Bulingobay

by Jason T. Patnode

Chapter 1: The Factory

You’ll find an island far away,
An island called Bulingobay,
Where no one works, but chores get done,
And days are set aside for fun.
Where balls are thrown and bats are swung,
Races run and Frisbees flung,
Whistles blown and bells are rung,
Music’s played and songs are sung.

For in this land of games and glee,
Exists a special factory
That runs each day throughout the year
All by itself, with no one there.
It grows the crops, it packs the crates,
It cooks the food and scrubs the plates,
Then paves the roads and washes clothes,
It even helps you blow your nose.
It does whatever chore you choose,
It cleans your house and ties your shoes,
It builds the toys for girls and boys
And does it all without a noise.

Bulingobay’s the only home
Where people called Bulingons roam,
Across this land they nap and play,
And little else throughout the day.
They’re known by many for their hair,
Which sticks up high into the air,
And as each day begins anew
They’re off to get their daily “do”
In shades of orange, red, and blue,
Yellow, green, and purple, too.
They choose from clever shapes and styles,
Like kangaroos and crocodiles,
Horseshoes, rainbows, hammers, screws,
Up in spikes like cockatoos,
Shapes like diamonds, squares, and stars,
Even palm trees, spoons, and cars.
“What’s that?” you ask. “How can it be?”
They just go to the factory,
Then choose their style and turn the key.
They stick their heads into the spout
And seconds later take them out.
That’s all it takes, their hair is done.
Then off they go to join the fun,
And play beneath the morning sun.

Now, every day at 1:09
Bulingons stop their games to dine
And join together as a bunch
To share a pleasant picnic lunch.
The food is served on trays with wheels,
Each with scrumptious drinks and meals,
Fruits and veggies, breads and meats,
And best of all, the yummy sweets,
Like chocolate covered brownie treats.
Sundaes topped with chocolate chips,
Fudge-filled cakes with cherry drips,
Cookies, cupcakes, apple pies,
Bring drooling tongues and hungry eyes,
With every day a new surprise.
Once licking every crumb and scrap,
They all head off to take a nap.
And then what happens? Take a guess!
The factory cleans up their mess.

Each week there is one special day
When ships deliver to the bay,
The many goods the factory needs,
Like fabrics, food, and bags of seeds.
They bring them milk and gasoline.
Collect their trash to keep things clean.
And in return the Captain takes
All kinds of things the factory makes.
Like leather gloves and rubber balls,
Wooden bats and plastic dolls,
Hula hoops and building blocks,
And clothes like T-Shirts, shoes, and socks.

Bulingons have no laws or rules,
No teachers; only empty schools.
And since there wasn’t any need,
They never even learned to read.
Each passing day is much the same,
Instead of work they play a game.
But it’s not easy keeping score
When none can even count to four.
And so each team just keeps on grinning
Never knowing who is winning.
All Bulingons join the fun
And stay until the day is done.
Everyone that is you see,
Except, of course, the Group of Three.

Chapter 2: The Group of Three

The Group of Three did not fit in
With all of their Bulingon kin.
When children saw them they would jeer,
“Those people have such funny hair.”
Too often they were cast away,
And never asked to join and play,
For they all shared the strangest quirk.
The Group of Three all liked to work.

The first was Phil. He liked to build.
He built until his house was filled
With wooden tables, shelves, and chairs,
Cuckoo clocks, and spiral stairs.
And just when he could fit no more,
He went and built another floor.
His favorite things to make were rides,
Like seesaws, swings, and slippery slides,
And once complete, and skies were dark,
He’d sneak them all into the park,
And later watch as children played
On all the fun-filled rides he’d made.

The second was a chef named Jake,
Who loved to grill, and cook, and bake,
For finding food is never hard,
With 15 gardens in your yard.
He grew all kinds of things to eat,
Like apples, carrots, corn, and wheat,
Peaches, pears, and plump potatoes,
Summer squash and ripe tomatoes,
Peppers, onions, tangerines,
And many different kinds of beans.
He made his juice with lemon slices,
Flavored food with garden spices,
Grew the greens to make his soups,
And took his eggs from chicken coops.
Each meal had a pleasant taste
And food was never left to waste,
For all the extra things he grew
Were given to the shipping crew
And placed into the Captain’s hands
To feed the poor in far off lands.

Now rounding out the Three was Brooke,
Who spent her days inside a book.
She loved to read with all her heart.
It brought her joy and made her smart.
She read each time she got the chance,
Like in her bed or at the dance,
The swing, the bench, the porch, the tree,
The white gazebo by the sea,
The nearby park, the forest paths,
She even read while taking baths.

But there’s one secret no one knew.
One special job she’d always do.
Each morning as she woke at dawn,
She went and turned the factory on.
She wound the belts to make them tight,
Made sure the gears were working right,
Brushed all the pipes to keep them clean,
Then filled the tank with gasoline,
And every time remained unseen.

But why’d she give it such attention?
That’s right, that bit I failed to mention.
It was her father’s prized invention.

Bulingons mocked the Group of Three,
They couldn’t seem to let them be.
But they kept calm with each attack,
And simply turned and answered back,
“Why don’t you go enjoy a book?”
“Perhaps you’d like to try to cook?”
“May I suggest you learn a craft?”
Bulingons only scoffed and laughed,
Then shouted back unfriendly names,
And went on back to playing games.
The meanest of them all named Vin,
Would always yell, “You don’t fit in!
Bulingons here won’t ever need,
To cook, or clean, or build, or read.
Just let us be, or go away.
No reason left for you to stay.
Back off, or leave Bulingobay!”

“He’s right,” said Phil.
“Perhaps we will.
For all Bulligons seems so lazy.
Most of them believe we’re crazy.
Think of all we could achieve
Across this world if we should leave.
I’m sure we’d find a better land
Where folks chip in to lend a hand,
And all take pride in what they do.
A place like that I wish I knew.”

“I’m sorry Phil,” was Brooke’s reply,
“I too some days break down and cry,
But though it hurts, there is no way
I’ll ever leave Bulingobay.
For though they say they wouldn’t care
I know Bulingons need me here,
To keep the factory alive,
Without it they would not survive.”

“That goes for me as well,” said Jake.
“With every rude remark they make
I question why I stay and bake,
Each loaf of bread and chocolate cake.
But just when I can take no more,
I stop and think about the poor.
If I leave now it’s them I cheat.
They’ll starve without my crops to eat.
For all the food grown from these hands,
Means much to those in far off lands.
And you Phil, what about your rides?
Your seesaws, swings, and slippery slides.
Remember all the endless joy
You bring to every girl and boy.
If you leave now they’ll slowly start,
To crumble and to fall apart.
They need you here. They need us all.
The young and old. The big and small.”

Chapter 3: The Gungaloo

One sunny day at three o’clock,
As ships proceeded from the dock,
Bulingons woke and came to find,
A giant crate they left behind.
Bulingons gathered round and stared,
Not knowing how the crate appeared.
“What kinds of treasures did it hold?
Perhaps some diamonds, gems, or gold?”
Then after circling round and round,
The smallest of them finally found
Some letters listing what it held
But none could read the words they spelled.
“Let’s go find Brooke she’ll surely know.
Please someone hurry. Quick let’s go!”
But Vin insisted with a shout,
“No wait! I think I’ve figured out,
A way to open up this thing.
Just grab a bat and take a swing.
Come on! Let’s go! I just can’t wait.
I need to see what’s in this crate.”

With a whack, whack, whack and a snackity smack
They each took a hack until crackity crack
The boards burst open and the crate swung back.
With first a leg and then an arm.
Bulingons scattered in alarm,
As pieces of it shattered wide,
They saw the secret stored inside.
A hairy creature, arms outspread,
With three big horns atop his head,
And each one of his four fierce eyes
A different color, shape, and size.
He stood two stories in the air,
With thick green fur and purple hair,
And scattered teeth, some sharp, some flat,
The front two buck-toothed like a rat.

The creature groaned and scanned the crowd.
Bulingons ran and screamed out loud.
The creature followed with a roar
As Brooke came running from the shore.
She took one glance and stopped there still.
Then shouted back for Jake and Phil.
“Oh no!” she yelled. “What did you do?
You’ve just released a Gungaloo.”

As children scattered to and fro,
Bulingons gathered in a row,
Each armed with baseballs, bats, and bricks,
Tennis rackets, stones, and sticks,
Preparing to attack the beast
In fear he’d turn them to a feast.

But as they readied to attack,
Twas Brooke who tried to stop the pack.
“Hold on!” she yelled. “Let’s think this through.
You can’t bring down a Gungaloo.”

“Oh yes we can!” was Vin’s reply.
“We have no choice! We have to try!
This creature here will crush and beat us,
Pick us up and surely eat us.
Let’s prepare to join and fight!
We must attack with all our might!”

But Brooke called back and raised her hand,
“Please folks you all must understand.
This creature lives on plants and sweets,
He does not hunt. He eats no meats.
He’s not a creature to be feared,
He won’t attack unless he’s scared.”

But Vin grew mad and shouted back,
“Come on! Let’s go! Attack! Attack!”

So one by one they tossed their stones,
They swung their bats and struck his bones.
The creature shrieked in pain and fear,
And swung his arms into the air.
He grabbed a boulder from the ground,
Then raised it up and spun around,
And sent it soaring way up high,
Some 50 feet into the sky.
Bulingons watched the boulder fall
And smash into the factory wall,
And as the dust cloud disappeared,
They simply dropped their stones and stared.
Upon the spot the boulder crashed,
Their hairdo tubes, completely smashed.

Bulingons ran away in fright,
They wouldn’t stand their ground and fight,
Except the Three, they took a chance,
They hung around and stood their stance.
The Gungaloo at last grew calm,
With no intent to do them harm.
Instead he reached and grabbed some clothes,
And rolled them up to blow his nose.
Then after looking at the Three,
He sat and sobbed beside a tree,
Then placed his arms upon his lap,
And closed his eyes to take a nap.
“How homesick he must be,” said Jake.
“We must correct this big mistake.
This isn’t where his kind should roam.
Let’s help him find his way back home.”

The next day as Bulingons rose,
They all came out in dirty clothes.
Their hair was tangled, stiff, and clumpy,
Knotted, twisted, greasy, lumpy.
Each looked sad and sulked in shame
As no one joined to play a game.
They all stayed quiet, took a seat,
And waited for some food to eat.

At 1:09 they heard the bells,
They saw the food and smelled the smells,
But someone else could smell them too,
That someone was the Gungaloo.
Bulingons watched him in a daze,
As one by one he cleared their trays,
And once he left, they looked on glum.
He spared them not a single crumb.

The Gungaloo still searched for more
And broke on through the factory door,
He stumbled up the spiral stairs,
And then began to shift the gears.
He swung the factory arms around,
He smashed through trees and dug through ground,
And every time the arms swung near,
Bulingons ducked and dove in fear.
Till suddenly they heard it chokin,
Saw the sparks and smelled it smoking…
As six sad words were softly spoken,
“Oh dear God, our factory’s broken.”

As silence spread across the crowd,
One round Bulingon cried out loud,
“My stomach aches, I cannot take it!
Without food we’ll never make it!
Is there nothing we can do
To rid us of this Gungaloo?”
Across the crowd spoke Lily Sue,
A little girl with reddish do,
“I may be small, but think I know,
A place for help where we can go.
Though some of you may disagree,
We need to see the Group of Three.”

The crowd agreed and off they ran,
To see the Three and set a plan.
But as they started getting near,
They smelled a pleasant gust of air,
The scent of sweetened apple pie,
Was flowing from a home nearby.
It grew with every step they took,
And lead them straight to Jake, the cook.

He welcomed them with open arms,
And showed them round his many farms,
“Please help yourself to nuts and berries,
Apples, melons, pears, and cherries.
Would you like some pie or cake?
If so, you’ll need to help me bake.”
They all agreed and reached a deal,
All would help prepare a meal.
Mixing batter, kneading dough,
He taught them all they’d need to know.
A little hunger’s all it took.
Bulingons finally learned to cook.

Chapter 4: The Plan

Beneath the starry skies of night,
They gathered round the firelight,
And talked about the plan at hand,
To get the creature off their land.
They asked the group for good ideas,
But all they got were silent stares,
Until throughout the massive crowd,
Some folks began to chat out loud.
Then soon that chatter turned to song,
And one by one each joined along.
They sang and danced, they clapped and hummed,
They chanted, whistled, stomped, and drummed,
With a tappity tap and a thumpity thump,
And a clappity clap and a rump, bump, bump, bump.

Now as the Group of Three spoke out,
With every yell and every shout,
Not one Bulingon spoke a word,
The Group of Three was left unheard.
“Enough!” yelled Phil with angry tone,
“We’ll simply do this on our own.”
“That works for us,” Bulingons said,
Then all got up to go to bed.
All of them that is you see,
Except, of course, the Group of Three.
The Group of Three stayed wide awake,
And planned all night without a break,
Beneath the island’s starry glow,
Until the rooster’s morning crow.

As morning came Bulingons found,
A line of tools across the ground,
They looked and sighed as each one knew,
This day there would be work to do.
Phil shared with them the plan in store,
Assigned each one a daily chore,
Then lined them up and helped them choose
The tool that each would need to use.
He quickly taught them all their roles,
Like cutting trees and digging holes,
Still others hammered, sawed, and drilled.
At last, Bulingons learned to build.

By night they each felt hot and sore,
But with each day they worked some more,
Beneath the island’s summer sun,
Until at last the job was done.
So proud they stood. It looked quite good.
A giant barrel built of wood,
Raised high above a massive hole,
Carved smooth and rounded like a bowl.
Atop the hole a net was tied,
And wrapped around the barrel’s side.
“Looks great!” yelled Brooke. “Now let’s begin
To pour some jugs of water in.”
And so they filled it drop by drop,
Until the water reached the top.

“There’s one last thing to do,” said Jake.
“I need your help to move this cake.”
The cake, which stood ten layers high,
Sent scents of chocolate through the sky.
They gently placed it on the net,
Made certain that the trap was set,
Then off they went to watch and wait,
And see if he would take the bait.

They hid from view, without a sound,
Then sensed a rumbling in the ground.
Both big and small, Bulingons knew,
They soon would see the Gungaloo.

Just like a California quake,
The ground around began to shake,
As charging forth he saw the cake.
The pools of drool poured from his tongue,
And back and forth they quickly swung,
Beneath his beard from which they hung,
And then, just like a cat he sprung.
He hit the net and broke it loose.
He clawed and kicked but twas no use.
For quickly he began to roll
And tumble down the muddy hole,
And as he staggered, slipped, and flipped,
The giant wooden barrel tipped.

Around the hole the flood came rushing,
Splashing, swirling, bubbling, gushing,
Like a giant toilet flushing.
Around the hole he took a ride
Down a muddy, slippery slide,
And as he plunged into the bay,
The ships cast nets the creature’s way.
They dragged him up, then off they veered.
Bulingons gathered round and cheered.
“At last!” they yelled. “We’re finally free!
And owe it to the Group of Three.”

The Gungaloo at last was gone,
The factory fixed and turned back on,
And though still run throughout the day
Things changed across Bulingobay.
Bulingons follow different rules.
Their children all attend the schools.
And since they finally found the need,
At last Bulingons learned to read.
Now each Bulingon has a chore,
Like growing food to feed the poor,
Some fish, some farm, some sweep the beach,
While others build, or cook, or teach.
But some things still remain the same.
Each day they meet to play a game,
As all Bulingons big and small
Take time from work to have a ball.
But now with every bat that’s swung,
Each ball that’s thrown or Frisbee flung,
Each kite that’s flown or race that’s run,
Three more Bulingons join the fun.

Epilogue

Across the sea on Gungadore,
A creature walks upon the shore,
And spots his family filled with joy,
Relieved to see their missing boy.
He’s welcomed back with warm embraces,
Overjoyed to see their faces,
Left at last to freely roam,
He’s finally found his way back home.
As others spread the joyful news,
The beach is filled with Gungaloos,
Who ask him all about his stay,
And life across Bulingobay.
But as he talks they turn and stare,
Upon a girl with reddish hair,
Who walks alone across the sand,
A stranger in a distant land.