We recognize you for being yourself!
Thank goodness!
There’s already everyone else.

As the ‘tificate reads:

“This is not about your deeds
Or your iffy look,
You might be a boor, indeed,
You could be a crook!

You never learned to tie your shoes,
Trim your nails, comb your hair,
Say ‘hello,’ pay your dues,
And certainly not share.

You didn’t even want to learn!

What happens to stars that fall in the sea?
Why do they no more shine bright now for me?

Is their light gobbled by the hungry waves?
Are they more twinkly in dark sunken caves?

What is their duty once they drop the sky?
Are they free finally to close their eye?

Do they get caught by eels to warm their nests?
Do they light ways for whales as honored guests?

Or grow great jungles of delicious kelp?
Or play, hunt and dance with young sea wolf whelps?

If I want answers while I’m still alive
I’ve got my questions and a quest to dive.

Those times that I remember who
It is behind your name
Remind me you’ve a truer view
On my own silly games.

“Will you be coming back?” you ask,
To let me know I can,
Allowing me to keep my mask
Of one without a plan.

While I will war or ghost unknowns
Out on beyond the end,
The name I hold is not my own
But one I call a friend.

Those times that I forget my name
The world forgets me too.
All else I know forfeits the game,
I’m off into the blue.

“Will you be coming back?” they ask,
As if I’d ever know.
I see a single, given task
And it is, simply, go.

The where or when or why of it
Will offer not a clue
To what to start or how to quit
And certainly not who.

Stipple Kibbin lay in his bed.
Stipple Kibbin picked at a thread.
He picked and he pecked, he pickled and pulled,
Stip mindlessly made himself a lovely hole,
Not in his sheets, not in his clothes,
But in his body ’round his patchwork soul.
Once he noticed he didn’t stop, no,
And quickly unraveled his lil pig toes.
He pulled at his thread as he happily crumbled
Till he found him self-surrounded in bundles.
Stip enjoyed this coming apart
But when he felt the tug on his heart
He turned to the rather opposite art
Of knitting, crocheting and sewing up parts.
He put himself back together again
With more pig toes and a bit bigger grin
But he didn’t stop, not there nor then,
He found more threads and stitched them in.
Life’s all threads and you just don’t know
Is this one to pull or one I should sew?
Well Stip did both and off he now goes
Traveling, raveling as he grows
Into the world from roots to crows,
From patchwork soul to lil pig toes.

If what’s at hand is not at heart
Then go discover other parts
That meet your heart upon its seat
And clap along as your heart beats.

A young, searching girl
Stepped out in the swirl,
Wind whipping her into its world.

She called herself Lie,
Wind didn’t care why
And flung her up into the sky.

It ripped, rattled, roared!
Would settle all scores!
But found itself roundly adored.

Lie went with the wind
And found more within
As she turned herself into the spin.

She went full tornado,
Her and wind are okay though,
They’re together wherever they go.

A young, searching girl
Stepped out in the swirl
And found herself happily hurled.

A young, searching girl
Stepped out in the swirl
And added her twirl to the whirl.

There seems to be confusion
On heads and how to use ’em.
I figured out a helpful fix
With two small, quicky tricks.

I grew some teeth inside my ears
To chew up rubbish volunteered
By talkers I don’t want to hear
And keep my thinker much more clear.

The other thing makes me more proud – 
I grew ears on teeth so I’m allowed
To hear my rubbish first and loud
And maybe chew and spit it out.

This may not be for everyone,
Some may not like what I have done
Or understand its spirit,
But I don’t have to hear it.

Also read about Birds, Snails, Owls, Bees, Foxes, Vultures and Ponies.

Abstruse Berry
Each berry of this plant seems to be an impossibly perfect sphere.  It has been studied by mathematicians and engineers all over and every one of them has left their lives behind to become traveling monks.  They call themselves the Order of the Recondites and spend the rest of their lives trying to make our world fit this perfect model of a berry.  They wander filing down mountains, filling in valleys and telling people that they just don’t get it.

Rinkleheimer Berry
Turns you into the last animal to eat a berry off its bush.  No one knows what the first berry eater became.  But who can resist?  And what will become you?

Carnassial Berry
A very toothy berry that will do its best to eat you if you’ve come to do the same to it.  A coyote’s chance is about 50/50.  How well do you do against a coyote?

Lyra Berry
As you chew you hear the berry’s swan song.  A perfect melody, sweet to tongue and ear.  Quiet triumphs.  Crashing crescendos.  A life in sound.  Then the berry is gone.  The concert is over.  You eat another.

Haspberry
The berries grow off the roots rather than the branches so you have to dig for your treasure.  Where pebbles come from.  Or are people just digging up pebbles?

Swong Berry
This berry is not from the shrub it’s growing on.  Will you plant it?

Orion Berry
Do not eat!  I’d like to tell you they’re poisonous or inedible, but no, I’m a berry eater of incredible honesty and integrity.  They’re just my favorite and I want them to be there if I should stroll by.  Why don’t you go try a carnassial berry?  I’m sure you’ll be fine.     

Nous Berry
A very sensible fruit (unlike some of these other drupelets).  Keep calm and berry on.

I’ll never be a grown-up!

Though I know that I must grow
There’s only one way that I’ll go.

I’ll grow into the ground! 

I’ll
be
a

g
r
o
w
n
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d
o
w
n.