Good morning, ma’am or sir!
Some say, “What’s good about it?”
However the day swerves
It’s yours and don’t you doubt it.
You could burn it to the ground
And roll around in ash.
You could set out to astound
And make a treasure out of trash.
So I say “Good morning!”
‘Cause I’m sure it’s worth a shot.
The truth is it’s just morning
And you’ll make it good or not.
Night and Day will never meet
But always greet each other.
As Day sinks to her sacred seat
She hands sky to her brother.
These spirits almost touch at dawn
And then again at tw’ight.
“Good Day,” Night says with a yawn,
And Day says, of course, “Good Night.”
There’s a lot of barking in the realm of beasts.
For all their huff they fear the fight.
For those that bite the world’s a feast,
Or a great chew toy at the very least.
The Rubudum Maw is all teeth.
You’ll see no skin, just pearly whites.
‘Twas born to bite and is enwreathed
In ‘nines on tusks with more beneath.
This beast could be all smiles.
It could be charming wiles.
But its brain is full of fangs,
Its gnawed heart hangs on toothy trials.
If you should meet it face-to-face,
I must say the safest place
Is in its mouth, on pillow tongue –
It’s among the safest spots in all of space!
Illustrations by MB who posts her art on Instagram.
Do what others won’t.
Fail until you don’t.
Drawn by OSC.
If you find something lost
You have a chance to leave it lost
At less than little cost.
Some things burn in the sunlight
(And some of them should, right?)
But there’s something in the unknown
That we should never own.
Leave lovely Mystery on her throne.
This idea may be most sound –
Let yourself be lost with it.
You always need to be found?
Take the tumbumbleweed ticket.
Illustration by MB who posts her art on Instagram.
(Read some of Itsy’s and Bitsy’s previous (mis)adventures.)
The world gets bored busy
By its own dizzy tizzies
And might take it out on an Itsy or Bitsy
Who met once again in the muck mired middle
Of a messy and yet somehow much ‘mired riddle
Where good and bad were naught but a quibble
Branching off the truthy tree
Where noble -tsys bloomed wild and free
Into blunt buzz of a soothe-see bee
Proclaiming the future had arrived
And sucking them into its inky hive
Where they dripped down pens to bring alive
This sorry story of promising luck
But if they stayed then they’d be stuck
So th y got up and off th y snuck
Into another tricky tale
Where they might fail or fail to fail
And all the importance that entails,
Sneaking in and out and round
Some polluted plot they found
‘Bout a large three headed hound
That stood guard at secret gates
But feared the fickle fingered Fates
Who poked at any stable states
And even with his six eyeballs
That haunted hound could not see all
So our -tsys took him awol,
Through the gates, into a space
The Fates were blind and could not chase,
A knowing and yet unknown place
Where only you could trap yourself,
A bedeviling sort of awful health,
That if cured would bring a wealth
Of other gates and other ways
Into and through the mother maze
So as they went they raised with praise
The heads and hearts of all they passed
Until their running reached the last
Large wyrm hole where sat aghast
A lion with its own three heads
Who stood up straight and looked ahead
At what could be and so she fled
Into hope with hound at heels,
Leaving ‘tsys to make a deal
‘Tween things they think and fings they feel
So Itsy and our Bitsy too
Declared themselves themselves anew,
Diving in the reddish blue
Of that hungry hole and –
That we were strangers once
Is deeply strange to think.
Weren’t you always there?
I say I saw you in the blink.
You somehow never doubted
The impossible parts of me,
Which makes me strangely wonder
How I could ever be
When those bits were not believed.
Maybe you made me real.
Might be a steep climb to fulfill
But I’d bury my heart in that hill.
One way or another
Now that I’m here
I believe in you
Even though I fear
You may be a ghost
Or even worse a mirror.