Fun

© 2014 by P Michael Biggs

What do you do for fun

Do you jump and run

Do you eat hamburger buns

Do you sit in the sun

Do you pretend you weigh a ton

Do you count to one

When you are having fun

When Grey has fun

He has a pretend gun

Sometimes he takes a run

Down the ski run

Once I heard of a bank run

That was probably no fun

And in the long run

Those who stayed won

Well this has been fun

And there have been no puns

Think I’ll go eat a cinnamon bun

Now that could be real fun

  

When You Don't Know

© 2014 by P Michael Biggs

When you don’t know

Then don’t blow

Don’t crow

And don’t flow

When you don’t know

Don’t owe

Don’t row

Better not sew

When you don’t know

You have a few woes

Don’t drop and throw

Things on your big toe

When you don’t know

Don’t put it in your bio

Don’t hide it in your bread dough

Or burry it in the snow

When you don’t know

Say so

Let go

Cause others already know

Drums

© 2014 by P Michael Biggs

When I was seven I played the drums

Most people can’t hum when I play drums

My Mom would mumble about my drums

I’m sure she often wondered what I would become

I succumbed to the drums

Even if eating cracker crumbs

When doing math the sums wouldn't come

When I was playing drums

I once saw a bum when playing drums

I think he was chewing bubble gum

He threw a plum at my drum

I think that was rather dumb

We walked away, me and my drum

I realized that day I don’t like bums

You never know what they will become

I hope someday he succumbs to the drums

Cook Book

© 2014 by P Michael Biggs

I found a book, I took a look

It was a book on how to cook

I looked and looked and tried to cook

Buy nothing worked in that cook book

I wondered if by hook or crook

I could ever cook like that book

I took a hook and caught a Chinook

It jumped out and escaped to the brook

I threw the book into the fire

It blazed and burned higher and higher

That is something I could acquire

Cooking a cook book over a fire

Bill

© 2014 by P Michael Biggs

My friend Bill

Sat on an ant hill

We gave him a pill

He was very ill

And what do you do

When ants invade you

Would you ride a canoe

Or play your kazoo

I’d sing a chant

Ants in your pants

I’d ask for a grant

To get rid of my ants

Now Bill is well

He used some gel

There is a slight smell

Where Bill’s ants once did dwell

My Grandkids

© 2014 by P Michael Biggs

My grand-kids like our tub

They rub and scrub in our tub

They giggle and snort

They think it’s a fort

I think they would live in our tub

My grand-kids like our TV

Mostly they can agree

They watch and giggle

And sometimes they wiggle

While watching our TV

My grand-kids like their Nanny

They think she is fine and dandy

They snuggle up close

And ask for a dose

Of hot coco made by Nanny

They like their Papa too

Even when he removes his shoe

They giggle out loud

And never get mad

Even if he threatens Kung fu

It’s time for this story to end

Even though our grand-kids are best friends

We wrestle them from our bed

Those darn sleepy heads

To their own home they must wend

Baseball Mitt

© 2014 by P Michael Biggs

One day we got a baseball mitt

I was too small, it didn't fit

But I had grit and stuffed my mitt

With some old rags and it did fit

Bit by bit I grew into that mitt

It saw me through a few base hits

Twice I made a home-run hit

And was treated to a banana split

I never used my mitt to sit

I was always ready for another base hit

My brother and I were closely knit

‘Cause we had to share that baseball mitt

Welcome to A Time for Rhyme

This is a space for fun, humorous, and spontaneous poetry.  It will perhaps have no redeeming value - just a holding place for something light. 

I hope you enjoy it.  This is different from my other blog sites and that is on purpose.  

So, grab a cup, get a cushion, kick your feet up and read till your little heart's content. 

Have fun watching this space evolve over time.  I surely will. 

P Michael Biggs
Up-Words.net
Pmichaelbiggs.com