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.

At midnight the day bends back to look
At all the pluck, luck and gobbledygook
That took place and that place took.

That moment then ‘tween day and day
Allows an all-seeing replay
Before the next one comes our way.

From crawling clouds to thunderous ants,
Was that day good? Don’t know, not a chance,
But we all get a loving glance.

Also read about Foxes, Birds, Snails, Owls and Bees.

Raspberry Vulture
Actually fond of kiwis. A common misconception. Rotten kiwis though. Brown and fuzzy on the inside too.

Tulip Vulture
Builds its nest out of newly bloomed tulips. Its fortune follows that of the flower. The tulip craze of the early 1600s was the golden age for these birds. Their feathers are the shape of the tulip flower petals and they take on the colors of whatever their nest is made of so they may be difficult to discern in the nest. But the nest should be easy to spot and quite pretty.

Glacier Vulture
Lays frozen eggs that are a gorgeous glacier blue with red flecks. When the eggs thaw, they hatch. Can remain frozen and unhatched for millennia. The chicks are born a very light blue color but as they grow they take on the darker blue of the glacier root that dives into the deep waters of the ocean.

Charcoal Vulture
While never seen on a pleasant day, they swarm wildfires, building their nests in the still warm, smoking branches of newly crisped trees. If you ever make a horrible mistake while playing with matches at least be sure to enjoy the presence of this unique wildlife.

Tiktik Vulture
Scavenges wasted time. You’ll never see one that’s skinny. To be honest, I feed them a lot. They should build a statue of me or at least put up a plaque. Name a nest after me?

Muffin Vulture
Full of blueberries. All buttery with a crumble topping. Might just be a muffin. I’m so hungry.

Violin Vulture
Feeds on violin spiders: black widows, brown recluses, taupe misanthropes, etc. Has no musical talent whatsoever, detesting string instruments. However, it will bang around on a drum set if it finds one in your garage while on the hunt. The spider venom is absorbed and stored on the top of their bald head. Do not pet!

Despair Vulture
They scavenge despair. While they are truly hideous looking beasts with multiple cruelly curved beaks tearing their way out of their eyeless heads, we are lucky to have them. They have the most acidic stomach acid of any known creature, allowing them to process the anguish that many people can’t. They don’t care about you or your happiness but could save your life. Rejoice in them.

Drawn by Moon whose art can be found at @practise_for_art on Instagram.

At the center of Truth is you.
If you get out your rut —
That’s all you gotta do.

I’m not afraid of ghosts.
I fear when ghosts have gone
And left me with a host
Of the Living living wrong.

Ghosts are airy secrets.
People have the gall
To leak like creaky crickets,
Shrieking, “Yes! I know it all!”

They scare away the ghosts
Who hold a piercing peaceful piece
That could save us all at most
Or be interesting at least.

Ghosts are us in other form,
Such a shame to be afraid
Of a wondrous thunderstorm
When lightning is your trade.

Life is empty without ghosts,
I find it dearly wanting,
Indeed it is my innermost
Desire for a haunting.

Here I have all fingernails
And not one fingerhammer!
I could fix every last thing
But sadly lack a slammer!
I’ve heard I’m quite hard headed –
I’ll use that as winning whammer.

Quite the dreamer, Hellion the Wart.
(Helly for sort of short.)
The Warts were a family of onion miners
And in no need of any reminders
Of their place beneath the feet
Of those depending on them to eat.
Warts did not speak nor read it seemed
A miracle that one would dream.
Helly dreamt of many things
But most of all of wings.
One night she dreamt of a dream master
Who would give you what you asked her
And she knew this dream was real
And just one dream could be fulfilled.
She packed her dreams and her best suit
And dug her way up out the roots
To start her walk towards wondrous wings
And the what-could-bes that dreaming brings.
She marveled at the birds above
Who winged the world on windy love
Till one said on the hundredth dawn:

“Go on! Go on! You’re close! Go on!”

The bird soared off but Helly glowed
At the words so kindly crowed,
But a bird broke in abrupt:

“Give up! Give up! You’re lost! Give up!”

Helly never slowed her pace
As a third took that one’s place
And spoke to her by wordless glare:

Don’t care! Don’t care! So what? Don’t care!

And it was within the hour
Helly arrived at Dreamer’s Tower,
She met the master, made her choice,
Helly now would have a voice.
Helly left and walked until
She found one bound to make dreams real
And told him with a smile well won:

“Go on! Go on! You’re close! Go on!”

Drawn by PJ.

Hide-and-Seek is the perfect game.
Those that Hide-and-Hide are often never found.
Them that Seek-and-Seek may circle till unwound.
But perfect ’cause finding each other’s the aim.

There’s hopeless, hope and hopemore.

Hopeless belongs to Lord of the Lost.

Hope is nothing but a want,
Sweetly free of cost.

Help hope. You grant your wish.
Be your genie, angel, falling star.
If you know your hope you’re halfway there
But there’s no living from afar.
Hopemake! Hopedo! Hopebe!
Don’t hold your feathers and hope to soar.
Flap those wings and fly!
Less hope! Hopemore!

Emile started walking
Atop his tonguey talking
To find how far his bock-bock-bocking
Got him just to be left gawking.
All his whirly worldly wording,
His title as Sir Baron Blurting,
His alphabetically endless spurtings
Had yet to get him somewhere worthy.
At longest last he silent stood
At brambly edge of wordy woods
Done rambling on the likelihood
That all his saying did great good.
He got somewhere that can’t be said.
A place where only ____ ____ tread.
The larger realm where word is dead.
That’s all that may be wrote or read.