There’s a thing that feeds
On the lively breeze
Of your yawn and sneeze.
A mere breath won’t do,
And nor will two
Or three or slews
Of gulps and gasps
Or rips and rasps
Of coughs and laughs.
No, this beast drowns
On shallow rounds
Of breathing sounds.
It needs the best
Deep in your chest!
A breath with zest!
So it sneaks with pepper,
Boring stories, feathers,
Bits of colds and other measures
To get you spawning
Sneezes, yawning,
It goes conning
Life from out
Your crumbful mouth.
Listen for the quiet shout –
“Bless you,” hear it,
For it will mean it
Though you’ll never see it.
The world fills holes
With hidden souls
That eat from oddest bowls.

You’ve been awful sassy lately,
Your grumpfulness is almost stately,
You’ve impressed the irksome greatly,
You’re royalty among the jerks!
Keep up the good work.

I think I’m growing bark
And turning to a plant!
My skin grows rough and colorful,
I won’t do this! I can’t!
Please, Mother Nature,
Give me one more chance
To be a little boy
And laugh and play and dance!
Wait, is that a zipper?
Taking another glance,
Someone must have dressed me.
Who put on these pants?

Swish drew a fish upon herself
So she could be the sea
Then all the world sank into her,
Her ink pens were set free –
Uncurling color riots,
Unfurling rainbowed islets,
Their swirls rose up as pirates
To take the land and sky!
Awake you bland and dry!
Forsake the stranded lie
That keeps your pens in line!

Swish drew a wish into herself
So she could go be more
Than any girl in any world
On any sea or shore.

Do you want a pen?
Here, take this, and then

It’s a sign of the times
When the crickets all sing
Of the merriest crimes
In the land of the king
Of the cats and his mice
Who must kiss his great paw
And obey for the price
Of a whisker or claw
To hold treasure unknown
In their little soft hearts
And unmeasured alone
In the duping fools arts,
For the mice all adored
That the whisker was theirs
And would hunt them no more
To their hidden home lairs
And the claw would not strike
Like a clock in the night
At the midnight of life
With a playful last bite,
But the whisker was grass
From a field of mouse bones
And the claw was chipped glass
Off cat’s crystal high throne
So the mice made their bed
On the teeth of cat king
And they safely self-fed
Their whole lives to the thing
That sure purred they were saved
By its power and grace
And they rushed to their graves
As if it were a race.
It’s a sign of the times
When the mice are reborn
As loud crickets whose rhymes
Pour a chorus of scorn,
Yet the old king grows frail
And he too will soon pass
To come back through the veil
As a lone blade of grass.

I bought myself a brother
So I’d finally have another
To chase and play and laugh all day –
A smelly, punkish fixer upper.

The seller (former brother)
Quickly proclaimed,
“He’s been good
But then twins came
And it’s understood
We don’t need more of the same.
So to you he goes!
He’ll lose every game!
There will be more toys
And he’s easy to blame!
As for our family,
It’s a real shame
But I’ve almost forgot
Old what’s-his-name.”

I bought myself a brother
To love and grow and keep,
And even more important –
He was very, very cheap.

A dog had a key,
A fox had a lock,
A cat had a bird
And the bird had a rock.

One held a treasure,
One held a prize,
One held riches
Beyond what wealth buys.

Of course they fought!
Of course they fought.
They only saw
What they had not.

The cat ate the bird,
The fox ate the cat,
The dog ate the fox
And could have left it at that.

Dog put the key in the lock
But it wouldn’t fit,
As the bird knew,
The rock’s where it went.

Inside the rock
Was a world of gold,
And all the spite
That shiny things hold.

The lock turned the dog
Into a blue jay,
The bird grabbed the rock
And flew away.

When walls become people
They must learn new ways, yes,
But first that there is a way,
For all their life there was less
Than a way, there was stone,
Stone, which was best.
Whatever it was that stirred them up,
That woke, that poked, that all out called
Them towards us people
We must not, any, fall,
And it happens, yes,
But no person should become a wall.

If I had a third foot
I’d be so much more stable!
I’d be stronger and steady,
Almost a table!

If I had a third foot
I’d win every race!
I’d kick like a horse
With a millipede’s grace!

If I had a third foot
I’d always be prancing!
Even standing still
I’d be halfway dancing!

Or I’d make my hands jealous,
Walk with a hunch,
Get extra hangnails
And trip twice as much.

I was told I have an attitude
And I’m happy to agree.
You can call me rough and rude,
You can say I’m gruff and crude,
I just say I’m me.

Some may say to tone it down
(And many have and will)
And they’re allowed to run around
Their own words till they astound
Themselves with their molehill.

I would like to wish you
The best with your own attitude,
And whomever has an issue
Can find themselves a tissue,
Even dung beetles soar at their own altitude.