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The bus was late

Then something happened Stanley didn't anticipate.
The bus broke down and it was late.
Stanley freaked out, began to perspirate,
He ran inside to face his fate.
School was starting, and he'll be late.
His mind speeding, Stanley chose to change his fate.
First things first, he had to change his current rate.
He put on some fresh kicks, gym shorts, began to race.
Blocks flew by, he was like a blur.
If he ran fast he he'd get there, he was sure.
Past the park, between firs in the woods,
As he neared, he saw the kids in the halls.
The bell was ringing, the door began to shut,
Stanley dug in for the final rush.
Two blocks left, a final sprint,
His kicks flew and off he went.
Then like a pot hole in a lot,
Stanley tripped on a Genie in a pot.
He fell on the ground, cursing the spot,
Tears began to fall, he felt like rot.
School had started and he was late.
Dejected, a loser, anger that would not abate.

Stanley Woableroe

Stanley was a Woe-Be-Gone Woableroe.
Every day he'd wake up and be ready to go.
He slept in his clothes with bookbag in hand,
In the morning all he'd have to do was stand.
The alarm would go off, and the covers would fly,
As Stanly zoomed down stairs at 7-oh-five.
The door'd by halfway open and out he'd flee
To the big yellow bus numbered one hundred and three.
He sat with his friends and they'd discuss,
the late night shows and the reality fuss.
When he got to school he had his homework ready,
He would smile at his teach, the wonderful Ms. Betty.
Stanley always sat in the very front row,
To keep up the family name of Woableroe.

Musings after Michigan

Musings
A rock in outer space,
A tube of pink toothpaste.
Running at a dizzying pace,
Building a new play space.
Got an bad itch on my face,
Want to scratch with a mase.
Forgetting a bad taste,
Need to stop eating white glue paste.
I'm creating faster than it was erased.
Wondering where I've been displaced,
Hoola-hooping around my waist,
As I run in the amazing race.
Singing a song a sinister pace,
Listening all along to her case
Hung up in your sleeve is my red ace,
I stole the canary's only bass.
I wanted to get to first base,
Got turned down at the slightest distaste.
Started again in the original place,
Found my self back in outer space.

Dessert
Easting dessert first,
Chilling out with Fred Durst.
Dropping from best to worst,
Crying when the words went terse.

Plan C
I am going to
Emancipate
Proclaimate
Cooperate and
Operate on some
Choc-co-late.