Become a slumberjack.
A member of the number
Who hack through sleeping lumber
To get to sunken dreams all curled
Round their diving dreamer’s souls
And pull them up into our world.

Become a slumberjack.
There’s wonder in the world
Thanks to the slumberjack.
There’s thunder in the wonder
That lightning only dreams of
And you could show it your love
By bringing thunder up above.

Become a slumberjack.

Cut through forgetful night.

A dream’s still a dream in the light.

There was an old lady whose farm,
Had an inhospitable charm;
Haunted by daisies,
And friendly zombies,
There was no understanding that farm.

There was a young lad of Caracas,
Who couldn’t help but cause a fracas;
The place was too nice,
He tore it up twice,
That unsettled young lad of Caracas.

There was a young lad whose glasses,
Were stuck to his head with molasses;
He called in the ants,
They were his last chance,
For him to be free of those glasses.

They call us Crazy.

Well, Crazy crawled from the hazy
Maze of shining knights and darkened days,
Like brazen blazing daisies
In bouquets of sunny rays
Slashing through the lazy glaze
Of a hundred thousand grays,
Finding ways by their “Obey!”s,
Staying all the preying praise
That loves as it betrays.
While every NO is raised,
As all else always sways,
Our twisting never strays –
We hold to hope!

I also call us Crazy.

Drawn by Mathmaclar whose art can be found here.

When you see you,
What do you see?
That’s what I wonder,
What looks like me?

When I look at the mirror
Who could it be
Looking back at me –
Looking for me?

Not in the mirror
Or on the TV.
Lots of people
But none looking like me.

I think I saw me,
I think I did,
In a lightning flash,
But then it hid.

And once again
In the drowning dark
In the toothsome gleam
Of a hunting shark.

Other times,
Deep in the woods,
I see myself
In apple flower buds.

As well as when
The silence rings
With fierce bird song –
I’m seen when birds sing.

I like my look,
These bits I see,
In hidden pieces
That look like me.

There was an old lady of Gold,
Who grabbed hold of a boulder and rolled;
There’s no stopping her,
Still goes by in a blur,
That rolling old lady of Gold.

There is a young person of Oz,
Who gives life to whatever she draws;
That’s why it’s a mess,
Those poor creatures, God bless,
That artistic young person of Oz.

There was a young lady of Crumb,
Who ruled her own tiny kingdom;
Queen of the bath,
If you incurred her wrath,
Then down the drain and exile from Crumb.

They said it wouldn’t work.
They mostly called it gross.
They groaned, “Surely your quirks
Have finally gone berserk!
For years we’ve heard you boast
How you’re finally getting close
To a source of light that acts
To dispel the darkest murk.”

But now I have my candle.
Made from the finest wax
That my burning mind could handle.

I seem to have been half right.

I see no flame but am sure I hear the light.

With clouds on his brow
And the sun in his cheeks
He said “No” to the now
And slept sound for ten weeks.

It’s a slumber of dreams
Where rest plays no part.
All is more than it seems
Yet clear from the start.

His way in matters not,
All routes come to a head.
The battle must be fought,
To win means none dead.

Then back to the now.
–He and clouds are one.
And long past the how.
–Now he is the sun.

I’d take a tail
Of cat or whale,
One of a ewe
Would do.

While not as cute
As fox or newt,
The tail of a rat
Might suffice, at that.

Though truth be told
My wants are bold,
And as I dream it
I’d wag the tail of a comet.

But as you’ve heard,
The best are birds,
For every tail is alive,
Free to float and dive.

I think the snake
Took more than his stake
And (in a move rather unfair)
Left our poor bottoms bare.

So find a snake,
Give it a shake,
And if it bails its scales
Attach at the rear for a tail.

Taking up dance is taking a chance
On the art of moving along with the heart.
Which one to pick?  Which one’ll stick?
The best way to know is get up and go!
Try ’em all!  Yes, fly and fall!

You can bop along to any sound or song.
Hop on for the ride, swing and slide!
Waltz your way through that beauty ballet.
Cut into the tango, polka, flamenco.
Become a robot or do the fox trot.
Be as rigid or wild as you like – free style!
Boogie about as you twist and shout.
Get up and clapping!
Free your toes to tapping!
(Though I’d ban the can-can.
Rather dance with my can’ts.)

Taking up dance is taking a chance
On a heart that must find a way to its art.
Pick any one!  They’re all more than fun!
And I hope you’ll see your way to agree
To dancing this dance with me.

(Read about Itsy’s unlucky sister here.)

Itsy was born lucky,
Plenty plump and plucky,
Skipping the ugly duckling
To become a summer fairy
In the garden of the airy
Lords who blessed her very cherry
Cheeks and gifted her a lion flying
Off into the last night’s dying
Darkness where all stars were trying
To jump the dawn and join the day
So when they saw her ride their way
They made their final wild play
By leaping for her ocean eyes
Where they found much wider skies
But Zeus saw all and, cruelly wise,
Swept clean the night of all its light
And so they fell into the quite
Empty realm of wrong is right
But Father Time saw the fall
And pulled her through the outer wall
To join him in the Rainbow Hall
Where she poured through color streams
Dipping hands in living beams
Of light that split along the seams,
Loosing joy and love and hope
That filled her up beyond the scope
Of any art to help her cope
With leaving such a place of soul
‘Cause out she went by the sunshine hole,
Sliding down the slick South Pole
To find a sea beast swimming by
Who kept her warm and safe and dry
And dropped her off where the ravens tie
The hills to the sky so she picked a cloud
Growing far too silver and proud
And wore it though the rain was loud,
Which called up every flower there
To kiss her toes and braid her hair
As she walked ways unaware
Of any care for wicked things
‘Cause though they watched, they held their stings,
And even offered up their rings
To serve as soldiers to this girl
Who seemed to hold the whole wobbly world
In her hands even as it hurled
Her in and out of good and bad
But never touched on what she had
That held her close and safely clad
In thundercloud and lilies and –