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Good morning, everyone!

The Owl and the Pussycat

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money.
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!'

Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?'
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

'Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?' Said the Piggy, 'I will.'
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

Edward Lear (1812 - 1888)

You don’t know how fond of that I am...when I was 12, I helped create, act in, and I designed the costumes for a parody of that poem! A good memory!

I’ve been awol cause I’ve mostly been writing fictions lately.

But speaking of parodies - here’s a little something I wrote after reading something totally atrocious that the author was just so proud of:

To the tune of Home on the Range

I remember the time
I was not filled with the slime
that some folks delight to churn out,
bad lines falling like rain,
till I winch with the pain,
and I forget what is good - o the doubt!

Bleach, bleach for my brain,
to remove all the shadows and pain -
I long to suspend disbelief
and enjoy without grief
where the stories make sense once again.

One other piece. It’s a prose-poem. It’s about 2 people who were separated for 3 years beyond their control, and in fact weren’t sure if they would ever be allowed to be together again.

Petal in the Wind

The leaves shifted and fell, maple scarlet for the third time. He twirled a leaf in clawed fingers, and thought about how she loved the autumn, dancing with leaves in her hair.

“You’re thinking of her, aren’t you?” Kaede asked, watching him from the corner of her eye as she gathered in the last of the fall herbs. “Are you still waiting?”

“Keh,” he replied, as he turned away from the old miko, unwilling to see her look of sympathy.

He watched the children playing in the snow and thought about a snowball she threw once. Making one, he placed it on the lip of the well, and watched how it melted in the late winter sun, so slowly. It reminded him of his heart, his hope.

Sakura time came, and he watched the slow, lonely drift of a petal caught in the wind, drifting, delaying the inevitable, coming at last to rest on the ground, like the cold death of hope. He smashed it into the ground, refusing to believe.

He thought about that petal as young hands tugged his ears, and how his heart was like a snowball. Suddenly a whiff of scent and a touch of aura, and that snowball that trapped his heart melted immediately.

As his arms wrapped around the warm flesh of the one person who mattered most in the world, he knew that delay does not equal never, and he rejoiced.