Fripona flipped over a rock and found at her feet
A tip-top turned, trickilish treat.
The hole that she opened was really more whole,
A whole other realm already quite full.
Full of planets and people that looked up at Frip,
The new star in their sky, a brilliant blip.
It’s worth looking under every rock of ours,
But keep an eye on the sky for other new stars.
Illustration by FortuneGear09.
Drawn by Abby whose art can be found on tumblr.
“Book: The Story Behind the Story” is now available on Amazon. It’s the story of the book itself. It steps out from behind the scenes to speak directly with the reader.
Her bugging began with her bigger brother,
She stalked him night and day.
She horribly annoyed that boy and knew no other way.
Once her brother bored her she moved on to different prey.
She told her father,
“I must bother!”
Said to her mother,
“I need another
Sis or brother
Who I can smother
With my classical confection
Of disagreeable affection!”
Her parents were annoyed enough
To give in to her guffy huff.
Well, I’m sibling one thousand and three,
One of the oldest in our family tree,
And every one of us agrees –
She’s our sister and we all love her,
Now let’s get her a new sis or brother.
It may not be often done
But it’s really not that dumb
To say that you don’t know.
The silly ones are they
Who always have to say,
“Mine’s always the way to go.”
A rare thing I’ve discerned,
If I ever learn,
Take anything from anywhere.
If it works for you, use it.
If it doesn’t, lose it.
Do you know how to hold a grudge?
It can be tricky.
They sort of smudge.
You must care for and nurse it.
It’s its own little person.
Love it nice and soft,
Until the g’s fall off.
Now not such an ugly brute,
It’s even getting kind of cute.
Really just a little rude.
Still might be a wee bit crude.
Let r, d and e drop off.
Don’t see red,
Hold what’s left aloft.
You’re back to holding you instead.
Cafino Hail was a mold collector,
Yes, that’s right, a bold prospector
Of furry, fungal green.
He started at the age of eight
When he saw something on his plate
That he’d never seen.
It grew somewhere it shouldn’t be,
He knew somehow this made it free
And so he crowned it Queen.
Caf learned to farm it off of bread,
But preferred to hunt his mold instead
For that sweetly wild sheen.
He stuffed his room, he filled his house,
His parents had to move on out
By the time he was thirteen.
He kept it in his ears, up his nose,
Between his teeth, twixt his toes,
And even in his spleen.
But then he stuck some in his soul,
And I suppose that you may know
He turned a furry, fungal green
Caf is happier than most,
And if you see him on your toast,
Be sure to leave your whole plate clean.