Ode to Our Trees

by Eliza Brooks

To town our mother did go,

And left us here alone;

But we did not mind staying home,

for we found a ham with a bone.

At our home some men did stop

And our trees they proceeded to chop.

The men, they left in a hurry,

And out to our trees we did scurry.

We cried for the trees, and wept on our knees

For the terrible deed that was done. 

Knock, Knock on the Rock (excerpted from "The Tale")

by Eliza Brooks

Knock! Knock! on the rock! Listen, you don't hear nothing!
Go! Go! go to sleep! We'll greet you at sundown!
Knock! Knock! on the rock! Wake up with gags in your mouth!
Knock! Knock! on the Rock! The fire is hot! The fire is hot!
OOOOOH! The fire is hot!

Poem to All Teachers

by Eliza Brooks

Teacher, Teacher, teach us things.

Teach us 'bout big things with wings.

Teacher, Teacher, teach us Math;

Help us on that spiky path.

Teacher, teach us History.

History was a mystery.

Teacher, come; teach us a sum!

Boy! Now we're not so dumb!

Silly Sally Scratch-A-Lot

by Eliza Brooks

Silly Sally Scratch-A-Lot,

Scratched herself till she was hot.

She scratched herself till she was red;

her scratching woke up those in bed.

She scratched and scratched and scratched herself,

till we just put her on a shelf.

So if you come to visit us,

Please plug your ears, don't hear her cuss.

She doesn't like it on that shelf,

But she never will stop scratching herself.

The Illinois

by John Mason and Jonathan Lowe

I thought this spoof particularly appropriate, considering the current circumstances.--John Mason

Far over the Minty Mountains cold,

To dungeons deep and caverns old,

We must insist that in this mist

The mighty cake we will behold.

For in the mist our stronhold stands

Which holds this cake in mighty hands,

The Illinois, our pride and joy,

The finest cake among the lands.

Far over the Minty Mountains cold,

To dungeons deep and caverns old,

We must insist that in this mist

The mighty cake we will behold.

The cookie monster rose from sleep

And came upon us from the deep.

He drove us out, and then found out

Our cake was in the baker's keep.

He took from us the mighty cake

which took us many years to make.

In fire he threw the icing blue,

Then realized his big mistake.

That wonder-cake that once was sweet

Lost all its frosting to the heat,

And what was left was taste-bereft--

It was no longer fit to eat.

And so the monster, in great ire,

Just threw the cake into the fire,

And went to kill all those who will

Bake cake that he does not desire.

Far over the Minty Mountains cold,

To dungeons deep and caverns old,

We must confess that in this mess

There's little semblance to the old.

A Sorrowful Choice for a Wife

                                             By Eliza Brooks (edited by John Mason)

          In a silverware drawer in a house, there lived a family of spoons. The time soon came when the mother and father urged their youngest son to pick a wife. All of their other children were each well married to a knife or a fork.
          But as none of these suited his tastes, the son began to walk around the kitchen every night in search of a suitable wife. His parents were rather annoyed, for they believed that it was not proper for silverware to marry anyone but silverware.
          As he walked here and there, searching and searching for the perfect wife, his eyes suddenly fell on a young ripe banana. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
          The spoon walked up to her and said boldly, "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and if I cannot have you for my own, I will surely melt."
          "And I," she said with great joy, "have the exact same feelings!" For she had been watching him with longing all day.
          So, as she had no parents, and the spoon was old enough to make his own decisions, they were wed the next day.
          For two days, they enjoyed life and love together. And then on the third day, the banana was brought into the diningroom and never seen again.
          You may ask, "What is the moral, or even the point of such a story as this?" And the answer is: this is all my Imagination could muster on a cold, windy day.
         
         

Valor and Dumbness

                                                     by John Mason and Eliza Brooks

                
                Warning: what follows is an example of the strange side of both authors (truthfully, it's mostly Eliza's strangeness). Just in case you're wondering, we weren't on drugs when we wrote it. (We teenagers are crazy enough without them.) Enjoy.

                Once upon a time, there was a family of rabbits, who lived in a hollow tree. (Wait a minute! This sounds just like another familiar story opening!) Their mother's name was Mommy and she was very kind and sweet. Their father's name was Grime, and he had no interest except in his bottles of whiskey, for he had gone mad. He could often be heard smashing his bottles on the window sill and screaming. Their only other relative was an aunt, their father's sister, who was a witch.
                So you can see that their situation was not so great, all in all. Of course their mother's kindness was a balm of comfort in this time of distress.
                Now one day the children were playing outside when they suddenly saw their aunt (the witch) picking huckleberries.
                "Come here, little nephews and nieces," she called. "Come pick huckleberries with me!"
                "Don't! Don't!" shouted Edgar, the oldest and smartest, for he knew that a witch could mean no good.
                But of course the other children weren't smart enough to think for themeselves, so they listened.
                As they came over, the witch gave Edgar a strange look, and the instant the children touched the huckleberries, they vanished. (Which vanished, I wonder? The huckleberries, or the children? Oh well.)
                "No!" screamed Edgar. "You can't do this to us! Mother will be heartbroken!" He burst into tears and buried his face in his hands.
                The witch only sneered. "I will give them back to you."
                Edgar perked up instantly. "Really?"
                "Yes," she said in a sick honey-coated voice. "All you have to do is go to the old great stump for me. There you will find a bottle of green liquid. Bring it to me and I'll bring back your siblings."
                You might like to know at this point what was happening in Edgar's mind. As it was, he was torn between two equally unacceptable alternatives: losing his siblings and obeying the order of a witch. He hesitated.
                Stop. This might be a good time to tell you that the characters in this story are not rabbits. They are human's. What a short memory I have! I forgot what they were after I wrote the first paragraph! Anyway, back to Edgar's dilemma.
               After a brief struggle he said, "All right. I accept."
               "Good," said the witch with a smirk. Edgar headed off toward the stump, thinking all the while of his sblings' release.
               It wasn't far to the stump. It was quite a wide stump in th middle of a a great open clearing. Edgar immediately spotted the bottle; the luminosity of the liquid within betrayed it easily. He knew that the contents of this bottle were probably something harmful, but he had to save his brothers and sisters, and there was no other way.
               So, slowly and tentatively, he stepped up to the stump, leaned down, and picked up the bottle.
    

               Meanwhile, Mommy was calling out of doors for her children. She was in quite a panic. "Edgar, Philip, Socrates, Plato?! Where are you?!!" (Wait a minute. I thought that this woman had daughters. She did, till now, at the whim of the authors.)
               In the midst of her frenetic perambulations across the yard and through the house she heard a voice say, "Mommy, is that you?"
               She stopped dead in her tracks. "Edgar, is that you?!!"
               "No, it's Grime, my love," said a voice from behind her. Mommy turned to see her husband Grime, sane and normal again.
               By the way, disregard what I said earlier. The people in this story are not humans. They're elephants. Anyway.
               "Grime!!" Mommy trumpeted in elephantine tones, and threw herself into his embrace. (Have you ever seen elephants embrace? It's a disaster at worst, and a problematic business at best.)
               After she had calmed down somewhat, Mommy said, "Grime, the chldren are missing."
               "Oh no! I bet she's got them!" cried Grime.
               "Who?" asked Mommy fearfully.
               "The witch! The terrible, horrible witch!"
               "Grime," said Mommy, "Maybe you're not quite entirely sane yet."
               "Dearest, I am entirely sane. Where is my sword? I must save the children from her evil cutches!!"
               (Can you imagine an elephant wielding a sword? I certainly can't.)
               "I'll give you your sword only if I can go with you, dear."
               "Very well, sweet."
    

               Meanwhile Edgar was on his way to the witch with the bottle in his hands. Hands??? Elephants don't have hands!! Oh yeah, I might as well tell you that the people in this story are not elephants at all; they're flies. Back to the point.
                Edgar handed over the bottle to his aunt. She smiled, and it vanished. At the same moment, his brothers reappeared beside him.
                 "You can go home now, sweetie," buzzed the witch-fly; and she also vanished.
                 Edgar walked home with his brothers, thinking, "I Should tell Mommy about Auntie." But when he got home, neither his mother nor his father were anywhere to be found. This nearly sent Edgar into a panic. Placing his brothers at home under the care of the second-eldest, Socrates, he ran in search of the witch.
                  He struck out for the huckleberry bushes since it was there that his aunt had first appeared. When he arrived, he found that his guess was correct. His aunt was standing by the huckleberry bushes, striking a typical witch pose, with a crow perched on her shoulder.
                  Now wait half a minute! A crow? Perched on a fly's shoulder?? How could we account for such an impossibilty? Forget what I said earlier. These people are not flies. They're blue whales.
                  "Where are my parents?" whaled Edgar in the most demanding tone.
                  "Hidden away in a safe place, dear," the whale-witch sang in answer.
                  "Give them back!"
                  "Calm down and be patient, dear. I just need you to run a little errand for me."
                  Before Edgar can protest that he cannot run any errands, (his large bulk being ill suited for such a purpose, especially on land), I might as well tell you that these people are not whales; they're clams.
                  "What must I do?" asked Edgar.
                  "All you've got to do is go get my other bottle from the stump. It's a black one. Just bring it to me and put it in my hands." (As if she had any.)
                  So Edgar went to do her bidding. (How he accomplished it, I have no clue.)
                  While he was gone, the witch began to talk softly and sweetly to her crow, which had re-perched itself on her upper shell.
                  "The moment he touches the bottle, his parents will be released miles away, just as I planned." She chuckled, swirling the sand around in her mouth. "And the moment he puts the bottle in my hands, he will be in my power!" she screeched with glee.
                 "His father, that stupid old oaf, fell into this trap years ago. But he's too old now for my purposes. I need a youth, yes, my pet, yes, sweet!"
                 Presently, Edgar returned bearing the bottle of black liquid--wait, clams don't have hands. I guess I lied. These people are praying mantises. But let's get on with the story.
                 Just as he was about to place the bottle in the witches hands, his father rushed out of the bushes with his sword, knocked the bottle out of Edgar's hands and smashed it on the ground. The moment Edgar was safe, Mommy rushed out of her own hiding place and embraced her son.
                 "How did you get here so fast?!" shrieked the witch.
                 "I dunno," answered Grime. He then brandished his sword, prepared to wallop off the witch's head.
                 The witch shrieked to the crow for help, but she had forgotten that she was now a praying mantise, and that crows generally like to eat members of her species. This crow, when she called it, fixed its eye on her, and suddenly took it into his head that the small bug at his feet looked delicious. Snap!! The witch was gone.
                  So you see that the story has a happy ending (for the crow, especially, for his little snack was delectable). Now I know that you're all smart readers. You knew that the people in this story weren't rabbits or humans or elephants or flies or blue whales or clams or praying mantises or any of that sort. No, I'm sure you knew they were pizza boxes all along!

                                                                           Finis
               

                   
               

The Candy Castle

Here is a picture that Eliza Brooks has drawn.

Rear view:

What Goes Around, Comes Around

                                                                By Eliza Brooks

Once upon a time there was a young lad named Sam who was delivering some breads and rolls to some people for his father, who was the town baker.

But just as he was walking through rather dark and deserted street, three older boys came out and attacked him. They beat him and took all his goods.

He ran home very upset. He was not crying, but he was unspeakably angry. His father told him it was all right. It was not his fault he had been attacked by three boys, all of them older than himself. “Forget about it,” his father told him.

But Sam did not forget it. He said to himself, “What goes around comes around, and I’m going to get even with them!” And he did.

The next time he saw them, he followed them to find out where each of them lived. And then the next night, he snuck to each of their houses with a bucket of water. He then went up to their bedroom window, opened it, and splashed them all over with water. It was very satisfying. But what he did not know was that one of the older boys had seen him and knew who had done this thing.

The next day, Sam was walking on a bridge when the three big boys jumped out of their hiding place and pushed him into the water. Luckily for him, it was summertime.

When he got home he walked into the house, soaking wet. He said to his Father, “I learned something today, Father.”

“And what is that, my son?” asked his father, staring at the boy’s wet clothes.

“I learned that what goes around comes around.” And he was right.

The King's Choice

                                                          By Eliza Brooks

 

In a time long ago, in a kingdom far away, there lived a king, King Charles the Second. The king was one day in his quarters looking out of his window. He was worried. He knew a war was coming. Another kingdom had sent him a letter proclaiming war until he surrendered.

Another war. There had been non-stop war with one country or another since the day Charles was born.

Hi wife Clari came in and kissed him. “It will be all right, Charles,” she told him. Charles nodded, but wasn’t so sure.

“I’m going out riding now, dearest,” he said.

The young king rode through the dark forest until he came to his favorite spot in the woods. There was a great oak tree, and right at the foot of it was a stump. You could sit on the stump and lean against the tree.

The king sat down and thought. And thought. And then quite suddenly, the king said out loud what he had been thinking for three long years.

“I want to die.”

Then he thought, “I could lie here for hours, just sleep my peaceful time away in the woods . I’ll be gone, and the throne can go on to a better ruler than me.”

So the king took a dagger from his belt, parted his clothes at his chest and held the blade up. He was just about to drive the blade home when a voice spoke right behind him.

“Are you really going to be that foolish, you silly ass?”

Startled, the king lowered the blade and turned around. There, standing in front of him was a young man about the age of himself, dressed all in white.

“Who are you and why are you watching me?” asked the king.

“I am your guardian angel. I always watch you,” replied the stranger. The king stared for a moment and then said, “Don’t try to deceive me. I know angels have fluffy wings and a glowing circlet on their heads.”

The stranger frowned. “Don’t believe me, huh? Well guess what smarty pants. We don’t use our wings down on earth and we don’t show our halos either.”

“Your speech is strange,” said the king, “and I believe that you are lying.”

“What?” said the angel. “You think I just randomly decided to put on a white suit and prance around like part of a renaissance festival?”

“I know not of what you are  speaking,” said the king.

“Oh forget it,” said the angel. The point is that you were going to take to take your life, and that’s one of the dumbest things you can do.” The angel paused. “Actually,” he said, “I think it is the number one dumb thing you can do.”

“I believe a man may choose what to do with his own life,” replied the king.

“Oh never mind that,” said the angel. “To prove to you that you should not take your life, I am going to take you on a little trip to the future to see what the lives of some people will be like one or two years from now if you take your life now. Take my hand,” he said, as he held it out.

The king, who was sure he was crazy and only imagining the angel, figured it would do no harm. He held out his hand and the angel took it.

“First,” said the angel, “We are going to take a peek at the future life of your cousin, Richard.”

“Richard,” said the king. “He and I were always enemies. We never agreed on anything.”

There was a rustling of wind in the trees and then the king found himself standing with the angel in his very own throne room. But seated on the throne was his very own cousin, Richard.

“What is Richard doing on the throne?” the king cried out. “The throne and the kingship, if I was dead, would go to my little son Edmund.”

“Just listen,” answered the angel.

All the people in the room seemed to take no notice of them. Some even walked right through them.

A man approached the throne, and Richard asked, “It is done?”

“Yes, my lord,” was the answer.

“And the same will happen to anyone who else that chooses to interfere with me,” yelled out Richard to all the room.

“What are they talking about?” asked the king.

“You will see,” said the angel. “The next person’s future you will see will be your favorite minstrel minstrel, Leinon.”

“Leinon! Why he is like a relative to me almost,” said the king. The angel said nothing. There was a rustling sound again and the king found himself standing on the outside of the castle wall. It was night. Suddenly the king noticed two people on the grass.

One was his minstrel, Leinon. He was lying on his back and his face was deadly pale and full of desperation. His eyes were shut tight.

The other person was a girl dressed all in white. She was kneeling down and stroking Leinon’s forehead. She looked up at the king and he angel. She appeared to see them but didn’t seem to care much. She went back to solemnly stroking Leinon’s forehead.

“Who is that girl?! And what has happened to Leinon?” the king cried out.

The angel spoke solemnly. “She is his guardian angel, and he has been poisoned by the man you saw talking to your cousin. It was Richard who ordered it, you see.”

“But why?” asked the king in anguish.

“He must have got into his way, I suppose,” answered the angel.

Leinon’s angel leaned down and whispered in his ear.

“What did she say?” asked the king.

“Words of comfort, no doubt,” said the angel.

“Will he die?” asked the king.

“I don’t know,” said the angel. “I can’t read the future, you know.”

“But you had the power to bring me to the future!” yelled the king.

“I didn’t do this,” said the angel quietly. “God did. I am just your guide.”

One tear fell from the king’s eye and landed on the grass.

“Come,” said the angel. “I must show you something else.” He took the angel’s hand and found himself in a deep dark dungeon with a girl hunched up crying into her hands. She was dirty and unkempt and her dress was all torn and tattered. She sat up and took her hands from her eyes. She was looking in his direction, but she clearly did not see him.

Then the king gasped. It was his daughter Ellisa! The king cried out in horror. “My own Ellisa!” He tried to take her in his arms, but his hands went right through her.

She kept crying and a guard on the other side of the bars began to bang on them with a big stick.

Ellisa screamed like she was mad. She fell on the ground and screamed and screamed, every now and then calling out, “Father! Father! Help me!”

“Please!” the king cried to his angel, “please take it away! I can’t stand to hear it and not be able to help her!”

“Very well,” said the angel, and Ellisa and the guards simply vanished. They were now standing outside the castle. “Come”, said the angel. “I have another thing to show you.”

”No more! No! No! Please, no more!” begged the king.

“One more,” said the angel. Then the king found himself in a lonely old graveyard with three grave stones standing before him.

The king looked I horror at the names on the stones. They were: “Clari the First,” “Edmund the Third,” and last of all, “Charles the Second.”

Now he knew why Richard was king. His wife and his beloved son had been murdered. They were dead.

“No! No!” cried the king. “How could this happen?”

“It happened because of you,” said the angel, “because you’re dead too. You killed yourself.”

“Oh please,” cried the king, “I didn’t mean it.” He fell face down on the ground. “I didn’t want this!” He began to weep.

“Very well,” said the angel. “Here we are, back where we started.”

The king looked up and found that they were back in the woods. The angel was standing there. He held an object in each hand. In one he held the king’s dagger. In the other he held a white handkerchief on which the word “life” was embroidered with gold thread.

“Choose,” said the angel. “Life or death.”

The king reached out and took the handkerchief. Instantly the dagger vanished. “Good,” said the angel. “Now always remember that nothing really belongs to you, not even your life, because it was all given to you as a gift from God. And what you do with your life affects everyone around you. Good luck!”

And then a smirk came onto the angel’s face, and the king saw two fluffy wings come out from his back and a gold glowing circle appear on top of his head. Before the king knew it, he took off and disappeared into the clouds.

 

                                                The End