When you meet a ghost,
Pause to say “hello”.
Running’s unacceptable
And screaming’s a no-no.

Spectors can be jumpy,
You mustn’t spook the spook.
If you don’t throw a punch
It won’t drop a nuke.

Offer it a hand,
But be clear it’s just to shake.
Not all offerings are equal,
Your hand’s not its to take.

Fix it up a snack,
Cheese and fruit will do.
Hungry shades attack,
Give them something else to chew.

Wraiths are born in darkness
So show them how you shine.
Amazing how a haunt will love you
Just for being kind.

Really just do your best
To be a gracious host,
And you’ll have a new pal
When you meet a ghost.

Drawn by Yana

Illustrated by Vanity Projects

There’s no such thing as an empty house
Even though it just might look it.
Watch a closed home with wizened eyes
And you’ll soon want to book it.

But don’t feel fear, there’s no need.
What’s inside doesn’t want out.
Doesn’t want friends, nor foes,
Nor you in its toothy snout.

Not good.  Not bad.  Quite wild.
It’s the final echo of Earth’s first roar.
You can hear it if you look close
And it’s your choice to abhor or adore.

It likes empty spaces, hollow places –
It lives to find and fill.
It’s called by the quiet
And drawn to the still.

A hunter – from scarred scarlet scales
To the bottom of every bonny bone.
It slithers through the solid
So no home stands alone.

Illustrated by Judson (More of his art here: judsonm.deviantart.com )

Himiny Smuckers left pieces of his mind
Where those bits told him they’d best be able to shine.

One went in the cookie jar just to check it out.
That’ll be an empty jar when he returns, no doubt.

The cat got one and may not give it back.
Playful thoughts are far too fun and only giggle when attacked.

One wanted nothing but to splash about.
After just one splish it got eaten by a trout.

The biggest baddie went off into the toilet.
When Himiny scoops it out he’s gonna have to boil it.

The smallest jumped minds to see how another thought.
It got quite confused but learned an impressive lot.

A gaggle just wanted to stay in bed.
They couldn’t imagine leaving their dear head.

His sister grabbed a piece and ran into her room.
In all honesty, that one likely met its doom.

One wished for nothing but to float with a cloud.
It made loads of friends as it found quite a crowd.

Himiny hasn’t lost his mind. He tracked every piece closely.
They’re all still there. And he knows where (mostly).

As they say, the heart may well be blind.
But it’s just as dangerous to listen to your mind.

If I like you, you get a nibble.
If I love you I’ll give a bite.
Kisses are for dogs and royal frogs.
A nose pick if it feels right.

A wink for a special someone.
If in jams there will be snuggles.
Licking’s just for fun.
Handshakes are for business.
Hugs go to anyone.

So what will you receive from me?
A handshake if there’s a need.
With jams, snuggling’s a guarantee.
Nibbles in abundance, hugs and licking, yes indeed.
Bites, winks, and picks, we’ll have to see.

When the great Welsh clock dickory docked eleventy fourt,
Flugzug down and died.
But you must give credit to that cranberry court,
Not a single Zugger cried.

When their fair King passed from the gray to the golden lands
Singing replaced their tears.
They belted out in a fine appley tune their demands
To the Keeper of the Years.

“You’ve taken the best,” they oh so quietly started,
“That we’ve ever known.
Now empty is his chest,” they sang of their beloved departed,
“And the cherry throne.”

“Keeper dig deep here,” they implored of that half-heart Lord,
“You owe an apricot life.
We’re in need of cheer,” their voices rose and roared,
“And a hero to fight strife.”

“Send us safety and hope,” they pled with a sweet kiwi sadness,
“For we fear we’re without.
We can no longer cope,” the chorus collapsed into madness,
“With love lost to doubt.”

The Keeper turned to the King and asked him what to do.
Flugzug felt a fool’s despair,
For he knew that as failures went, his had struck true –
There’s more to caring than care.

Homes for gnomes! I just insist!
The gnomes roam homeless, we must assist!
All’s gone amok. They’ve no place of their own.
No place to rest, no burrow, no nest, no little gnome zone.
They invaded the Rat Kingdom and enraged the Cat Queen.
Their lives are endangered. We must help, sight unseen.
They’re running round rampaging through gardens and underneath houses.
And the racket they make, they’re no teensy church mouses.
This is my plea to you. Build them a home and they’ll settle down,
Quiet and comfy in a normal gnome town.
Then at long last we’ll finally have peace,
And this homeless gnome poem at twelve lines can cease.

Snapper the snail
Challenged me to a race on the trail
Down by Pollywog Pail.

He jumped at the gun
And his run was done.
It was the quickest that I’d ever won.

But he claimed he couldn’t be beat!
Said I took a step back to accomplish this feat.
He’s quick as a beetle, that cheat!

I’m fast as phlegm, bud!
I’ve the speed of a spud,
And once won uphill against mud.

I’m done with him and his cohorts.
No more racing those sorts.
Slugs are much better sports.

Painted by Serge (More of his art here: snuggerrose.deviantart.com )

This morning I came to school
With a Bertle upon my back.
I hauled him to class like a mule
‘Cause he faced, fought and beat in a duel,
Before eating, my black backpack.

Also cause he gobbled my homework
And I refuse to turn it in late.
So while, I admit, you may have to wait,
My homework is here, don’t go berserk.
He’ll give it up soon, he’s not a jerk.

So you see, Ms. Honeybee?
He’s the reason for this fine mess.
Just this morning he dined on my dress.
I’m normally not one for nudity,
But it’s not that bad, I must confess.

What? No, you don’t need to worry,
Unless he wants to eat you too.
Bertles are docile, huggy and furry.
It’s not their fault they like to chew,
But if their teeth turn to you, you best scurry.

.
.
.

Looks like tomorrow will be problem free.
I’ve nothing to wear, to do or to read.
Poor Ms. Honeybee.
Poor Ms. Honeybee, indeed.
She really should have worried.

Drawn by Josh

There’s a gift in every child
That sparks the tame
And calms the wild.

It grows the more it gives,
Though never seen
Some say it lives.

This gift is ever needed
But often lost
Or left unheeded.

It brings green and gold
To the rotten
And overly old.

Gifts are as they do –
Mine is not mine,
Mine is for you.

This plays off of Jack and Jill by Mother Goose.

Jack and Jill went up the hill
And then went up a tree.
Their skill in down was naught to nil,
Up was all that they could see!

They did not stop for they had no top
And up they chased their laughter.
Down closed shop and skip by hop
Jill went up and Jack went climbing after.

From the crown of the tree they broke free.
They blew on through, throwing branches above.
Climbing every soaring twig with glee,
They flew from leaf to fly to dove.

Jill and Jack leapt to the back
Of the master of the skies.
Cloud allowed the smack of their attack
As they were headed where the pale light lies.

Stars and Moon were underfoot all too soon
And still Jack and Jill just kept going.
Up’s fetching tune brought them the boon
Of a known path and no need for slowing.

Illustrated by Jack