Holiday hell-a-day hula day thrill
Whimsical Musical some vital fill
Why’re you, flier through plier too down?
People‘re steeple air feeble in town
Fly away try ‘n’ weigh Myron Q. dog
Mail away, sail away, trail a wee frog
Stitchery kitcherie split, dearie do
When’re you blender woo splendor to you?
Finery Spinery winery Patch
Flagrantly fragrantly open the hatch
Mistletoe, thistle dough trestle the train
Fatuous, platypus out in the rain
Spinning wheel winning feel primal again
Gaining ground waning mound moon beams on hen
Holly Daze, Polly Graze piddly plays suck
Hooligan drool again who likes a duck?
Log on the fire, of blogging I tire, Playing with words to churn mud
Mind is a muddle I’d rather cuddle or bite my nails ‘til there’s blood
This is no fun, today, there’s no sun and I’m up a tree in the rain
So fetch me a log and sit while I blog with rhythms that leap from my brain.
The end.
Watching screeners all this week has left plot lines planted in my dreams...
Inside Llewyn Davis, American Hustle, The Hunger Games (first one), White Lies... all are entering into my sleep time. By the time 4am rolls around, I’m tossed and turned by the tide of images so that all I can do is get up and putter around the house. They say the surest cure for insomnia is to think about mopping the kitchen floor... you’ll go right out... they say. And if not, the floor will get cleaned.
The other morning, so early, all was dark out except for this...
Who spilled moonlight on the floor?
I tripped and slipped on three silver drops
Which spun me into a silver-threaded dream.
Whoever you are,
THANK YOU for the silver slippers.
I will look for you again
On the floor
So I can dance
Next lunar cycle.
The very very very ve-ry end... a book report on Peter Raaaabit...
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