People are the worst ones
But boy do I love persons.

(Read Part I, Part II and Part III.)

Kew’s toes went down to tread
Night sky as newest stars.
Storm pushed apart the threads
Of oddest thoughts up in his head
And set them aside in jars.

While those thoughts are all of ours,
From the best to the worst,
From the blessed to the cursed,
She cherishes the most bizarre
And she did have them first.

The Storm invites all in
To her push and pull and spin.
She’s as giving as she’s frightening,
You can live on her lightning.

You know how to make a misstake?

With your head up and full of grace.
Or sideways with nose misplaced.
Downside up without a face.
Bodiless and quite disgraced.

For badness sake it
Won’t stop you!
The point is, make it.

(Read Part I and Part II.)

Kew moved forward with his Storm
As she went calling worms.
Forward now to build and learn,
His friendly nature took its turn
In tickling tendrils of a river fern.

He got his invite to a riverbank,
Befriended all who came his way,
Grew up rocks, trees – he wouldn’t stay
In place, spreading like spilled ink!
One more successful link.

The Storm invites all in
To her push and pull and spin.
Give in and go agog,
Melt into the fog.

The difference between those that declare,
“You’re know nothings, but I’m wild and rare!”
And the wonder Eclare is she was wild and rare.

(And knew she knew nothing, so there!)

Yes, Eccles the Clare was exceedingly fair
In the ways that matter to bears.

Bugs in her belly, quills in her hair,
Wearing that see-all, owlish stare,
Making her very wary way where
Nightmares are too scared to dare.

Her roar had a waterfall flair.
Fox envied all Eck smelled on the air.
The woods slipped through her unaware
Of the blessed beast that called them lair.

But you know how you knew she was wild and rare?
When that child Clare smiled you felt rare and wild.

Drawn by Brandon.

(Read Part I here.)

Storm hugged him tight in her mad swirl,
She’s a vicious loving girl.
Kew’s will and hands were now unfurled,
Sent back to Mount Abirlakurled
Whose roots held up the whirling world.

Every piece of you is you
And every piece of Kew is Kew,
His hands and will from this old hill
Had made him strong and now fulfilled
Their promise to return renewed.

The Storm invites all in
To her push and pull and spin.
Slip your fear and go for wonder,
Head straight for her thunder.

Cages are easy.
It’s freedom that’s queasy.
The great greasy squeezing
Of cheesy sneezies
Is pleasingly teasy wheezy.

Sorry!
My freedom got the best of me!
But don’t worry,
I’ve got a spurious slurry
That’s curiously curing,
A stirring flurry of furry
And in a blurry hurry to bury
The scurrying jury.

That’s furiously fun,
Freedom in free fall –
But not too well done.

I’ll get better,
The bad’s all my fault,
But you can’t live much deader
Than life in a vault.

The skies were roaring gray
When Kew walked out his gate.
It took all his life up to that day,
Just barely short of, oh, too late,
But still he found his fate.

He stepped into the gracious Storm,
Stepped into her at last.
His business done and past
He finally reached his finest form,
She pulled him to pieces fast.

The Storm invites all in
To her push and pull and spin.
She’ll fight you fully as a friend,
I recommend the wind.

Illustration by MB who posts her art on Instagram.

Fear what goes bump in the night
Till you realize your big fright
Bumps because of poor eyesight.

Drawn by Guitarseer whose art can be found here.

Tink lived a life well structured.
No such thing as out of place.
None guessed that when it frac/tured
Shwas blessed by a saving grace.
The rest of ducks all in a row, row, row,
Somehow now knew twers times to go
Go go yer boat stently up the gream,
Merrily, verily, scarily, merrily,
Dreams be ut they seem.
Tink treamed large, they took/tuck her inn,
Deeep into ther sleepish den,
Across the coals of souls of them
That will not light and so go dim,
Truer nonsense has never been,
So Tinkalink lrnd nd brnd
An lit an likd er way kcaback ome,
Wint str-t true n ut ta roam.
If you shd see her fore you wake
Rember that yore wuts at stake
And f you wisshh your soul to kip
Slip a diply woken sleeep.