A shining ladle
Starry outline visible on a clear, dark night
In the sky…
Shining high above,
Dipping into the boiling pot of sky
A mystical pattern in the stars.
Who would be able to use
A ladle so big,
Anyway?
And how did all those stars
Arrange themselves into a ladle?
And why a ladle, anyway?
At first nothing makes any sense
Looking up at
The Big Dipper…
Short, twisted, knobbly,
Perfect little plants
Providing shade to tiny chipmunks
On a hot day
Perfect topiary
That twists itself in knots
Tiny dwarf trees
Shading the butterflies
Penguins, penguins, everywhere!
Floating in the water
White bellies blending in
Invisable from above,
Or diving,
streaking
through the water like black and white torpedoes,
Turning loops underwater
Chaos
and
Pandemonium
Everywhere!
Cold slippery ice floes
and icebergs
are occupied
by many resting penguins
that are scrambling on
and diving off
all the time.
But after
a
long
time,
when the sky shines bright with stars,
the penguins scramble
Onto the snowy banks
Until there is just one left.
One little white belly
Against millions of gleaming stars
And the millions of waves
That make up the sea.
If the world was crazy
I’d wear a sweater full of trolls,
And drink a pint of toothpaste,
I’d walk upside down and walk a caterpillar,
I’f turn a cartwheel on a pond
And smell a budding lampshade
And build of house of daisies,
But only if
The world was crazy.
Thursday Afternoon
Bongo drums beat
And a creek gurgles
In the distance
As two feet drum along
The carpet
To the bookshelf
A book as thick as
A loaf of bread
Is chosen
And into the chair,
The one shaped like
A butterfly,
It is set
To read
On a Thursday afternoon.
Fog creeps down
Pacing throughout the town on snow leopard feet,
Sinking lower and lower
Until the town is engulfed, drowning in dense fog
And the leopard pounces,
Fog lifting and pouncing to the next town,
Leaving
As mysteriously
As it had come.
Dry crunchy leaves,
Crunch beneath my feet,
Whispering secrets to me that I didn’t ask to hear,
Stone fountains
Lacking water that must have run through them hundreds of years ago,
Trees, ebony black, stand regally to the side,
Watchful gaurdians of the old yard,
Demented nonetheless.
The pale moon, high overhead, glowing brightly with tinges of yellow and green,
Puddles of water built up on the hard dirt ripple as my feet step through them,
A temple made of stone and entwined in creepers stands before me,
The stone figure the size of a telephone booth displaying wooden totem poles
A tiki symbol carved into the stone matches the same symbol Carved into the stone
Around my neck.
Gasping with understanding,
A voice deep in my mind whispers to me my choices
And I am gone
With the wind.
Sea stars litter the sandy bottom,
Fine sand that slips between your fingers coat the shallow ocean floor,
So thick that you can’t hope to bury deep to the rock bottom,
Liquidy feels of water passing through,
Chilly, smooth, wet, and breezy,
Above is more water, ripples of light crossing, as though purifying the water,
And the slippery shape of a bottlenose dolphin travels swiftly over the surface, searching for me,
Kicking off from the surface of smooth and fine sand,
I shoot upwards like a torpedo,
The slimy, warm back of the dolphin greets me
Climbing aboard, kicking back seaweed, equally slimy,
The dolphin chirps playfully,
We’re off!
Water streaming, flying back behind us,
Skimming across the surface of the water,
Dolphin chirping a delightful song,
Me squealing along,
Spotting the sea stars flashing red and orange underwater like a movie in fast forward,
Sunshine topping the scene off, blue-rinsing me with joy, warmth, and dolphin whistles,
Feet touching, flying against the water,
The wonderful journey on dolphin’s back words cannot discribe,
Wonderous,
Warm,
Blue,
and
flying through the water, like penguins,
Bubbles erupting around us,
The dolphin and me,
The sun topping us off with joy,
Washing us with sunrays.
Forget-Me-Not,
Dappled tiny and blue,
Forget-Me-Not,
Tiny stars looking neat and new,
Forget-Me-Not,
Bouquet for you.
Forget-Me-Nots,
All in a pot,
Or the field, a half-mile long,
Forget-Me-Nots,
To pick a lot
Is like singing a joyous song
Forget-Me-Nots,
Forget them not!
Who could forget a
Forget-Me-Not?
Green and yellow,
Pink and orange,
Blue and purple,
Tiles spread in a mosaic
Before my eyes.
A bonanza of fruity tastes and trumpeting sounds,
Treasury of bright, swirling colors,
Bonanza,
Bonanza,
Bonanza!
An assortment of soft, hard, and bumpy touches,
Colors so bright even the craziest reptile is baffled,
A chemeleon gone wild,
A bonanza!
Bonanza!
Bonanza!