Ocean Explorers

Few ocean explorers leave the top sea.
Klake found that turvy-topsy.
The surface is crowded!
Now you may ask, “How did
Klake find her way down?
She wasn’t just kidding around?”
Your questions are the best!
We’ll answer all before we rest.
The best kept secrets are all known,
Not by brains but by the bones.
Most captains want a ship that floats.
Klake bought a leaking boat.
She sailed it till it sank,
Rode it down to the explorer’s bank.
Mid-sea holds great charm
As the strong and able arm
Pointing straight down to the floor
Where Klake sail-sank to her aimed for shore.
She landed then again set sail,
Diving past all fish and whales,
She split the strongest of all dams,
Now sliding by great worms and clams.

She’s taken the explorer’s turn.
That’s all we’ll know till she returns.

Dream bigger than a sleeper.
There’s deep and then there’s deeper.
The bottom’s where you let it be.
The top’s the same, try and see.

It Could Be Words

It could be words.
It could be better.
I tell myself
We’re all together
Then hide away
With clever letters.

It could be words.
They do connect.
However many
I do collect
They aren’t quite life
Though quite correct.

It could be words.
They’re all my loves.
Words could do
But doing does.

Dreams Escape

There’s a place where dreams escape
When they have need to be.
Creatures that don’t fit a shape,
Great beasts outgrowing trees,
Feasting on the purple earth
And sucking down the seas,
Where fish feed on dark clouds worth
Far more than thunder’s keys.
Birds sing to bring the sun close,
They’ve gulped full moons with ease,
And will have sun soon they boast,
On toast with Swiss Alp cheese.
They’ll go back to sleep to swing
In minds long lost to zzzs.
Dreams are hungry, hungry things
And all too hard to please.

Dreams Escape Night

Illustration by JM.

Scribbling

If you’ve wound yourself tight
Or something’s prohibiting,
Set yourself right
And just start scribbling.

When your days aren’t yours
And life gets stifling,
You’ll find new doors
When you get your brain wiggling.

Put down paper and follow the pen,
You’ll find yourself piggying
On unknowns and then
The ideas will start nibbling.

Indeed you’ll go pivoting
From all things limiting
To an endlessly riveting
Idea pond ribbiting.

So just start scribbling.

Give Up

“Give up” is an expression
In need of language lessons.
“Give” is good and “up” ain’t bad,
So how the two go and add
Up to quitting or despair
Seems to me a bit unfair.
But this looks an easy game,
So I’ll join in all the same –

When things get rough, laugh sideways.
You think you’re tough? Half pie days!
I have to say that I fly grapes,
Sneezed the night, work for drapes,
Tickle truffles, trick turnips,
And give every one of my ups.

If you do give up, okay.
I look forward to your next play.
But the phrase displays
Displaced dismay
That if it’s not word vomit
Means its makers gave up on it.

I Need a Cave

I need a cave,
By seed or grave,
Sly deed or brave,
I need a way
Out of the day,
Off the display,
Into the safe.

I’ll be a high-kneed crick,
A sing-song bat,
A clawful bear.
I’ll not be sorry-sick,
Hollow or flat,
Or awful scared.

Some fear the dark
Or feel themselves
Trapped inside an outside.
I hear the heart
As it delves
Into a holy-hide.

I need away,
Sly deed or brave,
By seed or grave,
I need a cave.

Mip

Mip had a worry.
First it was thought.
But tore out in a hurry
Before it could be caught.

She had a want to be known,
No part of her shut,
No secrets to own,
This sounded best but –

If I’m known am I lost?
Could the gift be the cost?

If I’ve naught else to give,
How do I live?

Mip had a thought
That turned to relief,
Burning blue hot
As newfound belief –

We’re full of endless unknowns,
Galaxies grow in the body,
Moon mind, star heart, sun bones,
All fit easily, oddly.

Mip could show all of herself
And there’d always be more.
She had an unending wealth
Of herself at her core.

Pulled a Perfect Day

So far I’ve pulled a perfect day,
I haven’t sinned at all today –
Not bit a toe,
Or stole a toad,
Let in crows,
Let out the baby,
Made a rather bug filled gravy,
Salted milk,
Peppered handkerchiefs of silk,
Dug any holes,
Shot anything straight out my nose,
Coralled raccoons
Into anyone’s bedrooms,
Snuggled up to schemes,
Smuggled in a stream,
Biked a bed,
Hiked through the bread,
Pickled other people’s stuff,
Turned every pillow into fluff,
Sworn off clothes,
Writ a spiteful ode,
And I’ve not bit a single toe!

Having done my all-time best
You’d think it’s time to rest.
But now the clock reads 12:02
And I’ve got catching up to do.