There’s a shell on every beach
That’s from a different sea,
A sea that beats the blowing shores
Of all eternity.
So now I ask what you might ask –
How has this seashell come to be
From such a sea impossibly vast
To me?

And if that matters (and it does),
How might I take this seashell back
And know this shore as more than lore,
But as feet on fact?

It hears me ask, grows legs and runs!
A crab inside’s our first mystery,
But the larger one finds waves
And flees!
Now every shore I ever know
I’ll look for one shell of the sea,
And so I search on every beach
For all eternity.

Hunn received a sunny letter,
By which I mean not only nice
But filled with warmest, honeyed light
And smells of sleepy spice –
A day-in-bed delight.

Hunn wrote back a woodsy letter,
Bursting out the envelope
With moss and earth and twiggy sprites
And flowers full of fruiting hope –
A lost-in-something-more delight.

Hunn got sent a stormy letter,
An airy sea whipped every way
Until it could not hold its might
And lightning flipped the night to day –
An elements-let-loose delight.

Hunn sent off a leading letter
Stuffed with fluff and followed it
Like a friendly postal kite
It led Hunn straight to the one who’d writ
For an arm-in-arm delight.

The two then wrote a river letter
That sent itself rip roaring down
To find another one to write
In any crashing, splashing town –
A pass-it-on delight.

Illustration by DALL-E in the style of Emily Farmer.

My regards to all the ghosts
Bored enough to boast
Of dying in some godforsaken way.

Odd you ever thought forever
Would be the way to sever
Yourself from dearest, dullest day-to-day.

So now you go on haunting
Thinking that you’re flaunting
The horrors of unliving on display.

The truth is that you’re tedious,
Seemingly the neediest
Dead to ever try to spread dismay.

Our regards to all you ghosts,
Bland as coldest toast,
But figure something else out we all say.

We aren’t friends.
We’re odds at ends
Of ifs and buts
And wild whats.

We aren’t friends.
We’re outs and ins
Of storied roads
And secret codes.

We aren’t friends.
We’re bucking blends
Of caves and stars
And kissing scars.

We aren’t friends.
We’re all that bends
To better than
We were before.
We aren’t friends.
We’re so much more.

If a napkin’s not for napping
Then it needs another name,
‘Cause I’m ready to start snoring
And you can’t cover me in shame
Like I have these comfy napkins
Of the finest, fairest fame,
And upon my messy waking
Where drool and eye gunk have made claim
I can wipe it all away
With these napkins softly framed
As the best self-cleaning bedding
In which I’ve ever lain.

Illustration by DALL-E in the style of Catharina van Hemessen.

We have a beast for you!
It’s boxed and in the mail!
Send us a buck or two
And prep to meet some scaled,
Or stinging, slimy goo,
Or biting, bushy tailed
Thing coming in a box
From distant west or east.
It’s here! You must outfox
One of our special beasts!
Who’s at the door? Fate knocks!
Your postman does at least.
Unbox your beast and run!
Or you’ll be quickly stuck
Inside a box and spun
Off to make us a buck!
We’ll ship you on as one
Of our new beasts, good luck!

Illustration by DALL-E in the style of Hieronymous Bosch.

Hurrah for the snow day!
It snowed six feet or more!
So I’d say there’s no way
The school opens its doors.
Rules are rules, I follow them,
And there it says nice and plain:
“When it storms and snow comes
School doors shall remain chained.”
I look out through my window
And see the buried mountain top,
No matter that those winds blow
At a distance, school must stop!
No matter that here far below
It’s all too dry and scorching hot,
All matters that we follow those
Lovely rules without a thought.

There’s an icy rose
That blooms and grows
In the embers of a fire,
That’s burned for weeks
On the eastern peaks
That volcanos most admire,
For there the sun
Believes it’s won
The scorching crown of flame,
Till volcano throws
Off its clothes
And makes its molten claim.
This rose grabs hold
Of holy cold
As fire only dreams,
As like a team
One extreme
Quickly becomes extremes.
Pluck and place
With perfect grace
That comes from fearlessness,
A rose of ice
Grown to entice
The world’s most marvelous,
You’ll be pleased
To sweetly freeze
Until the simple turn,
When ice gives way
To plotted play
And circles back to burn.

Illustration by Dall-E in the style of Claude Monet.

Inspired by First Fig from A Few Figs from Thistles by Edna St. Vincent Millay.

My candle will not light it seems;
The dark must flicker on its own;
And dream its own wild, winding dreams –
Tonight I do not leave my bones!

Part I

No, never was a knight so kind
As Gumble Strilts McKree.
He sat with weeds as they pined
For fields all flowery,
Encouraged birds on their first flight,
Cheered them on their last,
Worried less about who was right
Since that was in the past,
And set his sights instead on what
He might help by heart or hand,
Neither of which he ever shut
To anyone in any land.

The beauty of the Cardinal Knight
Lies in who’s on guard.
If you feel kind Cardinal bite,
Join the Order of the Cards.

Part II

No, never was a knight so wise
As Shumble Guilts Marie.
She saw through even her own lies
When she was only three,
Passed the magpies’ moony test
In realms of nameless doubt,
The first to even know the quest
Was there to be found out,
Returning, yes, with gold and luck
But also something more –
A deal that had been quite well struck,
For us, an open door.

The beauty of the Cardinal Knight
Lies in who’s on guard.
If you feel wise Cardinal bite,
Join the Order of the Cards.

Part III

No, never was a knight so brave
As Trumble Wilts Daree.
They dove into a depthless cave
Without a light to see,
Opposed a savage hungry horde
Of toothy, gobbling maws
With nothing but their soul as sword
And the chewable their cause.
They spoke against the best loved king,
Were jailed and cruelly chained,
But their oldish, owlish judge winked
And freed them as too sane.

The beauty of the Cardinal Knight
Lies in who’s on guard.
If you feel brave Cardinal bite,
Join the Order of the Cards.

Part IV

No, never was a knight so strong
As Rumple Drilts Klaree.
She once pulled the night along
To meet the shining sea,
Held up the stone bird’s mountain wing
So its chicks could leave the nest,
While hilly chicks are no small thing
In youth was her toughest test –
She saw the things that troubled
Her troublemaking self,
And turned them all to wholesome rubble
Instead of turning on ourselves.

The beauty of the Cardinal Knight
Lies in who’s on guard.
If you feel strong Cardinal bite,
Join the Order of the Cards.

Part V

No, never was a knight so knight
As Gumble Strilts McKree.
He brought knighthood to its height
With an open-armed decree
That whosoever feathered up and flew
To helping others then became
A knighted blessing and could choose
Their order and their name.
A knight showed him a mighty kindness
When he was in a bind,
So he made his mission to invite us
To join the knightly kind.

The beauty of the Cardinal Knight
Lies in who’s on guard.
If you feel the Cardinal bite,
Join the Order of the Cards.

Illustration by Dall-E in the style of Raphael.