Me and the Beeper-ette ,,
are trying to sell everything off here,,,
we decided : Moro Bay California would be nice for a year or two
here is the sailboat we are buying,, anchored off in Moro Bay
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would not take the garbage out!
She’d scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
Pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned butter toast,
Gristly bits of beefy roasts . . .
The garbage rolled on down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall . . .
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
Peanut butter, caked and dry,
Curdled milk and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
Cold french fries and rancid meat,
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That finally it touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her friends would come to play.
And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said,
“OK, I’ll take the garbage out!”
But then, of course, it was too late . . .
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate,
That I cannot right now relate
Because the hour is much too late.
But children, remember Sarah Stout
And always take the garbage out!
Morning On The Lievres
Far above us where a jay
Screams his matins to the day,
Capped with gold and amethyst,
Like a vapour from the forge
Of a giant somewhere hid,
Out of hearing of the clang
Of his hammer, skirts of mist
Slowly up the woody gorge
Lift and hang.
Softly as a cloud we go,
Sky above and sky below,
Down the river, and the dip
Of the paddles scarcely breaks,
With the little silvery drip
Of the water as it shakes
From the blades, the crystal deep
Of the silence of the morn,
Of the forest yet asleep,
And the river reaches borne
In a mirror, purple grey,
To the misty line of light,
Where the forest and the stream
In the shadow meet and plight,
Like a dream.
From amid a stretch of reeds,
Where the lazy river sucks
All the water as it bleeds
From a little curling creek,
And the muskrats peer and sneak
In around the sunken wrecks
Of a tree that swept the skies
On a sudden seven ducks
With a splashy rustle rise,
Stretching out their seven necks,
One before, and two behind,
And the others all arow,
And as steady as the wind
With a swivelling whistle go,
Through the purple shadow led,
Till we only hear their whir
In behind a rocky spur,
I am not your rolling wheels, I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind, I am the lightning
I am not your autumn moon, I am the night
it was an attempt to get Sarah Cynthia Silvia stout,,,,
intimidated into taking the garbage out ,,,
" Clouds Whisper,,
where winds howl
off Port Bow,,,
Listen to feel ,,
that which the wind relays ,,
Breaking the peal
of tomorrows as yesterdays
to touch back to Earth
where it begins
Sweet Deep Ocean of love
and feel the sky cry
Deeper than Magic questions of,,,
where as why,,
Touched and carressed
and succumbed in the flow
touched,, loved,, knowing
inward your glowing
you drop with static
current in the flow
Harmless as innocent
child returns with awe
world is now as new
as your child first saw
back in the pages of your life
when as a child
each and all events
were special , fresh
full intention of life ,,,,
Moment of magic in all that
all a wonder to you
as you learned to be ,,
Snap Flash lighting
cross window pane
patter of droplets
splashed in the rain
always shall pass
fear and or darkness
shall not last
Spring in your life always returns
in it's proper time
as passion begins
again to burn
yes, feel again
your inner child with it's love
Stormy weather passes
and as it does
Child eyes return unto you
and you see again
with a fresh point of view ,,,
~~~~~ End ~~~
Thought I'd write a feel good today
so i did
Smiling loves to you all
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