long goodbye, perpetually the tide recedes,   

beaches dotted with debris. Unto each is given   

a finite number of addresses, ditties to dart   

the heart to its moments of sorrow and swoon.   

The sword's hilt glints, the daffodils bow down,   

all is temporary as a perfect haircut, a kitten   

in the lap, yet sitting here with you, my darling,   

waiting for a tuna melt and side of slaw   

seems all eternity I'll ever need   

and all eternity needs of me.

Guess It's All About Point-of-View

Have always loved Roald Dahl.  Stumbled upon this little ditty today.  Little morbid, but then I guess it depends on one's point-of-view. :)  There's one about Red Riding Hood and Cinderella as well.

Excerpt –

'This famous wicked little tale 
Should never have been put on sale 
It is a mystery to me 
Why loving parents cannot see 
That this is actually a book 
About a brazen little crook...' 

'...Now just imagine how you'd feel 
If you had cooked a lovely meal, 
Delicious porridge, steaming hot, 
Fresh coffee in the coffee pot, 
With maybe toast and marmalade, 
The table beautifully laid, 
One place for you and one for dad, 
Another for your little lad. 
Then dad cries, 'Golly–gosh! Gee whizz! 
'Oh cripes! How hot this porridge is! 
'Let's take a walk along the street 
'Until it's cool enough to eat.' 
He adds, 'An early morning stroll 
'Is good for people on the whole. 
'It makes your appetite improve 
'It also helps your bowels move.' 
No proper wife would dare to question 
Such a sensible suggestion, 
Above all not at breakfast–time 
When men are seldom at their prime. 
No sooner are you down the road 
Than Goldilocks, that little toad 
That nosey thieving little louse, 
Comes sneaking in your empty house....' 

'...(Here comes the next catastrophe.) 
Most educated people choose 
To rid themselves of socks and shoes 
Before they clamber into bed. 
But Goldie didn't give a shred. 
Her filthy shoes were thick with grime, 
And mud and mush and slush and slime. 
Worse still, upon the heel of one 
Was something that a dog had done. 
I say once more, what would you think 
If all this horrid dirt and stink 
Was smeared upon your eiderdown 
By this revolting little clown? 
(The famous story has no clues 
To show the girl removed her shoes.) 

Oh, what a tale of crime on crime! 
Let's check it for a second time. 

Crime One, the prosecution's case: 
She breaks and enters someone's place. 

Crime Two, the prosecutor notes: 
She steals a bowl of porridge oats. 

Crime Three: She breaks a precious chair 
Belonging to the Baby Bear. 

Crime Four: She smears each spotless sheet 
With filthy messes from her feet. 

A judge would say without a blink, 
'Ten years hard labour in the clink!' 
But in the book, as you will see, 
The little beast gets off scot–free, 
While tiny children near and far 
Shout 'Goody–good! Hooray! Hurrah!' 
'Poor darling Goldilocks!' they say, 
'Thank goodness that she got away!' 
Myself, I think I'd rather send 
Young Goldie to a sticky end. 
'Oh daddy!' cried the Baby Bear, 
'My porridge gone! It isn't fair!' 
'Then go upstairs,' the Big Bear said, 
'Your porridge is upon the bed. 
'But as it's inside mademoiselle, 
'You'll have to eat her up as well.'

Roald Dahl