If something can’t be said
Don’t say it.
If something must be said but can’t be said,
Tip your hat and tilt your head,
Pour it out, spray it,
Do whatever to display it.

False may just be optional,
Opt to be unstoppable,
And if it’s not impossible,
You’ve got better things to do.

My first book is now available in print and on Kindle!  In fact, if you buy it in print you get the Kindle version for free.  It’s a collection of nonsense limericks playing off the illustrations of Edward Lear.  You can peek into the book on Amazon or scroll down this site to see some examples of what’s inside.  Enjoy!

Get the book on Amazon now.

There was an old person of Juneau,
Who dreamt of going where few go;
Straight into Night,
He fit in just right,
That noble old person of Juneau.

There was an old person of Philly,
Who imbibed in a great deal of silly;
He hemmed and he hawed,
On impossible odds,
While trying to get back to Philly.

There was an old lady of Kew,
Who searched high and wide for a clue;
When offered one,
She said, “You’re no fun!”
Which puzzled the people of Kew.

Each one felt abandoned.
Their doubts were cruel and handsome.
They were each other’s fandom,
Thought the other was a grand one,
Were entirely in tandem,
But doomed by ruling Random.

The two went to and fro.
Round and round they’d go.
Down and down to woe.
Never found, oh no.

Right time, Wrong places.
Right place, Wrong times.

The two had unknown fans.
Three others found them grand.
The three were each alone,
Each sought them on their own
And thought themselves the only one.

Wrong times, Wrong places.

The three did not find the two,
Stayed lost without a clue,
Till they stumbled on into
A bumbling breakthrough
And, long overdue,
Joined each other as a crew.

Wrong Rights, Right Wrongs.

There was an old man of Milano,
Who loudly yelped, “Help me out, pronto!
If not for this chair,
I’d be standing on air,
I must be tied down in Milano!”

There was a young lady whose jig,
Was roundly despised by the pig;
But loved by the cow,
Who wished to know how,
She came up with that marvelous jig.

There was an old lady of Trussville,
Whose hat was widely known as distrustful;
She never knew,
But it secretly grew,
Till she was known as the hat of Trussville.

The sun comes up and Kruq gets out of bed,
Bathes, breakfasts, clothes,
Picks out every hair that goes on her head.

Every morning ever the first is a fox tail,
Whether a swamp weed tuft
Or the clever, toothy one’s fluff,
It’s the first without fail.

Then she begins to choose –
Perhaps an illegal eagle plume
Or a couple from a peacock.
A handful of straw from a cobwebby old broom?
An always on the hour
Long hand of a clock?
Of course, she must have her flowers
For a bootful bee filled bouquet of bangs.
Sometimes an old TV antenna hangs.
She has a fondness for eels,
Though more so for people’s squeals
When they realize that they’re real.

She’s been collecting for years
And is now at work on a beard,
So if you see something good
Please mail it here.

Kruq could write books on looks
And every one of them would begin and end with the lines:
“Fashion’s about your likes,
Don’t get fooled by your minds.”

Drawn by Sparkpuppy.

There was an old man of Arabia,
Gripped by musical mania;
Wherever he went,
Folks quickly sent,
Him jamming back to Arabia.

There was a young lady of Addis,
Whose hair brought on cases of madness;
It was so wild,
It quickly exiled,
Any sense to be found in Addis.

There was an old person of Yale,
Determined to turn to a snail;
He said, “I’ll soon ooze,
For I’ve paid my dues,
After years of study at Yale!”

In a building built of murk and mist
At the back of the nearest storm,
Lies are stacked hand over fist
With this a most exquisite twist –
If you check one out, the lie exists!

Take a thing from the Lie Brary
(A thing that’s no thing at all),
And you will find it very, very
Real outside the Brary walls.

Truth must know some true defiance.
False sometimes needs our alliance.
Why deny a lie a chance?

Trees are the toes of buried giants,
Eyes are stars just catching flame.
Color’s sly but can be caught,
Butterflies and I cannot,
There’s no such thing as shame.

Well, this lie has been a thrill,
This lie that Lie Braries are real,
I think I’ll keep it checked out still.

There was an old person whose body,
Was built ramshackle and shoddy;
Say something funny,
He’d laugh up whole bunnies,
That dubious old person’s body.

There was a young lady whose job,
Was stretching the noses of snobs;
They called it high fashion,
‘Twas a painful passion,
But at least it gave her a job.

There was an old man of the East,
In charge of a marvelous feast;
He stewed himself well,
The people still tell,
Of that spicy old man of the East.

Let me give you a clue –

The only thing you’ve got wrong
Is if you think something’s wrong with you.