Home Grown Clothes

Fenicker Mulch wore his own home grown clothes.

He mixed up his mud in a way no one else knows
With moss, manure and crushed up red shells.
Suffice it to say, he grew his own smells
‘Cause he rubbed this muck into his skin,
Then seeded himself – He was an odd one this Fen.

But from odd came great beauty,
Making oddness his duty.

Fen’s passion for gardens
Became fashionable garments
As sprig upon sprout
Sprung happily out.

Making many think he was maybe an ent,
He wore tulip shoes around socks of mint,
Had one leg of foxglove, the other of lupine,
Belted by grapes lovingly looped in,
With a sunflower jacket over his willowy form
And a young oak on his head to stay warm.

There were of course drawbacks to this wild style
That he only learned about after a while.
It took him six months to put new clothes on,
And he always had trouble when they mowed the lawn.
But he picked up the pieces whenever that passed
And made a new suit from the seeds in the grass.

Go-Round

Maybe you’ve been on a Merry-Go-Round
Where fun and friends and glee abound.
You rode a pony exceedingly fair,
Or maybe a griffin or the great golden bear.
Always forward, up and down,
You make a wish each time around
That must come true, at least, I’ve found.

Have you been on an Anger-Go-Round?
It’s a rough ride that only goes
Round and round and round and round…
Till everyone’s sick!

Take care on the arounds you go,
‘Cause every one comes back, you know.

One more thing I’ll put out there:
Who wouldn’t rather the golden bear?

A Few Nonsense Limericks

There was a young lady of Snead,
Who was far too familiar with greed;
She took all she could,
Never understood,
That wanting young lady of Snead.

There was an old man on a log,
Who imbibed in a bit too much grog;
Crowned himself King of Trees,
Went to war with the bees,
That stung up old man on a log.

There was an old person of Greece,
Whose complaints never seemed to cease;
She’d moan and she’d bawl,
But did nothing at all,
That whiny old person of Greece.

The Astrohaunts: A Skyless Cloud

(Read the introduction to the Astrohaunts here.)

In the Babine Range a mountain stood,
It stood alone in wild wood
And wanted more than mountains should.

It called to Cloud:
“My dear, come here,
You float so low in skies all clear,
Come sit and chat and share in cheer.”

The ghost ocean of the sky
Coasted toward the buried lie.

Mountain trembled, soft and sly,
Then breathed deep as Cloud drew nigh,
Pulling him into his stony core,
Pouring him into bony ore.

Old Sun stepped back aghast
That this attack had passed.

Lynx felt it.
Kreke knew it.
Leif saw it.

And they were there,
Cutting through the frightened air.

They crashed to Earth,
They crushed the earth,
Bucketing Cloud out with all their worth –
Streams of golden silver,
Veins of gold that burned white hot,
Gulping rubies by the lot.

Back from underground to thunder bound,
Cloud was again a drifting thought.
Wonder wound through Mountain
Then he collapsed distraught.

But they did not forget him,
No the Astrohaunts did not.

They said to him:
“We could be kin.
Know your depths, for they are dark,
But under all beats diamond heart.

You’re too alone.
We need to share.
Come be known,
It’s time to care.”

They gathered pebbles, boulders, sand,
They held the mountain in their hands
And carried him throughout the land,
Leaving him with valleys, rivers, hills,
And to this day he stands their still.

He is in the Babine Range,
Still stands alone in wild wood,
But as the Astrohaunts arranged
He’s enlarged his neighborhood.

One day you may see something strange,
An inter-element exchange,
A cloud move against the wind,
Pick up a pebble he calls friend –

You’re looking at a change.

Down a Hole

I rode a rabbit down its hole,
It meowed and barked and growled,
I hugged it hard and howled.

Now you may ask:
Kyle, why ride a rabbit down its hole?
It’s dark and dirty, what’s the goal?

And I might say:
To not is dull.
Be it rabbit, bear or boar,
Fox or crab, snake or mole,
They know where to find a door
Straight into adventure’s soul.

Why ride a rabbit down its hole?
You could find a million mile worm,
The treasure of a troll
(That is, old socks it likely stole),
An undiscovered germ,
Or, not North, not South,
But the rumored Center Pole!

So:
Why ride a rabbit down its hole?

Because you never really know.

Down a Hole

Illustration by MB.