Chicago's the greatest

Chicago's the greatest

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Homemade Traps







Homemade Traps
By Jon Slone







Dented-in pie plates
Both on the skids.
With little tin boxes
And trash can lids.
Tupperware bowls and buckets I’m pitchin’.
With all pots and pans that I find in the kitchen.

Two wooden spoons for sticks.
Said Lance.
And the thing Mom uses to water the plants.
There! Said the lad to Grandpa Cruther.

My drum-set is perfect
Just don’t tell my Mother!



Jon Sashee





Sunday, January 22, 2012

Doofus the Bard






Doofus the Bard
By Jon Slone






Said Doofus the bard from Lafayette.
“The hand is poised and the quill is wet!
I think I’ll start a seminal caper!
As soon as I get my hands on some paper.”

“The ideas are growin’
I’m now to-and-froin’.
My pop tart was perfect
My juices are flowin’.
My villain will unfurl a truculent vapor!
As soon as I get my hands on some paper.”

“Frustrations are showin’
A fit I’ve been throwin’.
My stomach’s in knots
I’m woe-is-me woein’.
My brain’s outta gas
I’m gasping for breath.
My left hand is fried
The quill bled to death!

My novel just dove off a BIG SKY SCRAPER!

Wait...

I think I just found me some paper.




Jon Mr. Human Jon Box Slone

Friday, January 20, 2012

Water Closet








Water-Closet
By Jon Slone










I didn’t know whether I should hang up my coat.
Or get in the tub with my bubbles and boat.

Or poop on the pumps.
Or pee on the seat.
Or knock off the dirt from a crusty-old cleat.

Or try on some hats.
Or feel for the floss.
Or play with that thing that they use for lacrosse.

Was I in the bathroom or one of the closets?
A really good question when making deposits.




Jon Read-Share-Love Slone

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Sam






Sam
By Jon Slone






Sam crouched in her prison of waiting and cried.
And the streaming of tears made a pool for the bride.

And the box that contained her, it never consoled.
And her blanket of sorrow couldn’t fight off the cold.

And a small speck of blue that bore out through the crag
Did little to reverse her from striking her flag.

So there the girl slumped, in the chains that hope bought-her.
And the only thing left there to do was shed water.




Jon Beauty-from-ashes Slone