I left a smile on the corner
For you or him or her.
I took the ones they gave me,
The crooked and the wavy,
The terrible, the gleaming,
Even the smuggish seeming
And scattered them in places
They might brighten up some faces.
Sure, I held them for a while,
These toothy, charming smiles,
I know I was never owner,
A smiler’s a donor
Of some joyful little bits
Of them bursting out in fits.
But allow me to be blunt –
Please don’t smile if you don’t want.
I’m not here to steal
Some smile you don’t feel.
Was “steal” the word I wrote?
Let’s not rush to quote!
I give for every one I get!
Sure, I may admit,
I might hold them for a night,
But I say it’s only right!
Okay, I messed up, I’m on trial.
Will you forgive me for a smile?
Drawn by BMT whose work can be found here.
I don’t know.
I don’t know why or when or where or what
Or how or who or and or but.
I play and live and learn and stuff.
It’s mostly loads of toads and fluff.
Folks focus on the wrongest things
And say that I should too.
I don’t know.
I say we go
Not knowing nothing more than
When I play at fireman
I take it very serious,
Because you know a fire can
Flame up fairly furious.
“I’ll save you all!”
Went my fiery cry
As I put out the lights in the hall
And every other twinkling that even thought to fry.
“I went a little overboard,”
Is a phrase I’ll never say.
I wield my waggish water sword
Like there’s a dragon in my way.
“Safety first, second and third!”
I sprayed down phones and the TV,
Then saw how their eyes burned
And rained down on them the sea.
With one more fire extinguished
They’d had all the saving they could take,
And gave me an honor most distinguished –
They threw me in the lake.
When whippoorwill drank from the nonsense cup
He tip-tap-tipped it towards the farthest star
And filled his winking, twinkling nightjar up
‘Fore I spilled into me the whole jumbarr.
I spun on one or too or free to brasp
The light that lingered on my lumbled lips,
Too mrilly lily frilled to even gasp
At my much mockled but awar eclipse.
I burned about corones absurdish long
Until at last I skunning sunned a way
By way of furtive beakish birdish song:
Know your own nonsense if you deign to fall
To understanding anything at all.
Most people put
The world ‘neath their foot
Without another thought.
But Plumlo would not
Let himself get caught
Not caring ’bout all that land lost.
Such a terrible cost
To be so sadly self-tossed
Out of the world at your feet.
A horrid defeat
To never once meet
Most of all that there is.
Young Plumlo saw his
Whole world as a quiz
On how to win his way in.
He dreamed of a cave in,
To go full mole-raven,
Winging his way through stone skies.
You’re not surprised
He pried into his prize
By way of his will and a spoon.
He still peeks at the moon
But he’d be a loon
To bury world back underfoot.
And out the door she went
To find her way to what that meant,
No looking back ‘cept glancing at
Wig wagging tail that gave the hint
That all was right, life right well spent,
Knocking on and down all doors they sent
To put her looking out instead of in,
She unlocked herself to their lament,
And opened up in all events,
Letting through another marveled malcontent
– A moment for her wonderment! –
And out the door she went
They said, “My dear, you’re the greatest!”
They said, “My word, how I hate this!”
The same ones said, “Make it blue!”
And, “Should have used a peachy hue!”
And, “We never said! Untrue! Untrue!”
They said and said and said and said. And said.
Then there was the Qwause with his glass head
Who let you see his thoughts instead
Of guessing at the buried roots
Of all this saying whatever suits
Ourselves, but truthfully pollutes.
From the brain to the lips
There are lots of little blips,
Those meant and slips and trips.
The glass head of the Qwause offered a dominion
Of untouched, honest opinion.
(Now, there’s a marvelous debate
On whether what others think creates
A help or hindrance to our finer fates.
Goodness knows, I feel few greater hates.)
When you went to the Qwause, you got what he thought,
Not what you wanted, not what you ought,
And some can handle honesty, some cannot.
One day one came with a question but also brought
The honored answer that they sought.
The glass head of the Qwause lit up white hot
With an answer honest but unloved
And found himself in free fall before knowing he was shoved.
His head stayed true to glass and shattered,
Every bit of honesty scattered,
Honesty sadly never since seen,
With one push gone to smithereens.
But that sort of honesty is hard to discard.
A lucky few found themselves Qwause glass shards
And made them into lamps that guard
The way for the honesty starved.