Being Simple

It's time for Fly on the Wall!

Where we give our beloved readers an opportunity to see what has been going on in our homes--and minds--this past month.

I have been thinking about--what else--pie!

I’m quite sure you all know that I love pie.

True story.

And so poems that discuss this particular subject are pretty much guaranteed to capture my attention.

Ahem….

Thus, I introduce to you:

Simple Simon.

Okay, personally, I think labeling anyone as ‘simple’ is a little insulting. I just want to put that out there. And yes, at first glance, this appears to have nothing at all to do with ‘pie’.

Wait for it…

Simple Simon met a pieman,

Going to the fair,

Says Simple Simon to the pieman.

Let me taste your ware!

Ha! Told you!

Let’s just make a note here and now that I am totally with Simon in asking for a little taste. If someone is giving away free tastes, I’m there.

Just ask the girl at Baskin Robbins. I think I set a record.

Judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t as impressed as I was.

But I digress…

What were we talking about?

Oh, yes. Pie tastes…

I’m there.

Particularly if the pie is lemon. Or cherry. Maybe blueberry. Pumpkin.

Okay. Any flavour. 

Ahem...

So thus far in the story, Simon and me, we’re together.

Now that pieman’s reaction in the next stanza is, in a word, predictable.

Says the pieman unto Simon.

Show me first your penny,

Says Simple Simon to the pieman.

Indeed I have not any!

Oh, Simon, I feel your pain.

That Baskin Robbins girl (see above) said the same thing.

Of course, by that point, I think my ‘tasting’ could easily have equaled a double cone.

Oops.

But this is where Simon and I depart company. Because I DID have a penny!

Or several, because, let’s face it…ice cream ain’t cheap!

I should point out here that I do, in point of fact, sympathize with the pieman. I mean, this is his livelihood we’re talking about. And—here’s where ice cream differs from pie—a little taste out of a tub of ice cream is noticeably less noticeable than a little taste from a nicely, neatly-covered pie.

So let’s move on, sadly, away from pie.

Sigh.

Simple Simon went a-fishing,

For to catch a whale,

All the water he could find

Was in his mother's pail.

Okay, here’s where I admit that I am a miserable fisherman. In my life, I’ve caught a grand total of…zero fish.

Oh, I’ve drowned a lot of poor, defenseless worms, one or two bugs and some fairly innocent corn kernels in a bid to catch something besides boredom.

With no luck whatsoever.

But even I, with said miserable record, know that one is hardly likely to catch even a mini whale in one’s mother’s pail.

Pretty simple, Simon.

And lastly, this…

Simple Simon went to look

If plums grew on a thistle,

He pricked his fingers very much,

Which made poor Simon whistle.

A couple of thoughts here.

Thistles were plentiful where I grew up.

And—I just want to say this here—not one ever bore anything even remotely resembling a plum.

Stupid, useless thistles.

And I have been the recipient of a thistle’s tender embrace.

It is anything but tender.

And you’ve probably figured out that, having experienced the ‘prickly’ tendencies of your typical thistle, the last thing I feel like doing is whistling.

Just sayin’…

Up for more?

Go, now and read what my sister writers have been up to this month!

Enjoyment guaranteed!

Baking In A Tornado

Menopausal Mother