There was an old lady of Cairo,
Who, wherever she went, took a scarecrow;
No birds would get her,
Of that she’d be sure,
That wily old lady of Cairo.

There was an old man on a train,
Who had a lustrous, lion-like main;
He frightened everyone,
Except the children,
Who thought there a zoo on the train.

There was an old lady of Lear,
Who never left home out of fear;
That she’d lose her way,
And end up a stray,
Never to return to dear Lear.

There was an old man of Buktu,
Who made him a rooftop canoe;
He paddled the town,
Far above ground,
That inventive old man of Buktu.

There was an old lady of Zurich,
Who refused to be seen out in public;
She went everywhere,
With sheets held in the air,
That hidden old lady of Zurich.

There was a young lad of July,
Convinced he was a firefly;
His wings wouldn’t go,
But he mastered the glow,
That brightest firefly of July.

Are you a secret?  I won’t tell.
I might be one as well.

Illustrated by Yanasel

Drawn by Ernest (more of his artwork here)

Bobble was a vampire
Of the hungry night.
Bobble was a vampire
Until that fateless bite.

A child who did not know
-Didn’t even know to know!-
Put a tooth into a vampire
And dealt a human blow.

That child bit into wild ruckus
And unleashed a foreign calm.
Bobble left the vampires
Thanks to new brother Tom.

Tom was that biting boy
Who turned night into a brother.
It’s Tom and Bobble now,
Each one living for the other.

We lost the meaning of Mistake somehow
And only think it bad.
Ms. never gave us anything
But what we never had.

This never knowing what we’ll get
Is what we cannot stand.
There’s no history in Mystery,
No known glory in the unplanned.

Ms. keeps us moving forward,
Mr. does the same.
They’re the only way we’ll ever hit
Better than our aim.

Sticks and stones may break your bones,
Words can hurt your feelings.
The double danger is hearts are homes
And might even hold more parts unknown
That don’t come as easily to healing.

Sticks, stones and words all hurt when hurled –
War’s our very best way to waste.
They should instead be careful placed
With love and thought right tightly swirled
To build a better backward world.

There’s an old lady whose shoes,
Walk whichever direction they choose;
Her feet think it’s wrong,
She just tags along,
That compliant old lady in shoes.

There was a young lad with a map,
That led him to a baited mouse trap;
He couldn’t resist,
The poor boy will be missed,
He’s still stuck in that trap on his map.

There was an old lady of Sydney,
Who made the fair mayor look a ninny;
She painted his suit,
Pink, yellow and cute,
That anarchic old lady of Sydney.

When Dad says, “You have to bathe!”
I say take a good laughter bath.
Best to go where the laughs are at.
(Half the fun’s dealing with the aftermath.)

First, you’ll need a tub.
And then, whatever else.
The things that make you giggle, bub,
Will keep you in good health.

I start with chatty ears.
Then add a snob warthog.
You’ll laugh to cheerful tears, my dears,
‘Cause this bath’s a happy hug.

Fill it up with your guffaws.
Toss in plums that growl and bark.
Time to off your awful blahs
In your majestic chuckle ark.

Mine has tock ticking clocks.
Use whatever scrubs off troubles.
I like to soak in singing socks
And great gray gravy bubbles.

Forget a soapy shower.
Filth’s a state of mind!
Fill your tub with joyful power
And you’ll be shiny fine.

Drawn by Jennifer.  More of her art here.

Flee, little one, flee.
Flee from anyone
Calling you “little one.”

You’d crush them.
You wouldn’t try.
Wouldn’t want to!
But if they lack
A working eye
Or love too much
This little lie
Of smallish you
And them up high…

What can you do
But fly, little one, fly.

If books were people I’d keep me closed,
A done tale is a safe one.
A done tale doesn’t bite.
This dovetails nice with my fear of foes –
The fierce fishmoth (both bug and fish?)
And the termite’s mighty blight.
I must protect my poemy prose
By trusting that no one can fight
A thing that no one knows.
Indeed I’d be forever closed
If need – yes need! – however slight,
Of knowing where the next tale goes
Had not been so polite as to impose.
But for that, I suppose,
I’d be forever closed.