Mortal man becomes myth with the passage of time
in poetry and song, he is duly enshrined
Yet I remember when myth once bounced on my knee
~ and teaching him when to say thank-you and please
Deep within the city park
stood Barnaby, a highly
grumpy, semi- sentient apple
tree.
He absolutely despised
when children approached
with fawning, goofy faces to
steal his fruit.
Whenever kids giggled and
reached up, Barnaby would
furiously shake his wooden
branches.
THWACK! A barrage of ripe,
juicy red apples went flying
like heat- seeking missiles.
He pelted the screaming kids
right on their bottoms, chuckling
a low, creaky laugh.
The children thought it was a
hilarious game and ran through
the park intentionally.
They made ridiculous,
exaggerated kissy- faces just
to trigger the tree's flying fruit
defense.
Barnaby snorted woodchips,
launching a rapid- fire green
Granny Smith straight at a
nose.
The park echoed with loud,
joyful snorts as apples
bounced harmlessly off
targeted bellies.
The grumpy tree finally
smiled, realizing his thrown
treats made everyone incredibly
happy.
My face.
Lucid.
The dream state where envelopes are unsealed without a sound.
A hard hat on me, nothing strikes me.
Reaching under the sink because I can feel my ghost arms.
Then I bounced around.
Lucid and curious.
Being.
But I’m sleeping as brushstrokes are my dreams.
Faded.
My face.
Honestly,
I left the bedroom door open that night.
Woke up to a portal whisper.
Sisters swinging,
running,
catching.
We mean business,
as adults,
don’t erupt
like a jealous teen.
But,
she did;
I called her out.
She picked up
dirt, at home base,
and slung the particles
into contact-covered eyes.
To my surprise!
You know,
as a fully evolved adult,
you suck it up,
just like when the ball bounced -
smacked me on the chin.
Sisters swinging,
running,
catching;
they mean business
when they exact revenge
on the she-devil.
I didn’t see,
but I was told,
“We got her back!”
They had my back.
Be careful slinging dirt;
my sisters will call you
“O U T!”
...All back-and-forth the fight raged through the morn,
men dove to hide, bushes off branches shorn,
ricochets rang as they bounced off the rock,
made it hard for Alistair to take stock.
At least two down, the others were scattered,
three of their foe lay lifeless on the earth,
but six more can, guns blazing, eyes alight,
Pritchard howled, seemed immune to all fright.
Alistar rose, and drilled him through the chest,
three guns barked back, slugs ripping through his vest,
He shot again, caught one man in the leg,
but slumped, knowing he was already dead;
just breathing hurt, all his body felt cold,
he dropped the gun, his mind no longer bold,
clutched a big rock, all dreams of money gone,
replaced by all he had done…and done wrong.
His dying through, before the final fall:
Perhaps Dan had been the smartest of them all…
Compassion, thy blessings.
Within all three take root.
No use second-guessings.
Just give the end a toot.
Bitterness, thy blizzard.
Blight, blanket all you see.
Bane, gibbous thy gizzard.
Belladonna, be.
Blistering sun ray, fire it up!
Make it happen fast!
Goddess, covenant and cup!
Please be meant to last!
Yellow rose, thy desert storm.
Lightning, crash and burn.
Volcano, lava in form.
Tamarisk, taciturn.
Reincarnation, station.
Seance, ensconced. Trounced.
Lost souls red dead, creation.
How the ball has bounced.
Tale, never end. Fickle, friend?
They cannot defend.
Broken are those which ne'er bend?
To the devil send.
Ankle broken, mend? Quite slow.
Maybe not at all.
Guard of treasure, way to go?
Brother, I may call.
Hawk, thy eye. Run real reply.
Reconcile, rely.
Doubt, thy torment. Constant cry.
Wave, O tops of rye...
Isn’t it dreadful, you said, that you have to
Mind the pod, couldn’t take a full shower
More so with malfunctioning Libreview
BG levels bounced up every hour
The NHS has made staff cuts, optimized
The equips for type 1 diabetes
It’s clear enough that controls were relaxed
They didn’t reveal much of details
Some money was saved, some people died
Struggling to manage the faulty tools
For 29 years you’ve been winning the fight
But you lost to hypocrite fools
Who’ll never be punished for hidden crime
And whose crime will be never proved
Isn’t it dreadful, love, for you and I
To belong to this mean humanhood?
Rolled it. Bounced it.
Threw up - higher!
Child, and soul, both set free as one.
Not since nigher!
Through each action.
As such less fraught
With limiting fears, time's, space's;
Within since caught!
Dimper and Dimmer danced with foolery
as red grumblethwaits giggled gooley.
Dimmer donned three nimmerswats
which sawed with summery bowls.
Dimper bonswarmed fifty shores
while funpoppers bounced with deals.
Dimper dumped Dimmer near coaltowels
drowning with tumbletron wheels.
Dimmer disowned Dimper down
once Dimmer escaped this zebbelsik.
Buxomly bright Betty and her beige burly bear
Bounced through their days with nary a care
Expecting no special treatment, but it was there
Because they both were enjoyable with a jaunty air.
Thunder spots we called them, don’t even ask me why,
they fell upon the sun-scorched pavement from the sky;
dislodged the dying lilac blossoms from the tree,
bounced upon the outstretched tongues of you and me.
I think they smelled like Mother's Sunday lunchtime roast,
or maybe it was disturbed rock pools at the coast;
but as they heavy fell and crushed an ant or two;
raindrops declared the summer’s end for me and you.
I want to let you in on a secret.
It's a very
close,
sensitive
secret,
so you can't tell anyone.
I am not the person in my reflection.
I should clarify.
The image you see before you may have
bounced off my skin and
wandered through the dark tunnels of your pupils,
but it only presents my thinnest layer.
You catch my strands of cedar hair,
and though you may
press it,
twist it,
or tie it in a knot,
it is only a muddy veil for my inner thoughts
which boil deep within.
And though you hear my singing voice sweet
yet quiet as a canary in her glass cage,
you could never know the artillery of
my raging heart that goes:
BOOM
BOOM
BAH-BOOM
just under my chest. Or
the crimson jets which race
past titanium bones.
No, although you greet my eye
with each set and rise,
admiring what you know to be
bright mocha moons,
You could never truly imagine what
lies behind the dark side
of my hickory eyes.
Cookies Out the window
Into the breeze,
Cookies dancing
Past the trees!
The apples rolled
Across the floor,
They bounced right out
The front door.
The popcorn popped
Jump! Jump! POW!
White puffy clouds
Floating now.
The soda fizzed
POP! went the cap!
It flipped itself!
Right off the shelf,
The cook walked in
And yelled, “Oh no!”
The ketchup squirted,
Hit his toe.
The carrot giggled,
The chips said, “Zoom!”
The butter skate-slid
Across the room.
He grabbed the snacks
But slipped in jam
Then landed right
On cold-cut ham.
The snacks cheered loud,
“Hip-hip hooray!”
They zoomed outside
And ran away!
And if tonight
You sneak a peek…
You just might see
Snacks on your street!
Written: December 07, 2025, for contest sponsored by Benjamin Bartley
**************
One day, the wiggle-wobble wobbliness begins to shake.
They writhed and jiggled in a truly amusing wake!
They dashed across tunnels and bounced on a breeze.
Tickled the blossoms, and sniffed the trees.
They gulped laughs, they sipped up the sun,
They hiccupped together—oh, what fun!
They painted the sky with a bubblegum tone.
And carve the skies with one or two stones.
Wizzle, a Woozle, exhibited socks on his head.
One other donned pancakes in place of his bread.
They drummed on their drums and shook their rattles.
With twiddly thumbs, they sang "Zibble-Zabble!"
Both the adults and the children laughed.
Wherever Woozles woo, they convey a raft
They educate us that stupidity is vibrant and bright.
That absurdity twinkles and tickles the night.
Thus, if you feel blue, grumpy, or gloomy,
Simply summon a Woozle; they will dance and draw me.
They will chuckle and wobble, rhyme and rattle;
And allow every moment to prattle.
an acorn fell
bounced up six inches....
breeze through red oak tree
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