Quite the dreamer, Hellion the Wart.
(Helly for sort of short.)
The Warts were a family of onion miners
And in no need of any reminders
Of their place beneath the feet
Of those depending on them to eat.
Warts did not speak nor read it seemed
A miracle that one would dream.
Helly dreamt of many things
But most of all of wings.
One night she dreamt of a dream master
Who would give you what you asked her
And she knew this dream was real
And just one dream could be fulfilled.
She packed her dreams and her best suit
And dug her way up out the roots
To start her walk towards wondrous wings
And the what-could-bes that dreaming brings.
She marveled at the birds above
Who winged the world on windy love
Till one said on the hundredth dawn:

“Go on! Go on! You’re close! Go on!”

The bird soared off but Helly glowed
At the words so kindly crowed,
But a bird broke in abrupt:

“Give up! Give up! You’re lost! Give up!”

Helly never slowed her pace
As a third took that one’s place
And spoke to her by wordless glare:

Don’t care! Don’t care! So what? Don’t care!

And it was within the hour
Helly arrived at Dreamer’s Tower,
She met the master, made her choice,
Helly now would have a voice.
Helly left and walked until
She found one bound to make dreams real
And told him with a smile well won:

“Go on! Go on! You’re close! Go on!”

Hide-and-Seek is the perfect game.
Those that Hide-and-Hide are often never found.
Them that Seek-and-Seek may circle till unwound.
But perfect ’cause finding each other’s the aim.

There’s hopeless, hope and hopemore.

Hopeless belongs to Lord of the Lost.

Hope is nothing but a want,
Sweetly free of cost.

Help hope. You grant your wish.
Be your genie, angel, falling star.
If you know your hope you’re halfway there
But there’s no living from afar.
Hopemake! Hopedo! Hopebe!
Don’t hold your feathers and hope to soar.
Flap those wings and fly!
Less hope! Hopemore!

Emile started walking
Atop his tonguey talking
To find how far his bock-bock-bocking
Got him just to be left gawking.
All his whirly worldly wording,
His title as Sir Baron Blurting,
His alphabetically endless spurtings
Had yet to get him somewhere worthy.
At longest last he silent stood
At brambly edge of wordy woods
Done rambling on the likelihood
That all his saying did great good.
He got somewhere that can’t be said.
A place where only ____ ____ tread.
The larger realm where word is dead.
That’s all that may be wrote or read.

For when you want on out of yourself
I’d say we could switch places,
But I’d be lying out your teeth
To my sweet, innocent faces
If I said that I’d be fine
With all that such erases.
More than that, with hand in hat,
I feel if you go, go far.
Blow by both boring and bizarre.
Blow out that final star.
Go till all else is gone
To find out what you are.
Once you know I think you’ll see
We dearly need you where
You meet your youest self,
Someone deserving of your care.
I hope that you return to you,
I’ll gladly meet you there.

I like to read a book
Like a bear reading a brook
Or a fish eating a hook
Oh, a dog greeting a duck
Not a me reading a book
But a con meeting a shmuck
Yes, a crook cheating a crook
Like a crab reading a cook
I live reading a book.

The Sea sailed in on silver dreams
To see the little boy who seemed
To be a fish who flew upstream
And lost his gills but not his way
Before he found a place to stay
In one Mountain’s rainy day.

Boulder was the name he sold
As his but was better known as Bold
However many times he told
His buggy buddies they were wrong
They’d say in turn, “Too long! Too long!
And Boulder’s good but Bold belongs!”

He’s the only son the Sea has had,
Nine thousand daughters and one lad,
And it’s safe to say the Sea was glad,
Then dreams gave way, the Sea receded
Back to deeps where it was needed,
Leaving land lovingly seeded.

Yes, Bold knew just what to do,
He tended to his garden true,
Astounding Mountain with what grew –
Giant squids and octopus,
Coral, kelp and crabby nests,
Pearls and fishy flashiness.

Bold’s buddies watered and fed salt
From Mountain’s private golden vault
To ocean darlings without halt
Until this hale and hearty crop
Felt the waves and windy chop
And dropped into the Mountain top.

Old Mountain then dipped to the shore
Full of worlds and wanting more
Into the roaring Sea he poured,
And Bold and buddies alone again
With nothing but a day of rain
Went and made their own Sea then.

Illustration by SP.