The inchworm's in no hurry
his vision's perhaps blurry
A journey of five meters
in ten hours, a world-beater
I'd like to go on record
to report they don't feel hectored
But per a reliable source
they envy snails, of course
Following the first thwack
we deduced that distance was
limited primarily
to unpredictable bursts of anger,
arbitrary chastisement factors.
The rule, all of its dozen commandments
plus the extra uncalibrated ends -
a fixed length, extended sufficiently
to bruise well beyond
its mere twelve inch reach.
Wood or Perspex the fractions stung,
minds began to compute escape
in eighths and sixteenths,
we understood that the rod, the yardstick,
probably the world,
had been measured to the umpteenth
by sadistic inchworms.
If 12 marching inchworms moved a centimeter how far did they travel would it be a foot?
11/28/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
I'm daydreaming again
Poor rich a soil farmer
I dream of chalk boarding a whale song
Dreams of brain-teasing
Dreaming about buying mother a pair of ruby slippers Daydreaming again
I am cliff dwelling
As whirlpooling inchworms with frosted Halo crawls
I dream Royal purple salmon from the sea
Dancing with Antarctic pink seals daydreaming again cliff dwelling whirlpooling inchworms Frost Halo salmon from the sea daydreaming again cumulonimbus ?
5/5/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
Overlooking
The lake from his cottage deck
Like a captain last to leave his ship
My dad
Discards his cane atop the stairs
Fastens his wobbly hips and knees
Sideways
And to the rickety railing
He Inchworms his wrinkled hands
Across the slivers
Down he goes
Two feet
Each
A step at a time
Descending the 40 planks to Torch Lake
He enters the cold water
Strolling to the end of the rickety dock
Where his hands release
To a buoyancy catching him
Under his arms
My dad is young again
Springing high and settling back
Bouncy as a moon walker
Bending easily for pennies or clams
And no one dares cha-ching
At his elbow to help anymore.
He levitates on his back
Arms arrowed past his head
Like Superman
With his blue lake cape sailing behind him
Flying away across the summer.
Grasshoppers and katydids
Cactus, growing in the sand
Palm trees near the ocean
May-apples in the woodland
Parrots squawking in the jungle
Moss creeping over rotten logs
Luscious ferns filling forests
Huge dinosaurs, tiny tree frogs
Watercress and lettuce leaves
English ivy, honeysuckle vines
Grass snakes and lunar moths
Cedar, fir, spruce, and pines
Myriad grasses, filling meadows
And blanketing every lawn
Fields of corn and sugarcane
Fat caterpillars, tiny inchworms
The stem of every flower
the fat shell of every bean
Looking around, it would seem
Our Father favors the color green
May is Mother’s Month
May is green
spawning inchworms.
I nest too
cleaning closets,
busily morphing
contrary to my wont.
Even the slothful move,
to her blossom song.
In a whistling fragrance
I recall how mother
loved lilacs and wearing
shorts to show a model’s leg.
This was her time, the spring.
Oh yes, and summer, I guess.
Fall and winter, too.
Quick now, the cycle is mine to ponder;
lo, youthfully to long for me
who follows me and calls me mother.
©Kathryn McL. Collins