Picking up a broken conch shell,
I hear the bass line within it.
Watching the petulant sky’s snit
as rage grows unable to quell.
Eyes caught inside an ocean’s swell,
there’s no way I could turn and run.
It comes for each town one by one,
hotels and the boats are no match.
A vision that made my breath catch,
I’m glad that a cloud never spun.
I've never before made it fit,
For eight rhymes in one line to sit.
Though it isn't wise,
I'd best stick with pi(e)s,
Smit wit quit, lit grit spit Brit ... snit.
Existence, existing and then
the emptying out, the exit.
X marks the spot
where dots are always laid to rest.
I have been pulling a little red meat wagon
existing just before
its hard rubber wheels,
the wagon goes clickity clack,
snick-itty-snit, bumpety bump
uphill or below,
it is eager to run me down
always keen to bark my heels
as I drag it over a shadow shoulder
of a pre & post
being.
On-board
a self-dissolving, yet always open mouth,
must consume
its spiced drops of acid and honey.
It sometimes sleeps,
sometimes dreams,
it is a presence of a presence,
just a hairsbreadth between
this now, and not now - gulp
of living.
Inevitably, we will part,
separated by the raw knuckles
of push and pull,
until a lit exit door
in a long defunct shopping mall
lights our way
to the promise of oneness.
Cats are an intriguing tribe.
They celebrate making the choice.
When you hear them, you catch the vibe
at the height of their Heaviside voice.
With lively reveling, they rejoice!
Cats are known for meditation
that mere humans can only surmise.
They devote much contemplation,
being both cunning and wise,
in choosing the one to die and arise.
So when you hear the bawl at night
do not rage or enter a snit.
It is this night they delight
in debating the worth of kith and kit
and contend themselves befit.
Humans contemplate immortality
in somber, immutable terms.
Cats view transition as formality
for it is death that life affirms
and only life that death confirms.
Kiddies, I'm sorry to say that Santa may be visiting you late this year,
As he struggles to circle the Earth spreading his delightful cheer!
Santa had to retire Rudoloph and his friends leaving them much aggrieved,
And long-suffering Mrs Claus is in a snit and left sorely peeved!
It may be New Years Day before he arrives, but he'll visit you eventually,
So place a snack of cookies and milk or salami and cheese 'neath the tree!
That old grinch in the White House decreed that dear old Santa's sleigh,
Henceforth, must be battery powered, to be effective on this Christmas Day!
Alas, Santa must land every 350 miles or so, the battery to refresh!
(Hopefully, he can do this in such unlikely places as Bangladesh)!
No longer will you hear reindeer hooves dancing on your roof in the snow!
But be patient, little ones; Santa will greet you soon with a cheery ho-ho-ho!
bear felt indebted to his bee friends in a way
so he decided to take them a bouquet one day
he held it under their hive, so they could enjoy it
“Stop being friends with that bear!” the foreman said in a snit.
“But he’s giving us flowers,” the worker bees said.
The bear continue holding the petals, high up from his head.
The foreman tried to shoo the large grizzly away.
But he wanted some honey, so he continued to stay.
Blow down the snozzle
this windy wild world
is nowt but a hornswoggle.
Giddy are the blue birds
in head and heart,
blithered are the bush-beating
snit-shifters.
A good day to die and live again,
a day for tripping a bright bombastic.
A yet better day
for some nonsensical boggle
that wags words in a
beery muddle.
Fluffy are the puffy footloose
that skip well over a plushy clover,
great the laughter of children
that dance in the minding eye
of an everlasting God today.
Evell’s pointed ears perked up. A faerie library! Where was it?
When does it open? Who can check out books? She was intrigued.
“Only true faeries can see it,” evil Morganna said, she was a chit.
Not being a pureblood, Evell wondered if she would get access.
“I know I will be invited,” Morganna told her. She was a snit.
Two weeks later Evell discovered a new road, and a tall stair.
She was let inside. Dwarfs, elves and dragons reading books.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” a pixie said, flinging pink dust in the air.
“Excuse me,” Evell said to the librarian. “Where are faerie books?”
“Everywhere,” the gargoyle said, extending his hands. “Every shelf.”
Fantastic Faerie Frolicks, Fairy Bible and Recipes for Fey Cooks.
Morganna never showed up. "She won’t," winked a knowing elf.
Whom ever taught my cat to whine could not have been a friend of mine.
She's learned to vocalize a bit and now acts like a spoiled snit.
It's so annoying to say the least. She knows I'll cave to get some peace.
I let her out for a window of time and ask if she wants some cheese
with that whine.
How wise can a crow be? Asked the owl in a snit.
He did not like crows getting smart, did not like it a bit.
Well, he has the wizard hat, and he shows signs of wit.
The owl flew off angry, annoyed with this know-it-all chit.
You get the special cup because you are company the old lady said.
I thought oh, my why this one? It was brown and red.
It had teeth on the side, crooked, and the lips were mean-looking too.
I offered to switch others at the table for their orange one or blue.
Oh, no, you get the special cup because you are trying to take her boy.
They said that because my husband-to-be is her utmost pride and joy.
I guess others have gotten the treasured cup and gone away in a snit.
She did not anticipate my non-reaction and that I did not have a fit.
I am on a writing wonder roll today
I credit the sun with a hip hip hooray!
Trixie is on spring break far far away
We are glad for she deserves an hour and a day.
Her cousin Adeline came to help me a bit.
But I argued with her first idea, and she had a fit.
She marched off mad, in a ridiculous childish snit.
How much more persnickety can a sub-muse get?
My Uncle Bill thought it would be hilarious and fun.
To warn a fellow merchant of a shoplifter - Miss Gun.
The employees followed her all over the store that day.
They reported that she left quickly, as if she was running away.
She came outside and we could see she was in a snit.
She had a red face, and brown eyes were flashing quite a bit.
What is wrong? Someone asked and Bill could not stop his grin.
I noticed it, and so did my unobserving usually ten-year-old twin.
Our Aunt Marge was in a horrible mood when to home we returned.
Those employees followed me the whole time! She was truly burned.
Bill kept laughing but did not tell the rest of us of his prank.
Until Marge left. She was the oldest sister, and could be a real crank.
Sometimes things just don't turn out.
Sometimes things don't fit.
Just the way you hoped they would,
But don't get in a snit.
Try to make the best of things,
Just the way they are.
It may not be just perfect,
But for sure it's up to par.
You worked so hard, you did your best,
Left nothing up to chance;
But don't judge the day by what you reaped,
But by the seeds you plant.
If you plant smiles instead of frowns,
You're sure to get back cherries.
Plant some hugs and kisses,
And you'll get a bowl of berries;
But stomp and snort, plant anger,
Discord and irritation,
And you'll get back no sweets my friend,
Because you plant vexation.
Resolute opinionated Little Miss Gertie is barely thirty
But as set in her ways as a scorched shirt burned dirty.
We used to try to get her to loosen up a tiny bit.
But she has no humor or pliability, and she can be a snit.
So we decided to leave her alone and lo and behold.
She met a male stranger, all blustery, opinionated and bold.
He was almost the same age, a resolute bachelor, quite old.
They became an item and got married, but neither would fold.
The wedding was short-lived, for neither would give an inch.
She was angry that when putting on the garter she got a pinch.
She pouted the entire wedding night and strangled his finch.
Their marriage did not have a chance; which we knew was a cinch.
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