for my Aunt Shirley
Fervis F. Ferville
Of South Street, North West
Could count, count, count, count
With incredible zest!
He was a very good counter,
And he would not hesitate!
For he would get up real early,
And he would stay up real late
Counting everything that could
Be owned by a Mouse,
As long as it could fit
In a little Mouse House.
And with his Shadow as Witness,
He would begin every day
Counting each little grain
Of his Bucklewheat Hay.
He would sound out each number.
That’s just what he’d do!
And he would always begin
All of his counting with “Two.”
He would count every minute
On the clock on his wall.
He then counted the hours,
The Seconds, and all
Of the in-between moments
That we never admit
Have a smidgen of good
Honest counting in it.
He then climbed very carefully
On his ABC blocks,
And counted each button
Safely tucked in its box,
Which came right to twenty-one,
All quite safe and sound.
The Greatest Button Collection
That a Mouse ever found.
Then he counted his fingers,
And he counted his toes,
His counting-type eyes,
And his counting-type nose.
He counted his ears,
And he counted his knees
And he smiled with pride,
For Fervis was pleased.
He had counted two eyes,
And one counting-type nose.
He had counted two knees,
And two stringy elbows.
He had counted two ears
That hung over his head.
And he counted the stripes
On his little Mouse bed.
He had counted each whisker,
And every brow of his eye.
And then he turned his attention
To his french fry supply.
There were twenty-two long ones,
And thirty-four short ones,
Ten busted-up ones
And eighteen athwart ones.
And there were his books,
Lots of books on a shelf
That he hid,
For he wanted them
All to himself.
With his vast and unique
Set of Counting-Mouse Skills,
And the speed and agility
Of trained Whippoorwills
He counted and counted,
And counted them all,
Every book he could find,
Every book that he saw.
All the big ones
And small ones,
And the tall ones,
Every green one
And blue one
Each old and
Each new one.
He counted his Nickets,
He counted his Nukks,
He counted every one
Of his Poppletoff Pucks.
He counted his ear lobes,
Then counted his keys,
And recounted every one
Of his ones, twos and threes.
He counted with such
A fine skill and finesse
That he proudly turned his attention
To Checkers and Chess
And he counted each Rook,
Every Bishop and Queen,
Every foul little Knight
That tormented his King.
Every Pawn en Passant,
Every possible move,
Oh, he counted them all
If only to prove
That he, as a Mouse,
Could indeed hold his own
When it came to a fine
Game of Chess in his home.
The very next thing
He would count were his socks.
He took great care of them.
So he unlocked all the locks
On his Secret Sock-Drawer,
And he counted each Two.
Then he seemed rather puzzled
When he was finally through.
For yesterday’s count
Came to Thirty-Eight pair.
Which meant that one pair was missing!
Yes, Missing! But where?
Now, this called for a re-count,
Something a Counting-Type Mouse
Does all of the time
In his little Mouse House.
So, Fervis F. Ferville,
In his perfect Mouse timing,
Counted and re-counted
Without even rhyming!
The Two and the Four
And the Six and the Eight!
He counted each sock
Until it seemed rather late.
Then he sighed as he sat
In his little Mouse chair.
And he took a deep breath
With a haunt of despair.
And he thought:
Never lose track of socks.
They never forget their neckties
Or popcicle blocks.
They do not misplace their Hourglass,
Or lose track of the time.
And Counting-Type Mouses
Are on time
All the time! ”
He fuddled and fudged,
And scratched at his ear,
Took a deep breath
Just to let his mind clear.
And he spied at his Shadow,
Who had nothing to say,
Who simply shrugged long
In its shadowy way.
So, he counted again,
Very slowly this time,
Sounding each number out,
Every succinct little rhyme.
Every four, every two,
Every ten, every eight.
Every twelve, and each twenty,
Until it was later than late.
“This simply does not make sense, ”
He mumbled to himself.
“Where could they be?
I’ve looked on every shelf.”
He searched through his house,
Very high, then down low,
Every place they could hide,
Every place they could go.
He looked deep in his cupboards,
And inside every jar.
He searched as close as he could,
And then he searched far.
He looked in his freezer,
And then in his hat,
On nights such as this
Mice will do things like that.
He hunted deep in his closet,
And then in every shoe
That he kept always ready
Underneath his canoe.
He searched up the small staircase,
And then down through the vent.
He hunted inside his chimney,
And above the bell tent.
He looked behind every picture
That hung on his wall.
And then he decided
To check behind his baseball.
He searched through his Bob-Bobbers,
And inside his fly sheet.
And, just to be safe,
He looked down at his feet.
And his eyes peered so narrow
He bit down on his lip,
And he twizzled and twozzled
Every single toe tip.
There were his socks,
Safely there, rightly put
As well as can be
On each little Mouse foot.
He hadn’t lost them at all,
And they hadn’t lost him.
They’d been there all the time
Very proper and prim.
And Fervis F. Ferville
Jumped up with a snap,
He sang out a “Woohoo, ”
And he let his toes tap.
He danced with a jig
And a biggillowigg,
With his toes hanging out.
He looked at the clock
That hung high on his wall,
And he stretched out, refreshed,
Like a porcupine ball.
And Fervis F. Ferville adjusted his tie.
And breathed deep the evening air.
"Why-ever have I been so distraught?
This simply does not seem fair."
I have every toe, every ear, every sock.
I have every number that ticks on my clock.
I have every whoo that has ever said hey.
It is a grand and new, wonderful day.
And wonderful days, as the story is said-
Are filled with those numbers that dance off the head,
And tap tap tap wonders of yellow and blue,
Wonders that shimmer much newer than new.
And he smiled so warmly the evening shined,
As though Fervis had one more adventure in mind.
He spied his fine Shadow, on the dash of a whim,
And his top secret Shadow spied right back at him,
And then Fervis F. Ferville so calmly called out,
"I've counted one hundred eleventy-two!
And that's a very fine count, an impressive amount.
I am certain I've counted much higher than you.
But his Shadow just leaned against the far wall,
Unwilling to join in the foray.
Shadows never re-count a good count,
Not when there's still time for Shadows to play.
And Fervis agreed.
For a fine Mouse was he,
Oh, there was so much more
To counting young Fervis could see.
And he smiled a wide smile, fine as any wise Mouse,
And returned to the joys of his little Mouse House.
Copyright © 2010 By Richard D. Remler
'I still find each day too short for
all the thoughts I want to think,
all the walks I want to take,
all the books I want to read,
and all the friends I want to see. '
they told me
“poetry is dead”
in hopes that when I found it I might leave it in its grave
in hopes that journeys might not begin
in hopes that I was
and, dying, I found it between
where the azalea knots its white crown and drops
between a hole in sunlight and the moon, where
between the living and the dead
a broken vase of its ashes sift
The clock slowly ticks, ticking ticking ticking,
As time has come to a stop.
All we can hear is the ticking,
The ticking of the broken clocks.
We'll be lost in forever, over and over
Repeating our lives.
Memories are spilling over,
Hey, remember that time?
We met by accident,
Serendipity you could say.
I liked the way your eyes shined,
As you smiled that day.
But one problem led to another,
Nights blended into days.
What's the difference between midnight,
And the middle of the afternoon?
The clocks tick away the memories,
Tick Tick tick...
We dance across the realities,
Laugh at our lives.
We act so happily,
As our dreams are torn with time.
The clocks are ticking...
Every second is another year.
Everything was okay,
Everything began to disappear.
Hey do you remember?
"Do I remember?
I can't say that I can..."
The clock slowly ticks, ticking, ticking, ticking...
And my memories of you begin to fade.
All I can remember is the ticking,
Our lives ticking away...
Tick tick tick...
Who are you?
My dreams begin
Locking me in sleep
The chains are strong
The nights are long
And the mud is all too deep
Watching the world become nothing at all,
Doing nothing, I feel so small
Captured in my own mind
My imagination has gone too far
I wonder what I will find
Who left this nightmares door ajar?
When will I wake up?
Am I dreaming after all?
When was I awake?
I don't really recall
My dreams begin
Locking me in sleep
The chains are strong
The nights are long
And the mud is all too deep
late at night
and all I do is wonder
what it would be like
and what we would do
if you claimed me as your lover.
I wonder if you would hold
me tight as you chase my monsters away
and kiss me so hard
that my lips begin to numb
I wonder if you would gaze into my eyes
with a warm smile engraved onto your face
I wonder, and I continue to wonder all night long
I wonder if you do too
The rare moments we spend alone,
Simply holding each other strong,
I constantly get lost in your eyes,
But being lost is where I belong.
As you pull me close to you,
And wrap your arms around me,
You slowly lean in for a kiss,
And our lips touch; my mind is set free.
Just that one sweet little smooch,
Throws my silly mind into a haze,
I never return from this land of love,
Because you never cease to amaze.
You drag me into your arms,
And touch your lips to my neck,
And quietly tell me you love me,
And give me another quick peck.
My eyelashes flutter and I'm gone,
Your love has me under a spell,
I am all yours and only yours,
Which makes me love drunk as hell.
You work your way back to my lips,
And begin to kiss me more than before,
You whisper in between kisses,
"I will love you so much more".
You take a break from my lips,
And you wrap me up arm in arm,
You hold me really close to you,
And keep me protected from all harm.
Your heart beat is tantalizing,
Again putting me in a trance,
You give me that sly little smile,
And I sense your feeling of romance.
All I can feel in this moment,
Is your love surrounding my soul,
Your warmth and love has got me,
Completely in your control.
Just being anywhere near you,
Gives me a calm and comfy feel,
You are just truly amazing,
And your love for me is surreal.
How I wish to be with you more,
Anywhere and anytime at all,
I would love to be with you always,
And never have to miss my oddball.
I love how you are so silly,
It always makes me smile,
Your love brings laughter in my life,
And I want you to stay for awhile.
Your silliness; I adore it,
Your nerdiness; completes you,
I love everything you are,
And all of my love is true.
You are everything that I need,
From your vividly dirty mind,
To your dumb sense of humor,
You're all amazingness combined.
To put it very simply,
I love you very much so,
No matter how much I'll miss you,
I'll simply never let you go!!
Presumptively, I split the pall
Into sections never dared at all
And stared blandly into the gloom
As aimless faces filled the room
I took my daily dose of sludge
People's heart unwilling to budge
Wallowing in perpetual self-torment
Wheels and pockets hell-bent
I in shame and they in delusion
Bowing my head in grim conclusion
Shaken by the resignation
Shattered by good intention
Branded home set cynical
Set each state apart, clinical
Knowing that the failure's done
The apathy has all but won
And glimmers here and ever there
Only serve to shed more tears
To set the day to see this win
The daily glory, the new begin
The path is there, the meal is set
Partake it now lest we forget.
'Waves on a sea bed of linen,
Are at the heart of every prison'
Such a strident thought to plague my mind
A single yawn before the dream.
Outside, I reach my moon
As it touches me,
Such a quiet companion
To be keeping
With the busier of minds.
I sit in the porch swing
For over an hour.
I imagine a southern jukebox
That comes through clearly
By listening for its beauty in the ether.
Its music feels too endless.
While moving through me too freely.
My throat heats.
My heart aches.
I begin to weep.
Afterwards, I scare my ducks,
(Because I can)
And make my way towards the pond.
The new grass beneath my feet
Warns me to run forever.
As the memory of you and me,
Stops me at water's edge.
Where the frogs soon move me,
From musing nature's scant lullaby,
To analyzing Pharaoh's teeming nightmare.
I eventually retreat back inside.
Across the lawn.
Through the house.
Up the stairs.
Beneath my canopy of night,
With heated tears
And stifled cries.
'The stars were never shining down on me,
They just looked down on their luck.'
Such a wretched truth to plague my mind,
A mere wasted wish before the dream.
It was a moment so chilling when I realized I had feelings for you again.
This rotation of endless "agains" has kept me up day and night in anger,
love, lust, but most of all, confusion.
This relation we have is driven by sexual jabs and hurtful comments
designed to inflict the most pain on each other.
This "again" that I feel will fade into nothing more than another hatred for you.
But just like every other time, soon we will both start gazing at each other from across the room
and quickly looking away as though the other hadn't seen our eyes on their face;
We will begin once again lose the offensive spews
and our small conversations will evolve into tense talks with blushed cheeks and hot ears;
Yet somehow, I cannot get enough of this cycle of "agains".
It is addictive like your personality.
It is an obsession like your ability to make me crazy.
I am crazy for you,
but at the same time I fear that this lusty craze with wear off
and we will be left with nothing but silence.
Could this be true admiration for one another? Is this chemical?
Or is this passionate relationship powered on by our teenage hormones and sexually-frustrated bodies?
Just tell me what you want.
If you are happy, I will be content.
I guess, if you look at our situation from afar,
you could say we're in love. I’d disagree.
This is nothing but an infatuation between two people both sharing one common thing:
somebody who they can imitate passionate love with again and again.
I crave your physical touch and your boyish humor.
I need your attention most of all.
You need it too; you need me more than I need you.
How you wish to brush your lips against mine and feel my body and hold my hand and be mine. Nonetheless I wish for that too. Badly.
Nightly I torture myself over what to think, what to want.
But every time this happens, I push you away.
And the cycle of "agains" return, only to ruin us inside even more.
I wish I could walk through the door.
I want to be on the other side.
They tell me to get off the floor.
I want to pass through and hide,
pass through the door of death.
I can smell the scent of the different rooms.
I can’t wait to feel the betrayal of the fumes.
I wish this bottle would get me higher,
higher to that lowest point.
For this inverse plan of disaster,
I shall begin to master.
why would you come to me?
Thinking much to fast,
and writing blood songs of the past,
as I stare at the scars on my wrist,
I begin to wonder,
was there something I missed?
Perhaps it was a cold deep purple sky,
more detached than that haunting smile in your eye.
Maybe it was two diffractions of symmetry.
For when the memory is possessed,
by an unknown passion of the gods’ eyes,
we will suddenly see softer tides.
I lie beneath the neon lights of the crosses and other anti figures,
dressed in blank stares with no air.
With closed minds,
they replenish and indulge their feedings on our lost soul,
and for them, it never seems to take a toll.
You gave me the words that were never there.
Today is a strange day.
As I watch the wealthy play,
I also see the children pray.
Oh a strange day.
I could see your lonely face looking back at me,
in the rear window of your parent’s Buick.
Your tears staggered down the dirty windows.
Drifting away, parting ways,
my thoughts always bring me to the sad days,
lingering intricate as a drawn out tragedy play.
You are a memory,
so vivid and extract,
quite detailed and exact.
Why did you come to me?