So who is this Pongo
With his poems and such?
We’re checking him out
And can tell you this much:
He lives in a tree fort
Next door to the moon,
With stars in his garden
That sneeze when they bloom.
He watches the world
Through a hole in the floor.
And chats with the sun
When it comes to the door.
He walks on a tightrope
Across a ravine.
To a cave where he parks
His old flying machine.
A typewriter bolted
Right over his knees,
He swoops between buildings
And bangs on the keys.
He loops and he spirals
On flipped over wings.
Spinning out poems --
The craziest things!
He scatters his verses
Like leaves at our feet.
They litter the sidewalk;
They litter the street.
We’ve gathered them up
As fast as we can.
You can’t be too careful --
He’s such a strange man.
We’re looking them over --
And checking the contents
It looks at first glance
Like the stuff is all nonsense.
So who’s this professor
And what is his game?
Is he right in the head?
Are there cracks in his brain?
We’re watching him closely --
This person called Pongo.
We’ll get the full story
And let you know pronto.
© Copyright 2017 Pongo Poems. All Rights Reserved.
Illustrations and Design by D.G. Mitchell
