To those on a mission
To make me hear –
I’ll only listen
With my little ears
If you can give
Me more than words,
Some sound that lives
And bucks and blurs
The lines between
What words you say
And what they mean
And what display
Of sparks and song
Can leap so high
Birds sing along
In ragtime sky
That my ears free
Themselves from head
And thought and me
And whatever said
And fly on off
With dusk and leaves
To see what soft
Sounds stars receive.

They called me goody-two-shoes
So now my feet are bare.
They said that I was just too much
So now I’m barely there.
They whined about my steady stare
So now my eyes are closed.
They whinged that I was too alert
So now I mostly doze.
They wondered at my paleness
So I painted myself blue.
I asked them why they said these things
And they said, “Who are you?”

When do you go
To the end of the row
Of stars on Moony Hill?

What could you grow
Worth a spot in a grove
That never knows the chill

Of night ’cause it’s there
By the garden of ‘mares
With dreams in tailing souls

That sip on the air,
Drinking you bare
To kindly make you whole.

A gallimaufry is a jumble,
A bunch, a messy mass
Of this and that all tumbled
In a soul to somehow pass
As a creature, a beast
That’s burdened by itself
As it’s built up piece by piece
From spare parts off any shelf.
One grows hooves around a wheel,
One has gills and wings,
One has no mouth to eat a meal
But still somehow it sings.
The first finds its way to roads,
The second to the clouds,
The third has an expressive nose
And is harmonious as allowed.
Nature used the oddest math
To get these creatures done.
If life can’t find a worn in path
Trust that it will make one.

You’ll need some extra pockets
Because there’s so much to you.
We’ll sew them on some outfits
To keep you closely to you.
And if you run off naked
You’ll spill into the streets.
That’s fine, it should be stated,
And better for the streets.

If it weren’t normal
She’d be there,
Dressed up all formal,
Flowers in hair,
But not no rose
Nor lilies fine,
No, she grows
A crystal vine
That winds and winds
And winds and winds
Around the world
Then through her mind
And out her curls
It brightly shines,
Lighting her way
By subtle signs
From hidden strays
To rarest finds.

If it were weird
He’d do a jig
With curly beard
Of moss and twigs,
And sometimes mice
And sometimes bats
Would roost all nice
Up in his hat,
And always moose
And always deer
Would whisper clues
Into his ear
Of queerest things
He might discover,
Of course, this brings
Him word of her.

They were both odd
And lovely so.
They were both awed
By strange unknowns.
Both heard there were another
Like them in many ways.
A strangeness lover!
So they spent some days
Searching but were ever late
And never crossed their paths
By some trick of fate
Or maybe fortune’s wrath.
Each were happy knowing
The oddness of defeat.
If one thing kept them going
It’s that there were more to meet.

Huck gave his head to the watermelons
In a trade for one of theirs.
Now his thoughts are full of seeds
While the fruit patch puts on airs.
Now he’s ripe with possibility
And free of heady cares.
How much finer to be full of sweetness
Even though he’s chased by bears.
How his rind shines brighter than his mind
Could ever think to dare.
Huck slept in a bit too late today
And rooted in bed there.
If you don’t like watermelons
I know a pumpkin patch or pears
Who’d trade you for that fruitless head.
Want to replant your upstairs?

Six of herselves ran away
To see some other distant day
But her seventh self chose to stay
And made the difference to be made.
Herselves ran off without saying, “So long!”
But she was happy as they ran along,
They were forgiven before they were gone.

One was bullish, another ghoulish,
Many mulish and fully foolish,
Though this much was tried and truish –
They were afraid and let that rule us.
Them, I mean! I’d never write about me!
I have too many selves, you see,
So let’s get back as herselves flee.

None of herselves were worst or best,
Simply different than the rest,
This time this one passed the test,
Next another would meet the quest.
Six of herselves ran away,
But her seventh was brave
In the way needed that day.

A monster with a pluck of luck
Has laughter deep down in its gut
That you might share if you should dare
To find your saintly fool in there.

Don’t try to save a monster, child,
Don’t try to slay one in the wild,
But if you dare be fool enough
A laugh just may lead it to love.

A laugh that’s shared is over rare
To one in darkness of a lair
Raised to keep out all of the light
From foolish, saintly laughter’s bite.

The best saint has a bit of fool
Inside them as a helpful tool
That may be something heaven sent
To keep them here and human bent.

The path they walk is rarely straight
So bent helps spin them through the gate,
Slide right by the fine guard or thief
Or into them as need might be.

I want a saint right here and now
To tell me what and why and how,
But we may be just fool enough
To help us all get through this stuff.