I’m in flower, not in fruit,
When you can eat me to the root,
Then you can chomp and chew my shoots,
Friend, you can gnaw me like a brute
In pursuit of every last lick of loot.

But for now I’m still en route
For I’m in flower, not in fruit.

(A sister poem to Beings Barbarous.)

Within those soils done gone stone hard,
Without a love grown yard,
There are buds of hungry veins
Who’d feast upon the plains.
Buried roots that pull at bones,
Biting thorns wound into thrones,
Blades that blaze and reach for stars,
Bloodleaf grown on Hades’ bars,
Branches bent towards dark and dooming –
Blossoms barbarous but blooming.

Blooms we’d grow without a thought
Who’d eat us by the lot.

They’ll miss us if they ever go
And try to plant us in a row.

Illustrated by DALL-E in the style of William Blake.

Fusi had a sea inside
And it sloshed and waved
As she took it for a ride
And it washed and gave
Her trouble on high tide,

For then she overflowed
And not just with wet
But sunken paths and roads
That she must walk yet
But now were mostly stowed

Deep beneath her sunny boats
Where she loved to fish
Where she’d swim and sun on floats
Far above her wish
That dare not brave those crueler coasts,

So she goes leaving ponds
Sometimes where she walks
Thanks to her tidal bridle bonds –
Look for rarest docks
That a friend might step upon.

Illustrated by DALL-E in the style of Mary Rogers Williams.

The cat’s on the roof,
The dog’s on the hoof,
The rest have all gone mad.

The goat’s gone aloof
For fear of a floof
Of cotton he thought had gone bad.

The cow’s on the lamb
Who’s in on the scam
And demanding a plane and boat.

The pig’s out of ham
And calling a sham
On the goose who’d have his goat.

The duck wants a horse
To race at the course
And win him both cash and charm.

The farmer’s appalled
And maddest of all
And asks if you’ll buy his farm?

I lost myself again
I wish I could say where
But loss has no way in
Except for loss’s care.

I gained myself again
I wish I could say how
But gain is loss’s kin
Accept all that’s allowed.

When every fish sipped at once
The sea dropped down a mile.
Whale saw this as the perfect chance
To step out with baleen smile.
He slid through slippery streets
Like rains chasing after rains,
Happy to be out he’d greet
All by their first names,
Except a few needing respect,
“Mr. Toad,” he’d say, “Ms. Hydrangea,”
With a tip of a flip as you’d expect.
Friend to all! No “Hi, stranger!”
How he did it I’ll never know!
So goes one with killer charm
Who sang his way from sea to snow,
Past cities, towns and farms
He carried on and up beyond
Where any dared walk or swim,
Wherever he went he belonged,
He was happily him to the brim.
So you may see a rainbow spout
One day from a rainless cloud
And you’ll know that whale is out
Living more than life’s allowed!

Illustrated by DALL-E in the style of John Tenniel.

A castle came to claim
A king who did not know
That he had now been named
As caretaker of souls.

The castle had been built
By those who lived below
With mighty walls to tilt
At angry spears and trolls.

And if the walls were lost
The people and their king
Would pay whatever cost
To raise them up again.

And if the walls cared more
About a coat of gold
Then they became a floor
Or were quite coldly sold.

And if the king gave not
A care for people there
Then they pulled back the lot
Of power that they shared.

All people, castle, king –
Each for the other stood –
Flew with the other’s wings –
Worked for each other’s good.

How nice to not have something
That needs our constant judging.
So let’s leave it nameless
And, yes, somewhat aimless
And not waste a worry
‘Cause we don’t have to hurry
Any which way that we think.
I rather like the ring
Of a “let it be” beast.
We’ll risk it all again
But for this one at least
Let’s neither lose nor win.

The crumbs were all kept
Where the night guard swept
Them to the far side of the moon.

Each crumb to be found
Could be rightly crowned
As a prince of the lunar dunes.

From every proud cake
To humble bread baked
On any planet that you’ve heard

If a crumb should fall
It belonged to all
And this was the stern final word.

So each crumb was starred
For the fine night guard
Who flew in on their gray-green brooms

And swept the whole lot
Into their broad pots
Until full up with baking’s blooms.

Before they could stale
They would pour like hail
Out onto the moon’s sealess coast

And the waves of crumbs
Would swirl and become
New breads for those who need it most.

If you might be one
Who could use a bun
Take one or four, we’ll both be blessed.

So that’s where crumbs go
And now you well know
Why eating I make such a mess.

Ibe kept Far in a jar
‘Cause Near was nigh here
And his larks were all stars
Gone there but here clear.

Because of betweens
He said he was free,
Though maybe this means
More to you than to me,

Because, for myself,
If I’m ever to fill
A jar on a shelf
It will be with the real!

The things here at hand!
Like pickles or treats
Or perhaps even sand!
(Though I prefer eats.)

It’s fair to say I don’t
Have the words to say
What Ibe will or won’t
Do this or any day.

He’s ruled by himself
In the land of the grand,
And the jars on his shelf
Fill up with wild plans.