A TATER IN THE BAY OF MAINE

A tater in the bay of Maine
Was floating in his boat
A-wishing he'd a-picked a different
Ship's mate than a goat.

No sooner came the goat aboard
Than all the lines he ate,
And soon the mast and anchor both
He cleaned up off his plate.

It wasn't long, nothing remained,
No single board in place
The tater floated in the bay
A goat before his face.

A tater in the bay of Main
Was floating in his goat
A-thinking for a ship's mate next time
he would pick a stoat
(because they're not vegetarian).

~July 14, 1999

THE GRAVEYARD OF POTATOES

Through my childhood crystal clear
Comes images of things I'd hear
Of myths and legends far and near
But one alone brought so much cheer
     All others seemed comatose
With in my memories wide and deep
There sits a certain compost heap
That makes my mind and heart to leap
     The Graveyard of Potatoes

And so within my sheltered youth
I caught a glimpse of hidden truth
Thus called my destiny forsooth
Though others may think it uncouth
     To follow where my fate goes
To others it may seem a dream
But I have seen the truth to gleam
And ride a bright silver moonbeam
     To the Graveyard of Potatoes

Thus my path was clearly plain
A walking down the garden lane
Arguably slightly insane
For though my plan involved some pain
     `Twas necessary I s`pose
No time to contemplate my deed
I found a tater, made it bleed
I knew its dying trail would lead
     to the Graveyard of Potatoes

In rising joy I walked behind
This potato won't mind
His life be forfeit for this find
To benefit all human kind
     His sacrifice held purpose
I walked along ecstatically
Until the trail ceased suddenly
And a guardian stood between me
     And the Graveyard of Potatoes

A grand potato ten feet high
Towering there with every eye
A-fixed upon me where I cry
For fear that I would surely die
     Beneath one of his big toes
But he spoke forth his great missives
And called doubtful my objectives
For one arrives and lives
     At the Graveyard of Potatoes

Then a beam shot from his eyes
Transforming me in shape and size
Despite all m mournful cries
I knew it good and only wise
     To atone the path that I chose
So now I serve a full life term
Amongst the compost I must squirm
A slimy little mealy worm
     In  the Graveyard of Potatoes

It must seem bad there from your view
For me though, do not be blue
I've lived my dream and seen it through
Though not how I imagined, true,
     But that's the way life goes
I payback my misled intent
Discovering I'm quite content
To see my final breath be spent
    In the Graveyard of Potatoes

~April 1997

QUEST FOR THE HOLY TOT

'Twas long ago in the land of Scot,
I came to seek the quest I sought:
The Holy Golden Tater Tot --
The one divine, the one begot
In the Prime Potato's garden plot
Before all space and time was wrought.

So 'cross the globe my feet had trot
Until the trail my senses caught,
And tracked it to a vacant lot
Behind a bar -- "The Captain's Yacht" --
Where on a humble, simple cot
Reclined my sacred tater tot.

Toward me there a glance she shot,
Which made my stomach twist a knot,
Then smiling said, "You silly sot!
My name is Muckletubliot,
But you may simply call me Dot."

At first my fears were prickly hot,
But then she made me worry not
So there I found myself a spot,
And sat upon a flower pot,
To listen to the things she taught --
The lessons of a cosmic plot
Where she, an ancient cosmonaut --
An asteroid, a star pilot --
Had flown the cosmos like a shot;
A wondrous path, a journey fraught
With many dangers she had fought.
Then one day she grew distraught,
And so from that day on she sought
A place of peace -- a Camelot --
And so to Earth came Tater Dot.

"And so my friend, my Lancelot,
These things to you I've gladly brought
'Cuz all I am and all I've got
Cannot be borrowed, sold or bought
For in me lies each trace of thought
Of unknown worlds and worlds forgot."

She turned away, a tear to blot,
(I think a glimpse of pride I caught)
As she continued her onslaught --

"I know I've said more than I ought,
But in this life this is my lot --
To be a tater ne'er to rot --
The Universal Life's mascot."

At that I stood from where I'd squat
Embracing Muckletubliot,
For I had found the quest I'd sought:
This wise and ancient as-spud-naut --
The Holy Golden Tater Dot!

~July 11, 1994

THE BALLAD OF ALOYSIUS FRY

As I look what do I spy?
A single golden french fry.
He stood tall and whispered, "Hi,
Aloysius Spun am I."
Then with an impish smile, wry,
He said, "I think that I can fly,
At least I know that I must try."
Then came silence -- but a sigh --
And with a curdling banshee cry
Aloysius Spud French Fry,
My little friend so young and spry,
From the table lept he high
And for a moment did defy
Gravity's operandi.
But when that moment passed on by
My special little tater guy
On the kitchen floor did lie
A broken little hash-brown pie.

How could I but help to cry
And wipe a tear drop from my eye
With a tissue -- double ply --
Asking, asking, "Why? Oh Why?
Why'd my french fry have to die?"
From the floor he I did pry
Then I stopped and gasped, "Oh my!"
For with my inner, mental eye
I saw Aloysius Fry
Swooping, swirling, soaring high
Through a mashed potato sky
Happy now that he could fly.
And with a laugh and wink so sly,
As he waved his last good-bye,
mentally projected nigh.
The moral of this story, wry --
"With naught but taters 'hind the eye,
Best think twice before you fly."

~February, 1994