Untouched music, strokes of song, Silver wisps of memory, Tip of tongue and gasping lung, Sifting through sad reverie. Fox’s swishing through dim grey, Mermaid’s shimmer, dive too deep, There, then vanished, like the Fey, Chimes of wind lost to the sleep. Searching for the words far-flung, Wishing for the slipped-off thought, Tossed to breezes, nowhere near, Tangled threads in Gordian knot. Swords don’t slice ideas to mind, Somewhere none can ever find, Seizing onto liquid silk, Dripping of the midnight milk, Nowhere can she see the sea Full of lyricality.
Curiouser and Curiouser
Fallen down the rabbit hole, No one knows which way they stole; Up or down or round about, Searching for a quick way out. Caterpillar smoke, gold afternoon, Stinging hearts, and Cheshire moon, Drink and eat, too big, too small, Run from hall with royal call Of “Off with her head!”, the nobles said; Decapitated, lady’s dead, Tea and biscuits, toasted bread, Dormouse chose to sleep instead, When someone screamed, the roses bled And ripped apart the garden’s thread. Time and time speeds always on, No patience for the still blue dawn.
The Magic of Books When you read, your soul is fed, It calms the mind and clears the head. Ideas take shape and grow great wings To spread the joy that reading brings. Authors take a single thought, Which spreads and then, through pen, is wrought Into a world of wondrous things, Perhaps with dragons, queens, and kings, Mystery, intrigue, surprises in store, Maybe a world about legends and lore, Or possibly myths, tall tales, or fables, Fairy tales or sci-fi, where turned are the tables, Plot twists and cliffhangers (how we hate those; Infuriating, when the books at a close). Adults and kids can hold worlds in their hands, Paper and ink that describe magic lands. Each book is unique, each story its own; Find one that’s great and away you’ll be blown.