There was a young lady of Prague,
Who befriended a miserable frog;
The poor guy couldn’t croak,
He quacked when he spoke,
She translated, that young lady of Prague.

There was an old person whose suit,
Was almost completely made out of fruit;
Pears, apples, and figs,
It was eaten by pigs,
That old nude’s in need of a suit.

There was a young lady whose toes,
Climbed all the way up to her nose;
Now she walks on her face,
No one can keep pace,
With her marvelous face walking toes.

“Mess maker, mess maker,
Make me a mess,”
Perfect mocked in the tone of one of the best.

Replied Storm:
“I like what I make and can’t guess
At what’s next.  The secret to mess?
What’s broken is blessed.”

“Mess maker, risk taker,
Make me a mess.”

“What’s it like to have every duck in a row?
Never chasing a goose or cawing at crows?
Perfect, you joke without jest.”

“Mess maker, rule breaker,
Make me a mess.”

“You’ll never make anything new
If you only ever follow the rules.
Please, Perfect, let’s give it a rest.”

This plays off of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star by Jane Taylor.

If I twinkle really hard,
If I’m little like you are,
If I fly out really far,
Can I join you, little star?

How I wonder if I gave
Everything I’ve ever saved,
Would it be enough to fly
Up above the world so high?

Twinkle, twinkle, little star…

You don’t have to like me.
The world’s all kinds of grimy.
Anyone you meet could be
Cruel, corrupt, two-timey.

You don’t have to like me.
The way’s all kinds of windy.
Anyone you meet could be
Nicer, better, shiny.

You won’t find many like me.
I’m kindly known as “feisty.”
Anyone you meet would be:
“He’s crooked, buggy, bitey.”

You don’t have to like me.
You just can’t help yourself.

I never liked the ground,
It’s always been too there.
And I must say, as things abound,
There’s not much more than air.
Water, too, is easy found
By sky, on leaf, in lair.
And I must say, as things astound,
I’ll take the fiery rare.

Upton Frass switched heads with a wolf
‘Cause he wanted to better bark, howl and bite,
And Wolf wanted to know what it was like
To chit and chat and smile bright.

They did those things and found some others
That they hadn’t thought to think.
Frass sniffed and snuffed, he heard new things,
And Wolf used a cup to drink.

They shared a thought in both their heads
And both their bodies agreed –
They wanted to know what other heads knew,
You might even call it a need.

Wolf and Frass didn’t give their heads back,
They handed them off to other critters, in fact,
The day may come when their heads come back
But until that day, try ’em and pass ’em along in the pack.

Illustrated by Marissa whose art can be found here.

They say chin up and face your fears,
Live life loud, wash behind the ears,
Shoot for the stars, follow your dreams,
Much of the world is more than it seems,
But some is less, so take great care,
Love like the lost, hug like a bear,
Tend your garden, bark at secrets,
There’s only now, forget all regrets.

They say a lot, they say and say,
But still I long await the day,
For them to say, as I lay digestin’,
What to do when eaten by a lion…

Drawn by RegularRaccoon whose art can be found here.

The darkling sea lays secret siege
On any that cross her waves,
But even she salutes the brave
Who stand up in their graves.

The stony sea swallows all
That dare to fall and follow through,
Though she knows however deep the hole
You cannot sink a soul.

Every ship that has a crew
Holds a seedling soul there too.
When one gives up the loving sun
And is buried in the blackest blue
It plants itself in muddy brew
Then grows the way all tall tales grew,
Tearing through the doubting sea
Until what is is more than true!

A soul that sails and sees the sea
From underneath is quick to be
Back on the rise to waiting skies
As a rare seafaring tree.

These trees were born long, long ago
But only now are they free to grow
With dark waves flying far below.

There was a young lady whose clock,
Couldn’t hickory, dickory, dock;
When the hour struck,
It’d hoot and cluck,
And confound that old lady and clock.

There was an old man of Berlin,
Who grew a two-story pumpkin;
He sold it as a boat,
But it didn’t float,
That tricky old man of Berlin.

There was a young lady in gray,
Who wandered the hills every day;
Picking poppies and fruit,
All manner of loot,
To brighten that young lady in gray.

Silent Sunday.
Mum on Monday.
No talk Tuesday.
Wordless Wednesday.
Just think it Thursday.
Noise free Friday.
Speechless Saturday.

This is the Don’t Speak Week.
Not an eek, no not a squeak.

How long can you go without a word to say
Before your mouth just runs away?
Most don’t make it to Monday,
Though some go out the fun way.
Oh, yes!  Some people POP!
‘Cause they can’t handle the full foul mouth stop.

If you make it long enough
To call Loud on his blustery bluff
And cut the guff, the fluff, the huff and puff,
Then you just might hear some stuff.

When all your noise is put aside,
Nowhere’s left for Truth to hide,
Listen for your oh so soft song inside.