...............................................

Have you ever heard
Of the Ikinzoo Owl?
Or the Blue-Bellied,
Tozzle-Moffed Took?
Have you ever seen
Even one Pflittleflufly?
Or haven't you fancied
The look?

I doesn't take much
Just to sneak a quick peek
At that Flue-Feathered,
Bottle-Plumed, Katydid Beak.
And it won't mind it a bit,
If you take that quick look.
And will probably never remember
The look that you took.

Those Dopple-Doed Daw's
From North-Eastern, South-West,
Are as easy to find
As a Beezle-Bugs Nest.
They have no sense of direction,
They haven't yet found
If the up part is up,
Or if the up part is down.

And the Wickawhitz Thumb
From northeast Timbuktu
Does things even a
Tozzle-Moffed Took will not do!
It will shimmel its feathers.
It will pittle and twittle
Its toes and its nose
Quite a lot and a little.

It will twitchel and itch,
And pretend to count sheep.
It will scuddle its pib,
And then snore in its sleep.
It will build up a nest
Til' it's outright absurd,
And the Wickawhitz Thumb
Isn't even a bird!

Now, the odds are so odd,
And the chances so high,
You've yet to see a
Many-Eyed Itch wander by.
Many-Eyed Itches are
Quite a rare find.
To find one you'll need luck
Of the luckiest kind.

In fact, the odds are so odd,
And the chances so slim,
You'll never find more
Than a spot and a whim
Of half a half Itch
As it hides in the din
From the Monstrous You
As you come barging in.

I am not at all sure
If you've rationed a thought-
Or considered that Fuzzlenut Gnit
A whole lot, or not.
They are never a bother,
And they are always at play
A full twenty-three hours
Out of the day.

The Sap-Sucking Snizz
From the Coasts of Mahktall
Are not too hard to find.
Oh no, not at all.
They're everywhere, everyplace,
Sucking up sap,
Just before and right after
They've taken their nap.

And have you ever heard
Of a Twizzle-Toed Toff?
Who's toes twizzle so often
They cough and they cough,
Far into the morning
And then right before bed?
Hacking and hooting
Til they're red in the head?

No?
Why, I'd have guessed that
The answer was yes.
I'd have fashioned an awful big yes
As my guess.
Twizzle-Toed Toff's
Are not rare, not a bit.
All you do is look, and you'll see one
Lickety-split!

And the OggNogging Fitch,
From the Island of Soe
Who only nest in the shades
Where the Kurutta winds blow.
In places so high
They are covered in snow,
In places abandoned
So long ago.

Then have you ever heard
Of the Buggle-Nosed Snodd?
Or the Green-Eared,
Three-Headed G'Nute?
Have you ever seen but one
Popple-Topped Phfiss?
Or a Fugel-Flocked, Many-Horned,
Nevel-Winged Pflute?

Have you ever heard of
A BarBerry Duck?
It's a barmy, odd dabbler,
And with a wee bit of luck
You can find one, or three,
Near that old BarBerry Loam,
In an old box of tea
That they tend to call home.

Have you ever seen
A Greenbean Wildersnitt?
The kind with plumed feathers
And a bobble on it?
You haven't? Well, that is
A terrible shame, such a pity,
To have never seen even one
In our fair and fine city.

Have you ever heard
Of a Fuzzle-Eared Fligg?
The oddisly odd
Fuzzle-Eared Fligg from Zinnzaire?
This Fuzzle-Eared Fligg
Is the pick of the crop
If you ever plan a trip
To the way, way out there.

It seems rather selfish of me
Then to selfishly ask
If you've ever heard of
A Nozzle-Nosed Flask.
A little pest of a bird,
Should you ever find
One of those Nozzle-Nosed Flask's
Taking up all your time.

It seems hard to believe,
And I can believe quite a bit,
That you've yet to see
A Greenbean Wildersnitt.
Or a Tozzle-Moffed Took,
Or a Popple-Toffed Phfizz.
It is a little bit odd,
Yes it is. Yes, it is...

To have missed every Twozitt
That skittles the sky,
Or that Hippillopottomus Bear
That oft wanders by.
And the Pflittlefluefly that
Whispers by on the breeze,
Leaving their Pflittlefluefly-fingered nests
In all of these tree's.

And to have never seen
An Ikinzoo Owl hoot and howl,
Or a Webb-Footed
Gobbtrotter trott.
Seems you're missing much more
Than ever before,
For you've been missing
A respectable lot.

You must be walking about
With your Pog-Goggles on,
The ones that go Beep!
Whenever you yawn.
And I am ever so certain
You have yet to discover
Perhaps you!  Oh, yes, you!
Are not at all a bird lover!

Copyright © 2010 Richard D. Remler

...............................................
“From there to here, and here to there,
funny things are everywhere.”
-Dr. Seuss
...............................................

.......................................................

My mind has nothing in it today.
Not a lick of sense.
But that's the way
It is for me right now,
And that's probably OK.
For my mind has nothing in it today.

Empty, vacant spaces fill
The canyons of my mind.
I tried to fill them up once,
But I didn't have the time.
My mind is quite inept
When I've nothing good to say,
Like, erm, for instance, today.

When I look at you,
I'm in absolute awe.
You've got everything in control.
You have it all!
You can focus on a goal
And you're on your way.
But as for me,
My mind is rather empty today.

I had a thoughtful thought once,
If memory holds true.
It crept up from behind
With an onslaught or two
Of rather clever tweaks,
About time and space and such-
But I didn't give it too much thought.
No, not much.

My mind has nothing in it today.
Not a useful thought,
And that's okay.
For I am almost somewhat certain,
As Brilliance is sorted out and weighed,
That despite my lack of everything,
Mine has only been delayed.
I'm sure it's on a bus somewhere,
Between West 18th Street and Vine,
And I'll eventually run into it
Somewhere down the line.

But, I'm good,
As long as I can stay
Safely packed inside my little nook
Somewhere out of the way.
As long as my scattered psyche
Stays relatively still,
Remains deep within its strongbox
Under that aluminum will.
For the thought of running around,
And chasing it down
Half of the hillside
In the middle of town
On such a hot day
In the middle of fall
Simply doesn't sound like fun.
No, It sounds like
No fun at all.

So please forgive me
If I simply stare at the wall.
It keeps me out of trouble
And it doesn't mind me at all.
We seem to get along right well
Most of the time,
When I'm staring at the wall,
And its obtrusive design.
Or when I sing Kareoke,
And it corrects all my mistakes.
For some walls live vicariously
Through the ripples and wakes
We leave in this river
Called Life that we live.
We take what we want,
And we give when we give.
But, alas, I digress,
And have so little to say,
For, you see,
My mind has nothing in it
Today


Copyright © 2010 Richard D. Remler

......................................................
'Don't go around saying the world
owes you a living. The world owes
you nothing. It was here first.'
-Mark Twain
.......................................................

..............................................................

The headlines read
Dark times ahead
With aptly chosen words.
Their forecasts filled
With looming dread.
A theater
For the absurd.
Polititians with their
Vacant stares
And eyes so full of sleep
Whisper boasted promises
They know they
Cannot keep.

And, as buildings fall,
And mountains quake.
The seasons storm,
The cities shake.
As lightnings flash
And thunders roll,
'Tis enough to test
A childs soul.

Children die
For lack of aid,
Despite how much
Their parents prayed,
While hospitals turn
The sick away
Because they simply
Cannot pay.

Dark times, indeed.
They often read,
Tearing at that
Faith we need,
Cutting deep
To watch us bleed,
And losing us
In the stampede
Of greed and strife,
Of love and loss,
Fear and strength,
And aimless dross.
Of that which
Draws our hearts
Away
A bitterness,
That feeds
Decay.

Times so dark
We're left
To play
With nothing more
Than a
Cliche.


Copyright © 2010 Richard D. Remler

.............................................................­.............
"For tomorrow belongs to the people who
prepare for it today."
-African Proverb
..............................................

.................................................................­........

There is a special kind of magic
To the marvel of the skies.
In the gentle kiss of Autumn,
In a newborn babies sighs.
There is a fleeting wisp of wonder
In the song the skylark sings,
In the cloudless evening thunder,
And a million other things.

There is a special kind of beauty
To the madness of the night.
And a flame that burns far brighter
Than the evening's silver light.
There is a wonder most uncommon
In the touch of early spring,
A beauty e'er unassuming,
Of which the stars still sing.


Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler

.............................................................­............
"The few wonders of the world only exist
while there are those with the sight
to see them."
-Charles de Lint
..................................

..................................................
morning bowed to thunders rage,
and to the metal taste of purgatory-
winter died from an old, old age,
no celebratory pomp or glory.
and the winds tore at the milky earth
snapping gentle spring in two-
bitter no one had mourned
a winter that we never knew.

Copyright © 2013 By Richard D. Remler

.................................................................­

There really isn't that much new,
Since good old nineteen-fifty-two,
Back when I was a much younger bloke,
And it was still ok to smoke.

Way, way back before EBay
Became a homebodies cliche-
Before the dreaded minivan,
When hairspray still came in a can.

They delivered milk and eggs and more,
And they'd set it right outside your door.
Hank Williams crooned enough to show
He was no Fat's Domino.

The Postman was always on time,
Be it snow, wind, rain or shine.
Back when Coke was a soda pop,
And we still had a Whistle Stop.

Minimum Wage was less than a buck,
And we still thought horseshoes brought good luck.
Sony was the first to show
Their new transistor radio.

Mrs. Paul put fish right into sticks,
And hid well the mystery to her tricks.
And I'm sure it took some expertise
When Birdseye started freezing peas.

A gallon of gas cost me twenty cents.
That's when Elizabeth II became the Queen.
And that September found me readin'
Mr. Steinbeck's 'East of Eden'.

The Bickerson's, they were a joy.
Young Cleaver was a Mama's boy.
And Burn's and Allen, smart as wick,
Could get a laugh out of a licorice stick.

They published Anne Frank's Diary,
And opened up the first KFC.
Rocky Marciano became the Champ,
And three cents bought a first class stamp.

Sgt. Joe Friday stood so tall,
Upholding every stringent Law.
And no one would call you lame or fruity
Just for watching Howdy Doody.

And then we had the Whirleybirds,
Flying desperado skies.
And Tonto and his Ranger
Chasing down the black hatted guys.

In good ol' 1952
Polio claimed the lives of quite a few.
They debuted the famous ball point pen.
I think Truman was in Office then.

Ozzie loved his Harriet,
And Father seemed to know what's best.
And What's My Line confuzzled folks,
But I dare say it was all in jest.

I still remember that penny arcade,
Back when apple pies were still homemade.
Before microwaves and Diet Sprite,
Back where the Rockem-Sockem Robots fight.

Back when car seat belts were new,
And Mad Magazine made it's debut.
When Lawdy Miss Clawdy would crow
From almost every AM radio.

It's fair to say I've seen made through,
The good, the bad, the tried and true.
There really isn't all that much new
Since good old nineteen-fifty two.

Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler

.........................................

I don't come here much anymore.

Too many memories.

They say every house has a tale to tell,
Every rusted door jam a mystery.
That window over there, looking pale
And yellowed with age
And dust and yesterdays wonder, I broke
Way, way back before Grandpa had his stroke
And Grandma left her rocker for the last time.

I'd thrown a baseball right through it.
Pa was drinking then, the hard liquor,
And he whipped me raw out back behind the shed
With the full buckle. He reminded me
Windows cost money we don't have.

And Eleanor...
She was six or seven then.
She was just learning how to ride a bike,
And she was proud as can be.

She would hang out by the hollyhocks,
Pretending they were scarecrows,
Naming each one,
And telling me she'd found a pirates treasure
Buried out there near the windmill that still needed
A coat or two of fresh paint.

She was that shine in Momma's eyes,
The one person in all the world Grandma would tell
Her stories to -
Stories that would bring Eleanor
Into worlds of imagination and wonder
She'd never known before.
And Eleanor would drink it in,
All the color and fire,
That lingered in every word.

And when she wandered that late October night
Into the fields,
We searched up and down with lanterns lit and flashlights, And the neighbors helped,
And we found her come morning in the silo.
I guess she'd climbed in to explore.

You can't breathe when it hits you. It's like it
Sucks the air right out of the little space you find ,
And the weight of the grain slowly drowns out your Thoughts and your struggles, your prayers
And your cries. And nothing's left to do
But feel that terror
Of nothingness pull you away.

So many memories...

And I was angry then. Angry at Pa,
At Gren,
At God.
I blamed them for everything and then some.
I learned to smoke , and I did it well.
I learned to swear, and I was good at it.
I didn't stay home much after that.
I left, hitched a ride to New Castle Valley,
And then to Porterville.
I didn't care for schooling,
So I found a job feeding pigs.
That lead to butchering. And I was good at it.
I could lose myself in it. In the thunder of the sin,
Found some satisfaction in how they bled.

I didn't go back til after Dad died.
He'd lost everything, did a bit of drinking,
Spent his time in the county jail,
Did more drinking
When he got out.

I'd learned Grandpa died of the pneumonia,
And Grandma had a few strokes.

Nobody ever told me what happened to Momma.
She just disappeared.

...and over time I grew less angry.
And I'd talk to God at night,
Sometimes I'd talk to Eleanor, cuz I knew
She was up there with God doing angel things,
Probably riding a bicycle real good by now.
Time marched on and I made due.

But I don't come here much anymore.

This place haunts me.
The silo that claimed Eleanor now a rusted heap
Of wood and metal that watches every step I take
...and I hate it,
I'd burn it to ashes if I could.

The porch where Grandma's rocker sat
Is weather beaten and tired.

And the stump where Grandpa would sit
Trimming his fingernails with that pocket knife
Lays on its side, victim to the winds of time
And those echoes that whisper things I thought
I'd forgotten.

And I lose it for a moment
And have to mop away a few tears.
Me, a fifty-six year old blubbering fool,
Still picking at the scars.

I can hear her voice,
Her laughter,
As she circled the gravel road on her bike,
Kicking at the small stones to get the bicycle moving
Just a little faster.
And I can almost see her sweet face
And her eyes so wide
They captured the Autumn sun like a rising star.

And there's Momma, hollering "Supper's ready."

And Pa, slamming down the hood on
The truck and wiping the hot sweat from his brow
As Grandma's little rocking chair squeaked its protests
Into the wind.

And there was Grandpa,
Grinning and pocketing that knife
And kicking mud off his
Work boots and heading on in.

No, I don't come here much anymore.
This place holds far too many ghosts for my tastes.

Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler

.........................................................
"You fall out of your mother's womb,
you crawl across open country under fire,
and drop into your grave."
-Quentin Crisp
........................................................

...........................................................

She loves me for the me I am,
If that makes any sense.
And no, I'll never understand-
That is my one defense.

I surely wish that I could see
How she can love a nut like me.
Somehow I feel she's settled sore
When she could have demanded more.

She loves me in her special way,
That makes no sense at all.
I heard her mention just today
She's in for the long haul.

I'll never understand how she
Could ever love someone like me.
She has so very much at her command,
Yet she got me second hand.

Copyright © 2010 Richard D. Remler

...........................................................
"Sometimes the heart sees what is
invisible to the eye."
~H. Jackson Brown, Jr.
............................................................

.................................................................­......................

I wish that I were ten again,
Just to see the things as they were then,

Back when life had a slower pace,
And I had a much younger face.

I'd run wild and barefooted through the park,
And play kick the can 'til after dark.

And I'd outrun every firefly
That lit up my late, late Summer sky.

I wish that I were ten again,
Just to hear the way I'd say amen

Each time good Marion would swear
When I'd put a beetle in her hair.

And she'd jump and scream and call me names.
Oh, we were crazy kids with silly games.

It did not take much to make us smile,
Oh, to be ten again for one short while.

I wish that I were ten again,
Life was so very different then...

We'd turn this valley upside down,
Whenever the fair came to town.

Exploring every hidden thing
Their mysteries and magics bring.

And how they'd swell and light the night
So big and loud and fierce and bright!

And there were times that I'd skip class
Just to make trails in the tall, tall grass

Right outside Baker's General Store,
Before they called Dad into war.

Before things that I could not understand
Brought him back a different man.

A man who's heart could not recall
The child playing basketball.

That's why I'd climb that tree at my Grandma's house
As cleverly as any mouse,

And I'd climb as high as I could get,
And stay there 'til the sun would set.

And I'd watch the colors of the sky,
As the nighttime drifted by.

No, I don't mind every now and then
To wish that I were ten again...

Copyright © 2000 Richard D. Remler

.............................................................­..........................
"I want to feel all there is to feel, he thought. Let me feel tired,
now, let me feel tired. I mustn't forget, I'm alive, I know I'm alive,
I mustn't forget it tonight or tomorrow or the day after that."
~ Ray Bradbury (Dandelion Wine)
.............................................................­..........................

.....................................

I don't like you.
Not at all.
You're a tempest.
You're a squall!
You've the personality
Of cable tar.
It is not my fault
You're who you are.

You test everyone
And anyone.
It matters not to you.
Your temperamental
Tantrums
Run ribbons
Through and through!

You're callous,
And you're bitter,
As though life owes
You everything.
As though you've tied
Your every selfish want
And bound it up
In silly string.

I don't like you.
I've tried.
I've done my share.
But you've a cold,
Cold,
Wicked heart,
And now I just don't care.

You trample over feelings
When you could have made a friend.
Your language undeserving.
Your boasting shows no end.

Your carelessness is costly.
Such a heavy price to pay
For crushing those about you.
So will you please just
Go away.

Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler

............................................
"False friends are worse than open enemies."
-Proverb
............................

........................................................

Sydney Seymour Salazar
Made a quick stop in South Zanzibar
To see if he could rent a car
On his pilgrimage to Zinn.

He tried to ask the lady Clerk,
But she only went about her work,
Without a moments hint nor smirk
That she had even noticed him.

He asked the man who washed the cars,
And drank his tea from apple jars,
While watching flights of shooting stars
Until the morning rolled on in.

But even he seemed unaware
That Sydney Seymour Salazar was there,
And ignored him with that subtle stare,
Much to Salazar's chagrin.

Sidney hopped and plopped, he ooked and eeked,
He twizzled his toes, and then he squeaked.
He jumped up, then down, until he leaked,
But still nobody noticed him.

He finally moseyed on his way,
Across the windy, winding brae
Having little more that he could say,
He simply took it on the chin.

Nobody shows respectful courtesy anymore,
There's no common ground, and no rapport.
Or, perhaps, he thought, somewhat cavalier.
They simply do not care for crickets here.

Copyright © 2011 Richard D. Remler

.........................................................
"Life is not so short but that there
is always time for courtesy."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
........................................................

.................................................................­.....................

Toby Wilmont Hollingford
Wears his socks upon his head,
And will not relent to
Put his socks away.
Toby says his ears are cold,
And will not do as he's been told.
So afraid he'll catch a
Death of cold today.

Toby wears socks on his head,
And he wears socks on his feet.
He will even wear them on his nose
As he's walking down the street.
'Germs are everywhere, ' says he,
'And I'll not let them get to me.
I am one of a kind,
And I'm almost unique.
Germs won't get
The best of me!"

But his Mother did not agree,
And said,
'Toby, please take
Those socks off
Your head.
They are dreadful.
They are filthy.
And they smell.'
But Toby felt the winter chill,
And perched upon the window sill,
Said, ' But they fit me
So very, very well.'

Indeed!


Toby dressed himself quite well,
Rather well for May,
With socks protecting every hand
He took with him today.
He wore two socks on
His two feet,
And two socks on
His ears.
For the wind outside had
That biting chill
That penguins all
Revere.

He stepped outside
To test the cool,
And the coldness made
Him shiver.
And he breathed the frost
That nipped him
Just as winter
Would deliver.

Serenely, and with a
Nod of the head
He turned
And went back inside,
And said,
'It's cold out there,
Far, far too cold
To justify this action.
My knees, they tremble,
My elbows hurt,
And my shoes
Haven't the traction
To make it to the mailbox,
Oh, I've dared the
Great Outside!
And it's dismal, Mom.
I give up.
But at least
You know
I tried.'

Copyright © 2010 Richard D. Remler

.............................................................­.......................................
"Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils ..."
- Louis Hector Berlioz
.............................................................­.......................................

....................................................
The Willow blocks the passage
To the mountain side,
Where Burton Halton and
Eleven other children died.

It was late September 1884,
When a sudden, violent snow
In from the northern mountains
And the Nalin Pass did blow.

The wind was a lonesome howl
That swept the craggy stone,
And left a kiss of somber cold
That scarred the brittle bone.

The school had let the children
Out at a quarter past -
They had a little touch of sun,
But the sunshine did not last.

They did not know the gale was coming,
They could not see beyond their own,
That sometimes it takes but a moment
To change the life of heart and home.

The storm staggered o're hill and valley
Blocking out the suns warm rays.
The sky a shadowed, bitter dark
With intermittent shades of grays.

They had never seen such angry cold
Reach in so quickly and take hold,
With brutal force and cruel breath
Bury Autumn in sixteen feet of death.

The snow fell wet and heavy,
The wind a piercing squall,
So bent and fiercely hostile,
Til they could barely see at all.

Perhaps the hail, perhaps the thunder
Frightened them and forced their hand,
To escape the cold and bitter vile
Haunt that blanketed their land.

Still, why they scattered as they did,
Why they ran and why they hid,
Remains a mystery to this day,
And shall ever more remain that way.


Copyright © 2009 Richard D. Remler

...................................................
There is a quiet sheltered solitude
Beyond Persephone,
Hidden from the shadowed lands
Far from the raging sea.
Where a peace like thunder, strong and stark,
Bleeds through the morning dew,
Like the whisper from a yesterday
Time once attended to.
Here the stardust knows your name,
And calls you ever near -
She gently sighs that wonderment
You knew you'd never hear.
And fills you with such mystery
You were sure you'd never see,
Where hearts never beat alone
Under the Monkey Puzzle Tree.

Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler

.............................................................­.........................
"How strange that Nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!"
~Emily Dickinson  1880
...................................................

.................................................................­.........

Through a haze of gray the ocean foams,
Its thunder set against the sea,
Waves that play tag with the shore,
And then reach out to beckon me.

They raised me here, the sand, the sun.
How I loved the wind against my face.
It haunts this white and sandy shore,
Its clefts and crags, with curious grace.

A scent of cocoa butter in the breeze
Twists its way through willow trees,
That dot the boardwalk to the Bay,
And oh, so gently drifts away.

I can taste the salt within the air,
And hear the children playing there,
Tossing their Frisbee in the salty foam,
As starfish climb the mossy stone.

The crabs along the jetty sneak
Through stony clefts for one brief peek,
And hide again when we pass through,
The seaweed and green waters blue.

And this welcome wind, so warm and dry
Whistles soft against my gray-blue sky.
Reminding me of their golden glow,
Of treasured times so long ago

The gulls, like thieves, are never shy,
As they swoop, roll, dart, screech and cry,
And dive for scraps left on the dock,
By the fishermen now out on the jetty rock.

Oh, bring me back to my wild sea!
Fill my heart and soul and more
With all the wonders blessed to me.
I think this is what memories are for.

.............................................................­..............
Copyright © 2004 Richard D. Remler
.............................................................­................

................................................
Oh, Summer,
You've returned once more.
You've warmed the waves
That lap our shore.

Our Lighthouse,
She smiled so warmly today,
When she noticed you'd turned
And was heading our way.

When that glint in her window
Felt the warmth from your sun,
She nodded quite primly
That our Springtime was done.

You are bringing the Frittlefrogs
Out from their homes
To dance with the Ooble
And old Garden Gnomes.

And every Idleberry
And Blue-Sonnet Rose
Kiss that dew drop that lingers
Upon every nose.

Oh, Summer, it seems like
It's been a whole year
Since you and your wild
Wisp of wonder were here.

Since you whispered hello
To the mountains and trees,
And tossed stardust to
Wake up the old honey bees.

The sky has that glow
And that soft ring of cheer
That only shows up
When you're finally here.

When rainbows run ribbons
Of red, yellow and blue.
To greet gently a wonder
That's newer than new.

Where the Popcicle Bugs
All come outside to play,
And the reverent Mantis
Kneels gently to pray.

Where fireflies dance
Through the soft, growing corn,
And Flutterby-Tocks
Serenade their newborn.

Oh, Summer, we've missed you.
And we hope you'll stay,
Until that first breath of Autumn
Comes to chase you away.

Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler

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There is a day worse
Than the worst kind of day.
Oh, I've seen it, I have,
But I'll never say.
I'll keep it and hide it
Away from your sight,
So your day will be
Just as good
As your night.

There is a day worse
Than the worst kind of day.
But you'll never see the thing
Tip toe your way.
I've put up a detour
Just outside of town,
So the worst kind of day
Can't mosey around.

No applesauce mustache
Will butterbean you.
You'll never, not ever,
Have to taste Cat Food Stew.
Your weekends will all be
Just crazy plum fun,
With no storm and no rain
To block out your sun.

There'll be no pineapple-sized pimples
On the tip of your nose.
And you won't have red ants living
Inside your clothes.
You'll be cozy and happy,
And cushy and witty,
Awash in your daydreams
Just like Walter Mitty.

Oh, there is a day worse
Than the worst kind of day.
It's the bearer of terror,
A big nightmare buffet.
It's a crispy crustmudgeon
Than won't go away,
It's the worst kind of
Worst kind of
Worst kind of day.

But you'll be just fine,
You'll be safe in your room.
You'll be so flibberjigg jolly
Your head won't go boom.
You'll be dusting your worries
Away with a new broom,
Free from the scurry and
Worry and gloom.

There is a day worse
Than the worst kind of day,
A grandaddy of days
When things don't go your way.
A day far more fearsome
Than pulling a tooth,
Or realizing how poorly you
Spent all your youth.

There is a day worse
Than the worst kind of day,
A day that is dismal,
Apocalyptic and gray.
A day far too dreary
To ever embrace.
A day that will wipe
That snark grin off your face

Oh, who am I fooling?
You'll be perfectly fine.
You'll be spry as that sprytle
In nature's design.
Just go right on outside
And have fun. Go and play.
And should your head
Slip off your shoulders
And roll-roll away-
Pay no attention to the things
I might say
That even mention the worse kind
Of worst kind of day.

Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler

................................................................

I think I thought
A nifty thing
Oh, but I was wrong.

My thought was not
What I had thought
My thought was
All along.

My thought eeked out
A bit too quick,
And then my thought
Went tic-tic-tic,
It bobbed about,
And made a start,
And as I picked it up,
It fell apart.

And the thought
My thought
Had gone to pot
Quite sincerely,
And all too clearly,
Broke my little heart.

I've grown since,
Matured, I think,
And now my thoughts
All move in sinc,
The way a thoughtful
Thought should be
When thought a lot
By thoughtful me.

Now, when I think a nifty thought,
I'll know for sure
This thought I've got.
I'll know it from the
Inside out,
This little thought
I've thought about.

But if, by chance,
It eeks,
Or tweeks,
Or icks and ticks
A spell,
I think I'll hang
A sign on it
And put it up
For sale.

Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler

.............................................................­............
"Think left and think right and think low
and think high. Oh, the thinks you can
think up if only you try!"
-Dr. Seuss
.............................................................­............

.................................................................­...

There is a thick shade of shale
Where the sky should be -

And it moves about the trees
Like a fog at sea.

Touching every turning leaf
With a gentle kiss.

And shadowing our sky
With its morning mist,

Leaving pearl teardrops
In the morning dew.

And never lets the dawning
Of the sun break through.

Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler

.............................................................­.........................................

"You can only come to the morning through the shadows."
-J.R.R. Tolkien
.............................................................­.........................................

.................................................................­........

They say you are only
As old as you feel.
And that age is no Achilles heel.
But I ought to confess,
I've stumbled in my distress,
And I believe that this age thing
Is real!

My oldness just seems older today,
Much older than ever before.
With new gray,
And wrinkles,
And cobwebs,
And every singular
Muscle sore.

'How unfair! '
In my selfish,
Vain thinking,
To be ever
So taxed and overdone.
Why do all the gears freeze up,
Then stop working?
Why is youth wasted
On the young?

I tried to tweak the gray
Out from my eyebrows,
I tried to tweak them gently,
With tender care,
It isn't easy to explain
How well I noted all the pain,
And now I doubt I even
Had an eyebrow there.

Arthur Ritis has been
Hanging 'round too often.
And Ben Gay's been creeping
'Round the door.
I've been haunted by Bursitis,
And annoyed with this Bronchitis,
Which goes to show
I do not want it
Anymore.

I sense dark tidings
Up along that
Feared horizon.
I hear that banshee
Telling me I ought
To run.
But when I run
I sort of hobble,
And then I whoop
And start to wobble,
And that really
Does not sound like
Any fun.

Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler