Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Starting Over

If I were designing a new me from scratch
I would make a slight change here and there.
For starters I'd give me the eyes of the hawk
And I'd take the great strength of the bear.
Then I'd add on the pouch of the kangaroo
So I'd have a safe place for my keys,
The spots of the leopard, the legs of the frog,
And the bright yellow stripes of the bees.
The ears of the bunny, the elephant's nose
And some beautiful antlers perhaps,
And the shell of the turtle that I could crawl in
For some undisturbed noontime naps.
I'd proudly wear the peacock's tail
The sailfish's majestic sail
And if I got bored
I'd just flap my wings
And gracefully fly away.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

The Fly in My Eye

I have a fly
That is caught in my eye
It's the biggest fly I've ever seen

He's hairy and blue
And he's blocking my view
And he's staring at me kind of mean

I've tried pulling and prying
And winking and crying
And jumping on a trampoline

But that fat, stubborn fly
Is stuck fast in my eye
And I can't seem to intervene

The Time Traveler

I am a traveler
Skipping through time,
Sliding through time,
Hurtling through time.
I am a voyager
Racing through time,
The gauge on my wrist
Marks my progress.

I've been to the past -
I was there yesterday.
And if I may say
It was much like today.
I am now in the present,
But I cannot stay,
For I'm pushing onward
To the future.

Friday, November 19, 2010

The Man Growing in My Garden

There's a man growing down in my garden,
He's scattered in pieces and parts.
His head's made entirely of cabbage,
And I think that's a very good start.
His eyes peek from the potatoes,
His ears listen from the corn stalks,
He hasn't a nose
But he has toma-toes
And with time he may learn how to walk.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

The New Me

We parted ways with a handshake,
I'll miss me but time marches on.
Yes, I am still here
But it's painfully clear
That the me that I was is long gone.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

To Be a Bee With Allergies

To be a bee with allergies,
The endless sounds of buzz... buzz... sneeze.
Hour after loathsome hour,
Toiling within wretched flowers.
Oh, the bitter irony...
To be a bee with allergies.