Every continent has claims on claims,
Where can you go to break the chain
Of lamely flaming same?

You must go off the map.

Otherwise, you’ll live in traps.

Here’s one way to break the bars –
The furthest far from where you are –
If you can make it to the stars…
But that may be the hardest hard.

Instead, look to the sea.
Sink below the deep,
Where uncounted unknowns sleep,
There you claim your keep.

Now,
As for how to run a nation…
I guess…
Hard work and patience?
Maybe mix love and luck
And trust in that creation.

A bug crawled out of me.
He squeaked and shouted he
Proudly spouted doubtery
With his great “NO” decree:

“No.” and “No!” and “NO!”
“Yes, NO.” and “No! No! No!”

He ran with this ranting chant
On his “not now nor ever” slant,
Roaring like an elephant.

Was it a Can’t Ant?
“No!”
It was an Ain’t!

The thing about an Ain’t,
It may well be your saint.
When you hear it “NO!”
You know right where to go.

Let him crawl out again.
Tell him to get his friends.
Where they tell you “It’s the end!”
Stroll straight through with winning grin.

Drawn by Walsh G.

One of them doesn’t exist
But none of them knows which.
The three may be curse-kissed
But they see themselves as rich
And they found their way to bliss.

They don’t fight against evil,
And don’t do well with people,
But persons they adore
And will wage a peace or war
For you – oh yes – and more.

They always nod to Death
And even toast his health.
Impossible just winks
As she cheers on their hijinks.
Danger taunts but does not daunt.

They are Leif and Kreke and Lynx
And are called the Astrohaunts.

Just my luck.
Lipstick did as advertised
And now my lips are stuck.

There was an old man with a flute,
Who played it with only his boot;
He stomped and he smote,
Never played a note,
That rhythmic old man with a flute.

There was an old man of the sea,
Whose boat was a fine mystery;
He sailed on a goat,
Somehow stayed afloat,
Those salty masters of the sea.

There was a young lad who said, “Nope,”
To washing with a bar of soap;
He bathed in a stew,
Then ate his lunch too,
That contented young lad who said, “Nope.”

Keep reading

How many words do you have?
How many more can you make?
Toss them all in a tumbler and give it a shake.
Pour them out in a line like the world’s wordiest snake.
Hold them and hear them.
Get more than near them.
Nudge them awake.
You don’t need to fear them.
Give all that you take.

Keep reading
books, the stars and every person that you meet.

Keep wandering
and wondering and thundering in thought.

Keep breathing
and bleeding long pages of dark ink.

Keep pondering
why?  And why why?  And, of course, why not?

Keep reading

The day after Easter
There’s a lot of eggs lost.
Some hiders are too good,
Some eggs are just tossed.

Lost but not gone,
Those eggs lie in wait.
Once hunters move on
They’ve only one fate.

They’re chocolaty, jelly bean,
Marshmallow, colorful.
They break through their shells
And are new bunny wonderful.

They’ll be back in a year
Much more than full grown,
When they’ll hide big baskets
Of eggs of their own.

There was a young person of Keel,
Who ate a whole rotten cheese wheel;
He stank for a year,
And was not allowed near,
His beloved hometown of Keel.

There was a young lady whose ears,
Could hear every wish through the years;
She shouted back,
“If you want it, attack!”
That bothered young lady with ears.

There was an old person whose beard,
Turned twiggy and had to be sheared;
Lest he become a tree,
And leave his family,
For a life in the woods – Oh, that beard!

They say: “Get your head on straight.”

My head is higher than first-rate.
Perhaps my finest shining trait.
But if it’s crooked, “Wait!
Get that head on straight!”

Why listen to their call?
I haven’t got it on at all.

Illustrated by Remzi.

Holes in socks are fine.
I never pay no mind
To holes in socks.
They’re fine.
Sure you get some rocks
(More of a shoe problem).
A toe might escape.
You live with that risk
(Or fix it with some tape).
They’re windows for the toes,
Serve as nice vents,
And are the finest factories of lint.

Holes in socks are fine.
Both socks and holes are mine.
The only problem you might mind
If you wear them all the time –
One day, out you’ll stroll
And find that they’re all hole.

(Though I also think that’s fine.)