Matthew Herfurth Poet Rhyme

Witchy and the Magic Picture Frame CONTINUED

The wind cooled Witchy’s pumpkin-orange, 
yummy orange, 
handsome face. 
She rushed so worried south-east through a lace
forest so so silent
(in her pink boar shoes) watching so silent. 

Fog came. Wind got worse. 
Her conical crown and wide brim hat remained. 
It was made of a rabbit named Morse
There Witchy wasn’t at all entertained!

Suddenly the wussy fog flung itself away
in all directions.
Plants sneezed. They felt harebrained and grey.
Leaves cheered. No affections!
Why? The wind had died in all directions. 

She guided herself aside the truly up (so glad) 
about river rolling mad,
and hopped up onto a perma-tanned sad
log (she worried she’d get 
her titanium dioxide-stained muumuu wet).

On a royal silver tray called Rummy
sat like a medical dummy 
three stripped bare 
vacuum cleaners didn’t stare. 
 
'BRRRM, BRRRM, BRRRM,' one said kindly,
the one with the less parts. 
‘Hello, hello, hello,’ Witchy said kindly.

Time slothed by (she wasn’t even half way to Hiss).To 
her, Hiss 
was a true place of bliss. 

Soon she was so bored. 
Not even all the great thoughts about being
at the party could cure her from being bored. 

So for fun she jumped with zoom
through a picture frame four times her height,
and smacked onto the floorboard of a bedroom.

All she could say was, ‘UMMMM. HUHHHHH?’

A blueberry woman, who was old, 
and was planting many totally fast-growing gold
coloured veronica plant seeds in old
rotting skirting boards (totally old!)
ignored Witchy’s questions: ‘Where am I?
How can I 
go through a picture frame and end up in here? How will I get back out of here
to the party?’
The woman just dropped (Oh Marty!)
and napped about a guy named Marty.

Veronicas grew without water.
Some pretties wallowed with their new daughter.
No sign of future slaughter.

Witchy was very angry, very scared, and blue.
‘What if I NEVER get out,’ she complained. 
What else could she do? 

The floorboards went CRACK! CRACK
CRACK!

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