Lookout Mountain, Chattanooga

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Purposeful poetry

Some of my readers know my love for rhyme. And some may know I’m behind this year’s humongous yard sale on April 7 to END ALL YARD SALES! (Well, I wish!)

I’ve been advertising the up and coming sale in the UUCH newsletter, pleading for help and donations. To review the weekly alert, read below:              

Week One:  It’s No Bunk . . . I WANT YOUR JUNK!

Tidy your closets, your cabinets, your drawers.
De-clutter your sofas, your shelves, your floors.
Don’t leave any stone unturned.
What’s underneath may well be yearned
for. Can you not see the value it has?
Whatever it is has a certain pizzazz!
One man’s junk is another man’s treasure,
So don’t deny someone the pleasure
Of buying your stuff. It meets a need.
Clean up now, and do a good deed!

Week Two:  This is no bluff . . . WE WANT YOUR STUFF!

Look in your closets, your desks, your cubbies.
Look under your children, your dogs, your hubbies.
Look for the stuff that you no longer need.
Give it to us, and you’ll do a good deed!
The things that you donate are for a good cause—
Stuff that is perfect and stuff that has flaws—
Maybe it’s no way to run a concern
But it is OUR way, and I’ll be dern
If we don’t make a pile of money—
So give us your stuff. Be a sweet honey!

Week Three:  It’s your duty . . . BRING YOUR BOOTY!

Don’t forget to clear your attic.
We need junk for each fanatic.
Bring me stuff that you find crummy
Bring it all—don’t be a dummy.
Books and toys and shoes and blenders
Pickup trucks with dented fenders
Pots and pans, an old George Foreman—
Sell them to a dude named Norman.

Week Four:  Kid you not . . . WANT JUNK A LOT!

Look in your attic, your basement, your shed!
I want your junk, alive or dead--
With thanks to taxidermists!
Perhaps a lunch pail or a thermos?
Kids’ blankies and their car seats?
Or when they get old, discard their bar seats.
And do you have time enough to spare?
Help me out! Show me you care!

Week Five:  You, in the suit! . . . WE WANT YOUR LOOT!

We are a fancy lot, you see—
No monkey here, instead monqué.
Target isn’t what we say
The proper term would be Tar-zhay.
J. C. Pen-náe is at the mall—
But shop with us. You’ll have a ball
‘cause JUNQUE is what we sell.
It’s fancy stuff you’ll think is swell.
Get out your Franklins now and come.
Ignoring JUNQUE would just be dumb!

Week Six:  Final call . . . WE WANT IT ALL!

Call it goods or stuff or treasure
One man’s junk is another man’s pleasure.
Look in your couches, your bureaus, your beds.
Search your car ports, your cellars, your sheds.
Bring all of your stuff and sell it—
Be a fanatic, a regular zealot!
The time for the sale is upon us!
Sell your birds, your snakes, your iguanas!
(Just in case selling pets isn’t legal,
Better hide that doggone beagle.)


Call it stuff or junk or treasure,
You know it’s been my pleasure
To rhyme with such a reason
Throughout this yard sale season.
And despite what all may think,
while it’s true I’d sell a sink,
I would not sell my mother,
And I would not buy my brother—
Accused unjustifiably,
I like to rhyme maniacally!

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