Best Clam Poems | Poetry
Below are the all-time best Clam poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of clam poems written by PoetrySoup members
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The Best Clam Poems
She got it for her wedding gift,
but she dropped it when she fell off the cliff,
it sank to the bottom of the ocean,
and the excitement caused a great commotion.
From dusk till dawn
they float on the ocean,
from dusk till dawn
they were filled with emotions,
and still nothing in their nets.
They went deep sea fishing in a fishing boat,
searching for the pearl in the Bivalvia's throat,
with cracked lips and scorched backs,
they drift around the ocean,
everyone with great devotion.
Suddenly she bursts out in tears,
and explains how it was so dear.
They dived to the bottom of the ocean,
floating back and forth in slow motion,
life at risk from shark attack,
but she did not care about that.
They caught a hundred fish
but still no sign of her priceless gift.
When they went back to land
she saw a clam moving in the sand
she opened the little clam
and her precious pearl fell right into her hand.
©2013 Christine Phillips
Copyright © Christine Phillips | Year Posted 2013
I gaze at the wind as it blows acorss the grown wheat.
My neck bends down and I stare at the grass beneath my feet.
The thoughts I have go far in the past.
In the time before when there was no grass.
Dreams of how the land was in the time before.
I can imagine how this once was on the ocean floor.
How dark and so cold it must have been.
And all the creatures that lived so deep within.
So many living down in this dark place.
Each life to live in the ocean's fast pace.
Flowing through the currents as a leaf on the wind.
The ocean floor covered with clams that never end.
Seperate individuals that we all are today.
Much similar to the clams that lived here that day.
We all have special minds that we can share.
Not one is alike so special and rare.
Once in a lifetime there's one person we meet.
We can share all with them and it makes us complete.
Once in our lifetime theres a single event.
Like clam that catches a dirt fragment.
We hold on to that feeling with all that we are.
Always lighting our way like a nothern star.
Like the clam that holds one little piece of dirt.
We hold on to the one that gives us comfort.
After some years this clam has a pearl.
As rare as the feelings of love for this man or this girl.
Copyright © Donald Williams | Year Posted 2013
Half of clam shell sits deserted
Scene's purity threatened by storm
Gravitational force pulls sea
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2015
Oh, how could I ever be bored?
When I had such interesting chores.
I had to paint our bedroom door,
Then mop the grand, speckled floor.
Walked quickly down to the shore,
And dug hidden clams with the oar.
Made a tasty clam-supper for four,
Then into their big bowls I poured.
Knowing, they would yell for more,
Prompting my tender voice to roar -
All gone, there's more at the store!
Or take a lantern to search the shore.
However, they cost more at the store,
But not a penny, to dig with the oar.
Oh, I'm sure you will not get bored,
Performing such an interesting chore.
For soon in bed, I will sweetly snore,
With a sound much louder than yours.
Last night the paint actually, tore,
From the ceiling and door, it poured.
And that is why, I happily wore,
That Silly Old Hat Of Yours.
Copyright © Carol B Tyre | Year Posted 2007
That mammogram! That mammogram!
I do not like that mammogram!
Would you like it on a couch?
I think that I would still say ouch!
Would you like it with champagne?
I think that I would still complain.
I do not like that mammogram.
I’d rather eat green eggs and ham.
Would you like it with no squeeze?
I think I’d still be ill at ease.
Would you like it fully dressed?
That I think would be the best.
That mammogram! That mammogram!
I do not like that mammogram!
What, then, would you most prefer?
Maybe others would concur.
If I could have a cute masseuse
Who sounded just like Dr. Seuss,
Perhaps that yearly mammogram
Would not be such a cruel exam.
Then I would like it on a couch
And wouldn’t act like such a grouch;
And I would like it with champagne,
Ignoring that annoying pain.
I would enjoy my mammogram.
I’d be as happy as a clam;
But ‘til that time, I will protest
Each time that tech does squish my breast!
Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2011
Listen to poem:
VOICE: Ahmad Razvi
I write a few words
A few words
not even words
Just to remember
what it feels like
This is a pen
This is paper
These are little drawings
Only a few
you can arrange
and then the meaning
It's a miracle
I write some of them
To not forget
If I don't write
I might forget my name.
If I forget
Forge my poetry
Pry me open
Pen my words
Worthy am I
Write my me.
January 14, 2017
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
I shall not fear of parching for your drop or two is enough
Even a tear would quench more than my lip, my soul
Cry me thrice, laugh me once
Leap more, tiptoe less
Break this earthen vessel if you wish
Just don’t leave a love song behind
For it will just maim a hollow tune
Like a broken violin in incandescent moon
Or a lone shell perpetually humming
The melody of his unmet clam or hermit.
Copyright © Glenn Sentes | Year Posted 2012
Earth dwelling mongeese are neither toys nor coins and pedalling backwards then forward is not considered the primary way of jet propulsion off a very high hill. So one two ping means fried rice coming? How long for? Will it rest a while? On a sofa or a couch? It is not particular. When passing trade tickles the fancy if the local gentry then sentries can be posted at doors. And savouring a little bit of currant pie is a fantastic idea in an afternoon soiree. Quite pleasurable really. Resolution reaching radiuses rather radically. How observant is a door frame. How sectioned are the audio reactive wave arches? A temple in a bean burger and a pistol in a frilly night gown. Oooh look a diamante leaf tiarap bending and freeing captured twigs. How rather nice and polite it is. Framework fashioned fixated first fleeces found foundations. And the tail arch from a tailrace is very very very quick and versatile too. Mingle with the moons in a bowl of white leaf soup. And dip feet into puddles to correct erosions of toes. Then upon rising chanting to windows can often display a timely workout in a garden gym. Pushing plants. Wearing weeds. Standing soils. All whilst wearing a Bhatia hat of fine distinction. But to ascertain whether the verb flies south is to organise a noun in a pleasure dome. Not fun. Not good or useful. In fact it is quite unnecessary. In an era measuring two minutes it is wise to be a bee than a mildew. And a tidal force can operate the machinery. So never rely on the symbolic codes on a screen. Point now. Go on point. It is the point that places the cuckoo clock. On the hour song. On the hour chime. Spare not a dime nor a pound for a disturbed crocodile face on a yacht. Travelling. In a pair of white shorts and shirts. Pristine. Cleaned daily. Ha ha said the passing whale. It would be great to knock into the boat and spill the red drink over the oversized frames of those greedy obnoxious humans. They sail around whilst people on the ground over there forage for fodder on the floor like ants. Such fun. Then whale glides away. Monotony does not sit well with whales you see. And a flurry in a hurry is a passing shoal. Ants attempting a backflip to entertain should be stripped and whipped and put in front of the high queen. Then doomed to a life underground removing faeces from carnage brought by the open dwellers. Link not a laughter. And heel clicking is best performed upside-down in the artic circle in a thunderstorm. Plaintiffs plainly play political polo politely and the zoo opens the doors to the wilds for the flood arrives when temperatures dip. The incessant chatting from the thermometer changes and argues with the satellite dish. Woof said the dog in a garden bake sprawled. By a small square empty pool. With a crack. Boil no brow said a fountain in the town. It is here I stand proud. Although I was erected upon ancient graves. I do not care for that. I am delicate and handsomely carved. Curators cheat chickens chatting charging chimes chopped. And the wide angled dish of tomatoes can be located at the west of the supermarket. Ding dong. Eastern smell and a drafty curtain bringing spices unto the streets. Wow. Generalistic genocide gearing gaining goblets. And a wide tooth or pincer works best in the snow than a tongue. Please do be aware that when an eel dons snow boots it is time for the skiing competitions. Worldwide. Of course worldwide. No country is ever omitted in a nature contest. And nowhere to be seen is the mangled mish mashed heaps of fortified blaming brigades. Duel duality daring deviations during denominations. And joining in wisdom spanning decades appropriately. Tailoring hop of a seven foot cloud. Grinning angelic and demonic orchestrations of a circular formation dancing. Whirling. Wow. Fantastic isn't it. Free souls of men. Radius of watery eyes weaving. Hahahaha bookings boy bootjack boots. Hahahahahahah wisdom whirlpool xxxxxxx coniferous clambering clam xxxxx deforestation destitution z
Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016
Clam on me had closed her two arms
Captivating me and my many charms
Then the next thing that I did know
Drug me under and never let go.
Bone by bone they went asleep
I did end up in the ocean deep
When people down have went
What they see now is a monument.
for Enya MacGabann
Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2016
I Was Heartily Welcomed… As I Sat At Your Table
By: Carol, Sara, Carolyn, Dane Anne, Moses, and Abel
Tim, Leon, John, Michael, Jim and Yoni
Deborah, Krista, Adeleke and Charlie
… James, The (Two) Ruben(s) and (The Quik-Composer) Raul
… and Many, Many More, I Love to Hear At Dinner-Call !
The PoetrySoup …
… It Has Member – Mushrooms
Chew and Chat Lunchrooms
Delectable Hors d'oeuvre
Every Ear-Full… Heard
Every Mouthful… Taste
Spoonful of Gourmet Grace
Voila’ Words, Don’t Waste
Simmer-Slow and Baste’
In Dug-up, Sweet Potatoes
Ripe Food for Thought Tomatoes
And Onions, That Will Make You Cry
Artichokes and Lemons that Squeeze – ‘til You Die
Garlic and Oregano Are Just Some Suggestions
And Here’s Some Mint… for Your Digestion
Parsley to Parley and Jive-Chives, Just Keep Stirring
But There’s No Clam Chowder, Shrimp, or Herring
A Dash of This… A Dash of That Seasoning
A Pinch of That and Sprinkle This Reasoning…
On The Side with the Mustard and Relish, so Fresh
Are the Cucumber-Contest and Radish Requests
And I Can’t Forgo the Tongue-in-Cheek Puns…
Your Laughter is Passed Around, like Hot-Buttered Buns !
… Poets … Are Proverbial Peas In The Pod
The Harvesters of Herbs-Heard, in The Garden of God
so... Salt and Pepper to Your Superb Style
Did You Say Cheese, Please ?... ( Full Mouth Smile !)
There’s Hot Chicken Broth, When You Are Cold
Everybody Knows… Its Good For The Soul
And All That’s On The Human Menu… It’s In There !
… Even A Mother’s … Tenderized Care
Like Campbell’s Brand… Its Umm… Umm… Good !
The Aspire – Asparagus, I Took… I Understood
So, PoetrySoup’s Cupboard is Never Bare
And There Ain’t No Bones, No Medium, Just Rare
And On The Star-Burner… Is The Savory Meat
So… Grab A Heartbeat-Bowl… and Bona Petit’…
Yes, Thank You, PoetrySoup
(You’re Up There with MoonBee’s FruitLoops !)
It Has Been A Pleasure Getting To Know You All
Thru Your Beautiful Expressions, Coming Straight
From Your Warm and Welcoming Hearts
God Bless You......
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
Here I sit on the ocean bed
Just sifting mud and ooze,
But If it was up to me
It's not the life I'd choose.
It's dark down here, there's creepy things
All looking for a feast
So I live on tenterhooks,
Hiding from the beasts.
To be higher up the food chain
Is where I'd love to be,
But to be a shark, or a huge blue whale
Was not my destiny.
So my life is what it is,
I am just what I am.
But it's no fun at the bottom,
It's no fun being a clam.
Personification poem of a pet, wild animal or insect Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
2/9/18. Placed 6th.
Copyright © Gary Smith | Year Posted 2018
The rising sun is as a blazing fire
Casting red on the clouds of dark gray
Clouds rippled as the sands on shore
Or as a giant clam shell in its white and gray
Sailors would take warning on this nippy
Morning for the sun has risen red
The colors constantly change soon demise
Brevity of life soon gone..not like the sun
In one little spot Eagle outline seen
Swiftly he's gone like moving breeze
Life similiar never remains same
For now the color has changed..to gray
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010
I crossed the path,
To meet your gaze.
Such a ferocious gaze.
It bore anger down upon your prey.
Curious horror came across my face.
I pulled you aside and,
Far, far away.
To find out why
You were after that prey.
I wanted to cry,
For the pain that showed in your eyes.
I grasped you close,
Oh so close to my breast.
To shush the beast inside.
The beast raged and roared,
To stay high above your best.
I hoped to clam him,
At least just a little.
To my surprise,
The beast I did sooth.
Back came you.
Your soul came flying free.
To finish taming thy beast.
Away went the beast,
Away went the ferocious gaze,
Away went the look of curious horror from my face.
Came falling down, the invisible tears of yours.
And mine did follow, as visible as day,
Because of the pain I sought,
In Your Ferocious Gaze.
Copyright © Shelby Wood | Year Posted 2007
Deep beneath the dark blue sea,
tranquil, turquoise serenity,
as aqua waves wash ashore,
sand dollars, brittle, are no more.
Twice the tides will ebb again,
stirring creatures from their dens,
don't ask the oysters, they'll clam up,
they always keep their clam lips shut.
Watch the waves pushed by the wind,
silver flash of scale and fin,
the dolphins know eachother's names,
the whales refuse to share the blame.
A grain of sand becomes a pearl,
while shale and coral spin and swirl,
and deep down in the darkest depths
sightless seaworms swim in sets.
The demon of the deep glides by,
the shark with flat and soulless eyes,
the sky sends presents to the sea,
shooting stars like mercury.
This place where Man will never tread
Is where God goes to lay His head.
Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2008
I'm fresh as a daisy
and happy as a clam
refreshed and replenished
Enthused is what I am!
It helps I'm off work now
I'm not watching the news
No murders or mayhem
To bring me the blues
Spells "happy" to the letter
As far as information
Sometimes less is better!
Copyright © PAT Adams | Year Posted 2017
Love is the color of the pink floating hearts all around.
It sounds like the clam ocean waters.
And tasted like the sweetness of candy.
It smells like red rose freshly picked.
It looks like two people holding on to one another.
It makes me feel happy that people can find their sole mate.
Love is the light colors that show all different kinds of feelings.
It sounds like your heart beating.
And it tasted like the fresh air.
It smells like the body spray you put on in the morning.
It looks like to feathers floating side by side.
It makes me feel like there’s butterflies in my stomach.
Love is the color of the sunset as you watch it go down.
It sounds like birds singing together.
And it tastes like nothing you ever tasted.
It smells like candles lit all around you.
It looks like two people laughing.
It makes me feel that you really care.
Love is something that everyone feels at one point.
Copyright © alisha lewis | Year Posted 2007
I Went Dark Today
I went dark today
anger has taken over my mind,
I'm not very loving or kind, I'm ashamed to say
it not a very pleasent time.
I'm angry as hell, and I can't control it in any way.
of this I will say.
My love did treat me rough,
and for that I hate her so much.
I don't want to say one word to her
I'm locked up like a giant clam.
It's going to be a while until the love in me returns,
all in due time,
Perhaps tomorrow, hopefully by noon
When rainbows will make a path
I have gone dark,
A shadow cast over my soul
I hope it does not last for very long.
I only know that I feel like crawling up like a ball,
And roll myself into a big hole.
By Marc Acrich
Copyright © Marc Acrich | Year Posted 2018
A Fond Farewell
M P Walsh
I text her every day at Ten, just to say good day,
Ask how’s it going, Nana, is everything okay?
Did you sleep the sleep of slumber, or stay awake ‘til 10,
And by the way the real good news, the Red Sox won again!
She answers back and I could see the tiredness in her text,
I woke again, she tells me, for that same old 5 AM.
I offer her a fix to keep her sleeping through the night,
But she writes it just won’t work for me: “I’ve already tried it twice.”
I send her back a ha, ha text to let her know I care,
She then sends me a big red face (I guess I wasn’t fair).
She asks me if my walk went well and did I wave at cars,
I answer her with big bright eyes, emoji eyes not mine.
My Nana Jo, a precious jewel, whose friendship means a lot,
We seem to get along most times but scold me when I’m not.
She is one of my darling Angels number one to be exact,
The other two are there for me but Nana tops the lot.
All three Angels are my friends we share some precious dates,
Like birthdays and of Christmas time with dinners to celebrate.
We laugh and joke and smile a bunch and try to stay at ease,
We’re happy as a clam and snug, my three Angels and me!
Of course I’m getting older just not ready to leave the Girls,
They’re also over 50 but they just don’t look their age.
I celebrate my life and pray that I will go with ease.
Because after all is said and done, it’s where I want to be.
And when it rains look at the sky to Heaven and beyond,
Because the rain that wets your face is just a gift of mine.
And when the rain lets up and a Rainbow comes along,
Just sneak under the Rainbow, pause, and hear me sing my songs.
Copyright © Michael P Walsh | Year Posted 2018
They draw me punk, they draw me clean, they draw me messy, my kid machine.
I have a cult, they are my regular beings, they come in droves, pretending mean.
They get referred more times than all the rest by a variety of teachers, galore.
They dance and shout, and giggle and twirl as they come into my counseling door.
They have a lot to say, but they promptly clam up.
Afraid I might share what they dare to bring up.
We sit in silence for a tiny bit. I ask them what they want to do.
Playing on my computer, is the first thing brought up by most of my crew.
That is out, I remind them, gladly.
You got here acting rather badly.
Deep inside is some serious sadly,
So I make them play, and rather madly.
The more outrageous we get in my room.
The closer to the truth we zoom.
They forget where they are, forget to clam up.
Spilling their guts, telling me what is up.
Do not tell the adults, they caution me in a wild way.
Forgetting I am one, as we continue to play.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018
Keeping your mind,
healthy and open
and taking that big step
through the opportunity door;
you’ll find going up,
the career ladder, easy.
It’s not always easy,
to keep and open mind.
Going straight up
the ladder, opens
many possibilities; open doors
lay at the top, of the steps.
You may not be taking steps;
the climb up so many floors, is not easy.
The illusive door
of the human mind,
is hard to keep open.
Mind locks itself up.
Go ahead, limb on up,
take those steps;
many opportunities will open
and it will be easy,
for your mind,
to open its own door.
When elevators close their doors
and they glide slowly up;
as you get off, mind
your first foot step.
You’ll find it very easy,
any door to open.
The world is full of, open
You’ll find an easy
path, as you gradually rise up.
No one wants to go, back a step;
that thought alone, can open any clam shelled mind.
Secure files open, with a code, quite easily.
Through many a doorway; you’ll advance your steps.
Climbing success’s ladder upwards; is simply an act, of the mind.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014
Listen to poem:
What do you think?
Nothing. Again, nothing.
I am as colorless as clear water,
as reflective as a mirror, as empty
as a room everyone just left.
What do you feel?
Nothing. Once more, nothing.
I am as passive as a stone,
as fluid as a stream,
as shallow as a saucer...
Why do you lie? I do not lie --
you see my exposed shell,
the walls inside which I have
become dessicated, shrunken,
hard, withdrawn -- a dried out oyster,
a clam, a snail -- a distracting
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012
A_Abalone by the sea floats to shore then adored
B_Bonnets of the world make my heart unfurl surely not bored
C_Conch alive how their song can jive
D_Dove Shell rings my bell not like bee hive
E_Egg Shell poached with the quail
F_Flamingo Tongue_Cyphoma Gibbosum lives by Opposum Dale
G_Goblet of gold stories of you many which are untold
H_Helmet of the sea seahorses shield from Stingrays stinging bee hold
I_Irish Baking Dish let's fix those Tuna Fish
J_Janthina what a shell purple with great knish
K_King's Crown Shell not on the shore unless mangrove nearby
L_Limpet shell star colored like stars in the universe that fly
M_Money Cowrie_Cypraea moneta_once used for money
N_Nutmeg Shell_Cancellaria Reticulata it's articulata, honey
O_Ostrich Foot Sea Shell looking like a spiraling universe
P_ Purple Turritella spiraling like universe in color submerse
Q_Quest on seeking shells, name it quit or quint and be different
R_Red Moon Sea Shell similar to the clam but red color current
S_Starfish decorates earth's seas
T_Tiger Moon those cat's stripes I see
U_Umbilical Egg Cowrice with your spots
V_Veluntina with your pink hew but not dots
W_Whelk definitely not a woods roaming Elk
X_Xenophoridae shells so varied not spelk
Y_Yellow Helmet exotic shell
Z_Zesty be one's hunt and name a shell Zell...
Shells by the sea shore, fun to find and collect galore
Can you name them all now or do you need to learn more?
Written: March 03,2013
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
**I am a nearly seventy year old mother, grandmother, and great grandmother..I enjoy going to the seashore for vacation..I have always enjoyed picking up seashells and wondered if they all had names..Well, there are over 15,000 different kind of sea creatures that live in those shells and some have not been named..
You've got to be kidding
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2013
My long-sufferin' Mother tried to teach me the rudiments of social graces,
So as not to make a fool of myself at fancy affairs and such other places.
But even so, at the school prom I splattered sauce on the tux I had rented!
So much fer impressing my date who thought me somewhat demented!
I can still remember Mom's admonitions as if it were yesterday:
"Say please, thank you and pardon me to those you meet along the way."
"The napkin ain't used fer blowin' yer nose or as if washin' yer face."
"Keep it short and to the point should you be asked to say the grace."
"Keep yer elbows off the table, sit up straight with one hand on yer lap."
"Don't hog conversation and if you've nothin' sane to say, clam yer trap."
"Learn to use the silverware properly so as not to be disgraced."
"Tell the hostess what a fine meal it was (tho' not necessarily to yer taste)."
"Don't start eatin' 'til the hostess begins and don't guzzle too much wine."
"Always help the lady on yer right to be seated before you begin to dine."
"Open yer car door and other doors fer ladies and they'll appreciate that."
"Rise when ladies or elders enter the room and remember to tip yer hat."
"Offer yer arm to sweet old ladies and assist them to cross the street."
"Tell moms their babes are cute (even if not) but be very discreet."
Mom's sage advice was well taken but today it seems that it was all for naught,
Since many folks ain't got no couth or respect nor behave as they ought!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2015
Wet Cold tears begin to flood her eyes
Only a blink away from showing her soul
Only a blink away from showing her mine
I don’t know what to do
My chest tightens with overwhelming uncertainty
This feeling this stranger to my will corrupts my strength
I steer my emotions like driving on ice
I don’t know what to do
Alien emotions synchronized pride
A battle between my heart and my mind
This thing this wet rip tide
It spins a web somewhere inside
I don’t know what to do
Yes I love you too
I’m sorry I get stuck
When I see you cry
This isn’t what I do
I killed this vessel a thousand days ago to stay alive
I had to
she speaks a language I cannot understand
A sacred tongue I once knew
When she starts sweating hearts blood onto her face
I clam I tuck my tail and run
I don’t know what to do
Some call it demons grip I call it strength
This feeling I cant run from wont stop chasing
She says it makes her stay
She calls it love and cries anyway
Bats her eyes and lets them fall
Like Heavens stars in nights’ Armageddon
She calls it love and cries anyway
I don’t know what to do
Yes I love you too.
Why do we bleed so much in vein
Copyright © Cynthia Garcia | Year Posted 2014
The Possum of Possibilities was invited by Grandpa Troll to visit our brood,
The Possum heard Carol had a dry spell and a terrible writer’s block, so true.
With the troll’s adventures, penguin’s antics, and witches brew...
With Dragon’s mayhem in town, something had to be done, they knew.
Grandpa Troll brought Possum over, for Carol to peruse,
He looked her up, down, and sideways to everyone’s amuse,
Her mind’s wheels were not lined up right, he announced.
You have activity all about you, that's very pronounced.
It is all swirling around and not latching to the cogs.
Ideas and stories are coming in fast and plenty, but…
There are so many and they are acting like a stream of logs,
Her brain is overloaded and getting a little bit clogged.
Possum instructed Grandpa Troll on the best course of action,
But Dragon was nearby and overheard the conversation.
Our fiery friend was planning on how to clear the brain jam,
Then ski-daddle and go on the lam.
Like so many plans before, he knew Carol’s brain was crammed,
And his ideas always ended up like some explosive spam.
Grandpa Troll saw that look in Dragon’s eyes and knew there was a plot,
And said to Possum; “We'll need your help again, before we’re in a spot.”
Over to Dragon Possum went, then a once over, right, left, and top to bottom,
Grandpa Troll reached into a dusty drawer that hadn’t seen light since Suttom.
Out he pulled two pens, one larger than the other, filled with magic ink.
An incantation filled the air – “E pluribus divideous writeous inlink.”
(Basically saying; what stories were divided are now joined by two writers.)
Possum handed one to Carol and the larger one to Dragon.
“With the magic pens, you both will be able to see the stories about you.”
For Carol, he pointed out; now the cogs won't get dinked, as ideas get linked,
And Dragon, a source of the jams, once written down, became happy as a clam.
Both help each other, now, as Grandpa Troll had hoped with all the activities.
And with a little help from an old friend, called the Possum of Possibilities.
A writer’s block that was going on with his dear...
Is a tale that Hubby has now told, and made so clear.
And now another peaceful evening… was suddenly shot all to Heck...
Until Next time…. As Dragon and Carol are now racing all about!
Michael Eastman & Carol Written 7-21-2015
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2015