Poetry for
People, Dragons
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Poetry for Creatures and Kids
A Poem for Dragons
(1979)
There
once was a lonely dragon:
Ethelbrute was
his name.
His third hump
was dearly sagin'
And his hind leg
felt slightly lame.
Ethelbrute
lived in a time so old
No dragon was
ever feared;
It was then, in
fact, we've been told
That dragons were
often cheered.
How
Ethelbrute changed the dragon's lot
Is not because
he's mean:
He fell, as it
were, when just a tot,
When his mother
dropped his jelly bean.
Those
who know dragon things will know this fact:
A dragon's egg is
like a jelly bean; (1)
Tenderly trussed
in a funny patch sack,
Hidden in her
belly from the Jelly Bean Fiends.
Those
who love to munch these beans today
Are the
President's men and kings as such;
But the portly
queens of Ethelbrute's day
Had appetites for
beans our king's can't touch.
Often
it was on a full moon's eve
A dragon would
cross a hallowed moon;
And Queenie's
guards would quickly leave
To chase jelly
beans in Jelly Bean Balloons.
The
tale is told to dragons and us
Ethelbrute's
mother was shot one night,
Flying around
like Pegasus,
Dodging big
balloons in the bright moon light.
A
balloonist's dart hit her funny patch latch,
Precisely where
her jelly bean lay;
From the opened
latch fell the Queenie's catch
Towards the
balloonists jelly bean tray.
Lo!
As trays were held in hands held high,
A gusty norther
saved the bean;
It came to rest
in the dart-filled sky
Midst a sparrow's
home: a nest I mean.
The
dragon jelly bean egg fit well
Beside the
sparrow's speckled eggs;
Though a little
larger, you couldn't tell
It from the
others 'neath the mother's leg's.
So
cuddled and loved he hatched one day
And grew among
the sparrow flock;
His appetite grew
too, to their dismay,
As he ate and ate
around the clock.
One
day his tail fell from the nest
And frightened
his brothers, now blown astray;
The home soon
smashed beneath his breast
While the laden
limb next gave away!
Banished
he was by the sparrow's chief,
He plied the
forests all alone;
Sleeping in trees
to everyone's grief,
And crashing to
earth with a daily groan.
It
came to pass a hunt was called,
Ethelbrute was
forced to flee afar;
Wherever he slept
was a tree fallen, and appalled,
Angered townsmen
awoke in the earth shaker's jar.
Unwanted
and lonely he sat one eve
Munching raw
garlic upon a limb; (2)
Playing children
below had to leave:
His garlic breath
was too much for them.
Then
one morn a woodsman's axe
Rose the dragon
from his woody sleep;
Poor Ethelbrute
could never ever relax
Nor a place from
hunters could he keep.
The
dragon roared (a timid roar),
"The noise, the
noise, quiet please, sir!"
The woodsman
swayed away from his chore,
Wondering who
talked, that's for sure.
Ethelbrute
crossed a leg over another
And asked the
woodsman why he gawked.
The woodsman
said, "A dragon, oh brother!
They'll not
believe he really talked!"
And
then the two spoke for hours
And left no topic
from their chat;
Ethelbrute
confessed he needed strong towers
That wouldn't
break like the forest now flat.
The
woodsman beamed, "You're not so bad!
You only need a
safe nesting place; (3)
I'll build your
tower, my serpentine lad,
From iron I'll
work just in case!"
This lasting tower is Ethelbrute's fame
For the skyscraper was invented in his name.
Notes:
(1) Just as we are sensitive on our funny bones, dragons are also most sensitive on their funny patch latch.
(2) Ethelbrute was not a fire breathing dragon. But because he loved garlic he did have a hot, discomforting breath and was, therefore, confused with the fire breathing type.
(3) Had Ethelbrute been raised in a cave like other dragons, the problem would never have occurred.
Halloween (To Autumn)
(1979)
I
saw a blue jay on a mount
Crowding out its
friends.
Fine, fluffy
feathers this day did taunt;
He thought of
them as fins.
I
saw the blue jay take a limb
Where a bug is
sure to pass;
He spoke of
things obscure and dim
To crawling
creatures in the grass.
"Come
fly with me," he begged the worm;
Such sights
you've never seen,"
But the wizened
word didn't squirm,
For he knew the
Jay was hungry.
"Come
hop with me?" he queried the lady bug,
Who hopped from
leaf to leaf
And gave the Jay
a cautious shrug
As she hid in
utter disbelief!
The
wise old Jay then saw a gnat;
Such tiny things
we tend to slap,
But to a Jay no
gnat is a sprat
And well the
worth the time to trap.
"I
can fly above the clouds up high
And even hop
across the sea;
Oh gentle gnat I
fear to pry,
But can you rise
above the tree?"
The
gentle gnat looked at the Jay
And fluttered by
his bill,
"Of clouds and
seas I cannot say,
Through such
heights and haunts I would not mill."
The
wise old Jay then stretched his wing
And drummed the
air with all his might;
He asked the gnat
to do this thing,
To match his
drumming late that night.
"Of
clouds and seas I cannot match,"
The gnat implored
the dauntless Jay;
"But you'll see
tonight in the pumpkin patch
This paltry gnat
outmatch your play!"
The
wizened bird had won the ploy
And took the
offer of the gnat;
His nervous claws
gnawed the oak with joy
Until the
roundish limb rubbed flat.
A
Pumpkin moon, a pumpkin patch,
Haunting
creatures controlled the air;
A nervous Jay
awaited his catch
Midst screeches
and howling everywhere.
"These
boasts and taunts I'll do no more!"
Cried the Jay to
his burly tree,
"I'll take no
more in this pumpkin tour,
Those haunting
creatures are after me!"
The
twitching Jay hid beneath a leaf
And hoped the
gnat would find him not;
But then to add
to his fear, good grief,
Weird lights
flashed over the entire lot.
A
screech owl screamed, an old mule brayed,
And then a light
flashed in his eye;
The frightened
Jay launched, while the tiny gnat bade,
"Don't fear me;
It is only I, a firefly!"
A Duck in luck
(1983)
About the downy duckling
Floating in the
bay,
The Poet's meter
may near rhyme,
For that word,
that "duckling" is in the way
And makes this
poem hard to rhyme.
Now it's worse the lot for a duck
Who came a
plunging to the bay;
The poet's meter
cannot rhyme;
For that word,
that "duck" is hard to say,
Tying my tongue
every time.
So poets sing not of these things
Though many are in
want for ducks to write.
But I must yet
sing of Fred, the mallard's pride,
For no bird could
soar on mighty wings
Above this duck in
feathered flight.
He flew his weary airy way
Searching for a
ducky pleasant place,
Soaring the clouds
in heavy heart;
His burdened heart
no doubt that day
Plunged him into
the veiny water ways.
One day he saw a lovely lass,
Her browny down
and crimsonless bands
Beautifully plain
were her feathered pleats;
Caused Fred's
heart to leap from his fluttered past
And ballooned him
towards her ways and strands.
Fred of heavy feathered heart
Then felt that
cloud that weighed him downward bound;
His throbbing
heart grew heavier
Then that leaded
feeling of doubt would start
And dropped him
seat first down to the ground.
The lass who minded her paddled waves,
Whistling midst
the singing reeds,
Was never startled
the more by any means,
Than to look upon
Fred's leaded rocklike gaze
Suddenly bob midst
her demesnes.
She tried to flee his tiding fall
But never got
away.
It's hard to say
what would have come
When love is want
to call
Had Fred come
another way.
The water thrown all over the lass
Is not a fine
entry, one might agree;
We end this poem
about the strangest luck
How two hearts of
lead, yet like glass,
Ducked into our
hearts so easily.
Jade Cove
(1979)
Over cliffs of jade, jeweled coves
below,
Our hands coddled
the waxy gems.
Your wind blown
hair framed aglow
A settling sun
glossed by flax-like hems.
That moment midst the verdant shores,
Touching hands
quelled the pounding surf;
Our surging
current and tingling pours
Drummed rhythms of
lovers over the tender turf.
A waning moon framed anew
By fiery bombs
trailing icy blue;
Sparklers,
gazelles, to name a few
Jumped through my
breast in desire of you.
In the autumn changing ever
All that ends must
start anew;
And crinkled
leaves in the heather
Rustle in gusting
beds of dew;
There you find Nature's pillows to
entice and tether;
They make fiery
nests where lovers coo.
The deep unknown in your eyes
Beacons my soul to
find its depths;
The dewy glaze
from passion's rise
Leads my soul yet
higher upon those jaded steps.
I reach and search, higher and higher;
Wandering through
your open gates;
My heart is fanned
by the fire
Lit by Pan and the
Lover's Fates.
Through the windows of your soul
I chased my heart as a weaning foal.
The Wooly Wig Wirt
(1979)
If
you were a wooly wig wirt
Who played upon
the road,
Could you hop
above the dirt
Or ride upon a
toad?
If
wooly wig wirts came your way,
Could you see
their hose?
Or would you
think they could not play
Because they
showed no toes?
Three
and twenty wooly wig wirts plus a tad more
Nestled beneath
my tree;
I wondered how
many wooly wig wirts you might store
Within your
memory.
They
have no toes, no hoes, no hair
And hardly can
they hop,
But they are for
sure around me everywhere,
In truth they are
wherever I stop.
If
you see a wooly wig wirt suddenly come,
Ignore the shock
you may feel or see,
For wooly wig
wirts are to some
What you, dear
reader, are here to me.
Tommy Tattle
(1979)
Tommy Tattle took a terrible trip
While with his
neighbor at play;
He tried to make
his good friend slip
But himself fell
into the bay!
Tiny Tod
(1979)
Tiny Tod trod up the road
To fetch himself
some trouble;
He flexed his arms
in a frightening mode
To strike a mirror
pond's double.
Autumn Scent
(1979)
Needles falling from the trees,
Autumn's cushions
on the ground,
A piny scent
within the breeze,
No sweeter falling
found around.
A Flighty Fawn
(1979)
A Flighty Fawn crossed a field
Against his
mother's wishes.
The hunter's
wounds have just now healed;
Now he's stealing
bait from the fishes!
Sandy Snail
(1979)
Sandy Snail traced a trail
Climbing through
the vines,
The farmer's wife
began to wail
And chased him
with her tines.
Shortcut Willard
(1979)
Willard walked upon a railroad track
In hope to find a
porter.
A horn soon
shrieked behind his back
"This ain't the
way that's shorter".
A Precocious Partridge
(1979)
A precocious partridge talked to a sage
Rolling through a
meadow;
This rolling bush
he tried to page
Since a sage is a
wiser fellow.
Lazy Sue
(1979)
Lazy Sue wouldn't get up
As she rode to
work in the morning.
She slept through
the day, way past "sup,"
And missed her
stop at Corning.
Pokahay
(1979)
There is no way to Pokahay,
Because it does
not exist.
There is no one
that's gone that way,
Otherwise he'd
have been missed!
A Paltry Privet
(1979)
A Paltry Privet plied past a nest
But turned again
to spy the egg;
He fluttered his
feathers upon his breast
And raised to his
beak the egg with his leg.
Were it not for a meal the egg would
hatch,
But to the waiting
fox a privet is a far better catch!
A Frightened Farthing
(1979)
A Frightened Farthing flew the foaming
sea,
And why he flew
there and not the mountain Vale
Is terribly
troubling to my toddler and me.
Was he blown off
course by a sudden gale?
Paunchy pink fingers pointed past yon
tides;
My little girl
spied a sadly swimming deer;
A fleeing fawn had
too frightened besides;
And being curious
my toddler and me for more did peer.
A nervous nightingale nonetheless flew,
Followed by
molting cows and a nearly Knighted horse;
Then a multitude
of animals bade adieu
And plunged to the
surf in a matter of course.
I gripped her hand as she to mine
And held her
trembling form aloft;
On my hip she
clung and spoke this line:
"I'm sorry for the
animals," and in the blast we too offed.
Two Silly Birds
(1979)
Two Silly Birds sat sneering on a rock
one day,
"How odd the
toad," they snickered and cooed;
"How odd the
lizard that knows not it's gray,
And how odd the
cow who only mooed."
They chided the horse, the pig, the
hen;
Even they gossiped
on the Wooly Wig Wirt.
Nothing escaped
this perceptive press of the pen,
As they, alas,
scorned the very rocks and even the tussled
dirt.
Then the very Silly Birds eyed a
sparrow hawk
And senselessly
stayed upon their perch;
Two Talons
snatched up the sneering flock
And that's why
they were Silly Birds.
A Cautious Cat
(1979)
A cautious cat crossed a creek
To catch a bird in
the bushes.
The bird it seems
didn't think
To hide in the
waterborne rushes.
Tiny Tina
(1979)
Tiny Tina took some tea
And put it in her
pot.
She poured a cup
for her and me
And said, "Oh, my
gosh, that's hot!"
Silly Vicki
(1979)
Silly Vicki went down the hill
To catch her bo a
wandering.
Upon the search
she had her fill:
Since the poison
oak she is now a pondering.
A Portly Pig
(1979)
A portly pig pawed the pen one day
To preen himself
in the slop.
So disgusting he
was so much at play,
The animals all
begged him to stop.
He splashed in the mud and rolled in
the dust,
And squealed with
such delight,
A butcher found
him far too mussed
And took the ox, a
much tidier sight.
The Downy Duckling
(1979)
There once was a downy duckling,
Who tired of being
the last,
He jumped in front
of a suckling
And was first for
the farmer's repast.
The Atlantic Monthly & Chickens & Eggs
(Refused by the Atlantic Monthly in July, 1971)
Three
poems I read
To chickens said
Without much
meter
Or rhyme
Or sense
Made the poem's
reader
Feel he read
Nonsense.
But
poems are hard put to please
Those who edit
and see
Fit to publish
for the reader
A rhyme,
Though it is
dense,
And speaks of
dangling creatures
Hanging from a
line and dead
With a revolting
scent.
Since
the publisher likes chickens,
Though to read
his delights, me it sickens,
I know I must
write
To compete with
this sight
Where chickens
scratch
Or dangle or
hatch
So that the
reader I will elate
And bring forth
poetry and abate
A class who
thinks that the most in life
Is chickens
throats cut with a knife
Hanging from a
clothes line
Spitting blood so
we may dine.
I'm
sorry to say
For those chicken
poems I pay
And now I feel
guilt even this day
Whenever I eat
the eggs chickens lay.
Though
eggs don't scratch
And cluck,
Or could the
colonel cook a batch,
For their
feathers he'd delight to pluck;
Someone ought to
write on eggs,
Because the
chicken
Won't scratch
with her legs,
Or would we be
finger lickin',
Nor could we hang
them slashed in the neck
With blood
dripping onto the hollowed ground,
Or see them on
the ground peck
If eggs weren't
around.
So
here's a toast to eggs
Which give us
things to talk about.
Though they don't
have legs,
They're important
to us, there's no doubt.
I'm just sorry we can't find
More important things come to mind
Launched
10.18.97;
Updated 5.31.99; 5.27.2000; 3.17.05; 5.29.14
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