Dear little fly,
You didn't have to die,
But you've made a crucial mistake.
You said that you'll come over.
Then you flew over my sofa
And landed next to my chocolate cake.
Your two small wings
In the air it sings,
Though it's annoying in my ear.
And to no one's surprise,
Your untimely demise
Will become your very worst fear.
When I finally saw you,
I only yelled, "SHOO!"
You thought you had more lives than a cat.
But you landed on the wall
And had a great fall;
For my Giant Fly Swatter went SPLAT!
You just sealed your doom.
And now, with my broom,
You were swept up and laid to rest.
In the garbage you go,
Because you're too slow:
Good-bye, you miserable pest!
Little Echoes spreading 2
From Kentish stones at Lympne's historic keep,
Where cameras roll and modern tensions creep,
The broadcaster delivered, sharp and loud,
A scathing judgment to the listening crowd.
The news of the return, he fiercely claimed,
Had left the royal household deeply blamed;
It landed heavy on the palace floors
Like rotting sacks of spuds behind the doors.
From sources wrapped in strict, protected shade,
He sketched the rift the swift arrival made
A rival camp upon the British soil,
Apart from those who do the daily toil.
He spoke of grifters seeking wealth and fame,
With shifting burdens and a fractured name,
While in the wings, a softer echo sighs
On lucky families under heavier skies.
Little Echoes spreading 1
Behind the gilded gates where history sleeps,
Huge ancient institution secrets keeps.
Yet modern spotlights pierce the palace shade,
To question how its wealth and power were made
Bound to the empires of an older age,
And written on the slave trade's darkest page.
The whispers spoke of skin and unborn heirs,
A shadow cast upon the golden stairs,
ink in Dutch translations sparked the flame,
And public voices rose to shield a name.
Then questions asked of origins and birth,
Denied a British citizen her worth.
The tabloids spun their headlines day by day,
As ancient structures blocked the modern way.
From old exemptions hidden in the past,
To broad exclusions never meant to last,
The crown still wrestles with the words it spoke,
And changes stirring in the winds that woke.
When our children were children…
we’d sit together on the floor and watch Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood…
It was a wonderful way to be together
while learning how to be kind and decent…and good.
From our age to theirs in front of our TV it was easy connect
with someone who exuded kindness and treated everyone with respect.
It was our hope that our children would pick up on this thread…
and when they went out into the world…
would be a little more like Fred.
That they would practice peace and empathy…
would live their life with honor and dignity…
that they’d try to resolve their differences through communication….
not with hostility.
That they would understand although there is evil in this world…
meant to demean, demolish and destroy…
they could fight this evil with love and hope…
and try to fill the world with joy.
Imagine what our world would look like…
if we accepted one another in spite of our differences…
If all the people of the world were acknowledged…
welcomed…
and well-fed….
Imagine the kind of world we could create…
If we were all…
a little more like Fred.
Our Opossum Has a Strong Propensity for Crime
By Frank Daub
Discovered in a backyard nighttime check –
an opossum wandering behind our garden shed.
Pin-pointed face, squinting eyes.
It did not run -- to my surprise.
Only staring, lighted softly by the porchlight.
Little.
Sleek in a white-gray-tan-straight-fur-slicked-down way.
The streets around are not friendly to its kind.
This unfair truth made up my mind.
I should let the shed-bottom harbor it.
This would require: FEEDING.
I decided the feeding plan -- without data-based reference --
would be workable.
I tried every sort of natural vegetable.
Walnuts added when the berries nurtured
hordes of ants --
Not
the opossum.
The dietary effort proved it.
Our opossum has a strong propensity for crime.
Particular it is to nighttime
sneaking forays - for food of course.
(This assured the legality of it for me.)
Our opossum was not particular to dietary do’s and don’ts;
Being just inclined to FEEDING its necessary wants.
The animal had a penchant – not a preference --
an exceeding zest for anything edible.
Incredible.
Black as the ink
imagine,
octopus's favorite.
But before
it has a chance to dry,
water rises up
and black as tar,
My client starts to cry.
Pen is a center-fold,
All that smudge,
and believe me, its cold
words that have meaning,
gets lost when water
splashes so angry.
Words blur,
like underwater
chlorine.
Its in a way that's squealing
in a world so good & wicked
piggy little found,
and its curly little tail,
Forced to run home,
but so safe & sound
in the storms of the hail.
Arms of a garden gnome.
Ingredients:
1. One pinch of sugar (Honey can sub)
2. A dash of what works
3. 1/2 teaspoon of table salt ( Or sea salt )
4. 1 large egg (Egg whites for real)
Instructions:
1. Mix them together until light and fluffy.
2. Flatten the lumps out, soften the sharpness
3. Blend until the texture mellows the taste of reality.
Secret sauce: Seven spices to taste.
Just don’t tell what they really are. EVER.
The scout tent lit alight,
the dear diary burns bright,
go ask Alice,
mortal fears
no longer children.
Thou shou not weep
Thou shou reap
Strangers lurk in playgrounds
echoing such innocent sounds.
Chain me up sister,
its a red fiery full moon tonight,
and sunken no longer are my eyes
as you dance in the pale of sun,
with the full delicatessen
of glowing freckled numbing pins.
The porous strands of devious sins
My werewolf hairs stand up within
Life is full of targets to reach
many set by ourselves, wise we think
but it turns out to be very unwise
at the end of the day, our targets sink
Sometimes we're too full of ourselves
not realising how prone we are to fall
so very often it's a case of get up again
make sure you stand on your feet very tall
It is good not to set high standards
just little ones that are one small step
ones to look back on with satisfaction
makes you feel good with a deep-down grip
These little achievements create a glow
one that puts your perspective in flight
looking from afar, seeing the real truth
of what life's about in a clearer light
So make little goals your aim
in reaching them you'll feel better
then the thousand mark isn't too far
except when the king at 100 sends your letter
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ cock-sparrow ¦¦¦ on a green tree,
¦¦¦ he chirruped, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ so merry ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
A ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ boy came with his ¦¦¦ bow and arrow,
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ to shoot this ¦¦¦¦¦¦ cock-sparrow.
"This ¦¦¦¦¦¦ cock-sparrow shall make ¦¦¦ a stew,
And ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ pie, too."
¦¦¦¦ no," says the sparrow "I won't ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ he flapped his wings ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ he flew.
(Blackout of Boy And The Sparrow by Mother Goose)
Feeling a stinging, sharp pain.
It's fitting perfectly, like a puzzle piece.
Who is it that is to blame?
Going faster and harder till both of us break,
going still, even if I freeze,
'cause, oh Lord, it really is for my sake.
All the fire inside of me,
the feeling only screaming, “Please,”
letting them out, letting them grow, letting them be.
He is all I ever wanted to achieve.
With him, the largest problems transform into relief.
August 28
Do you know about him
The little tall man
Living in the brown street
His lips are hard
Like where charcoal is made
He feels high more than alcohol
And always scorn his wild hair
Do you know about the natural leaf
That scorned him
For the first time
He feels his lips
With a sedative herb
And forms a circle in his skin
There are dirts
Waiting to be heaped away
He picks them up by chance
Along with a clipper
He moves with the cloud
Seeing double shadows on the way
Laughing at him
Finally at a waste bin spot
The dirts are abandoned
He picks up the clipper
This is the best place for hair cut
He sits loving the moment
While passersby share laughters
Enjoy the little pleasures
By Michelle Morris
23/08/2026
This beautiful life
Is calling out your name
Remember all your childhood dreams
We're here to enjoy the game
Even in the darkest night
The stars will shine for you
And morning will bring the light again
The sun shines on for me and you
Enjoy the little pleasures
Like ice creams melting in the sun
Waves lapping on the sandy shore
Children laughing, having fun
Enjoy the little pleasures
Count each and every one
Let them bless your life each day
Magic and mystery all done
Our lives are made so beautiful
Through these moments small
Like precious little sparks
Inspiring the hearts and souls of all
So, let this beautiful life
Keep calling out your name
To remind you that you're here to thrive
Through every blessed day
© Michelle Morris, 2026
in the scheme of things
I will shiver under AC
while sweating late at night
Dreams are nice
when you never chase things
that turn around
and chase you
I’m too tired
to stretch my letters into
CAPITALS
It feels like yesterday,
when your tiny hand held my finger and ran.
You would steal my glasses,
wear them proudly, and say,
“Daddy, I look just like you!”
Between the pages of my books,
you built little homes for your dolls.
Whenever I left for work,
you stood at the door and whispered,
“Come back soon, Daddy…”
With the little coins in my pocket,
I bought you chocolates—
those simple days
were richer than anything I own today.
Yesterday, you walked holding my hand;
today, you walk your own road.
When I remember your mischief,
a smile touches my face,
while tears quietly fill my eyes.
My daughter, you have grown up,
but inside my heart,
you are still that little girl
running with her tiny braids.
No matter how far you go,
the sound of your footsteps
will forever echo
inside your father’s heart.
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