There is an entire world
that you do not belong in.

Their dreams seem distant,
their hearts of stone,
their smiles withered;
upon them shines a different sun.

You reach out,
but are unseen.

Did they do so, too?
Why, they did of course,
with upraised words most unbefitting,
they reached out as well
to you.

What good, however?
Between us, a chasm.

And those that,
much to your surprise,
did jump it -
did not jump to treat with you,
but as you,
to linger.

You linger still,
as do your hopes.

You do not in vain
hope for this different world
of peace and understanding
of gaps sutured shut
with meaningful intention.

But your words
are misaligned.

And you are, to all,
foreign,
of malice,
greed
and hatred.

You do not dream in vain,
but for now, you don't belong.

the map

that hangs

from my
bedroom

wall

has a thin blue line

of ink

that traces the

distance

that will soon be

between your lips

and mine
it 
seems 
so tiny

insignificant

a chasm that can be crossed

in a single bound
alas,

tread carefully,

the gap is far wider

than you think

it is easy for one

to fall

short

much like

summer

so quickly

come and gone

do not fret

our days may
be fast coming

but our feelings

they linger



seize

not only the day

but my fingers

so very tightly

and we shall cling

to chirping cricket
s
and cloudless skies

infinitely

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

On July 21st,
In the heat of the day,
They decided they needed to see,
Just who would, in fact,
Be the first one to run
To the top of that Poppletoff Tree.

"I'm an Ant," said the Ant,
As he kicked up some dust.
"Everyone knows you can't outrun an Ant.
We can lift twenty-times
Our own size, if we must.
This is a race I can win, and you can't."

But the Ladybug shook
His small Ladybug head,
And looked up at that Poppletoff Tree.
"I could care less if
You're an Ant, as you say.
For the Winner is going to be me."

"I reach the Peak as we speak
Of this Tree every day.
And I don't mind a challenge or two.
So I'll speak for all Ladybugs,
As I most solemnly say,
I am sure I am quicker than you."

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

Along near the daffodil,
A Walking Stick laughed,
And shook his Walking Stick
Head with a sigh.
"It is a terribly tall and
Mysterious tree.
I think I would rather not try."

And in its oodle of lillies
Near the Rockaback Rock
Peeped a Nebb-Preening,
Well-meaning Flutterby Tock.
And she watched the commotion
Without sweeping the air,
All the oddly-odd characters
She found arguing there.

The Ooble watched everyone
Watch the big tree,
Peering ever so high to see
What they could see.
But the tree seemed so big
And so wide and so tall,
He tried and he tried,
But he could not see it all!

"Why, I planted this tree,"
Lied the Peruvian Wick,
With an accent that rattled
Both heavy and thick.
"Just a bit of a splice
From a Poppletoff Stick.
And you can raise a fine tree
If you know the right trick."

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

But the Dragonfly balked
As he landed nearby.
"We could fly to the top.
It doesn't look high"
"I'm an Inch Worm,"
Snapped the Inch Worm
With the gentlest sigh.
"I can Inchworm along.
But I don't really fly."

The Flutterby Tock, who was
None to impressed,
Cocked up one good eye
And so gently addressed
Every speckle-eyed creature
That could see her eye cock,
As she climbed to the top
Of the Rackaback Rock.

"You are all quite forgetting
One undeniable fact.
A small bit of truth
You so earnestly lack.
Though you put in the effort.
Though you try and you try,
This Poppletoff Tree is
As old as the sky."

"And it may not appreciate
You lot climbing about.
The commotion alone
It can well do without.
Let it rest in the peace
And the quiet today,
What right do we have
To get in its way?"

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

"I am quicker, you see!"
Snapped an errant Whobee,
Who cackled and cucked
By the hibiscus tree.
"I will show all of you
I am faster, you see!
I believe I may even be
Faster than me!"

"You arrogant Sloth,"
Snipped a Wickellet Moth,
As it chewed on the tiniest
Thread of a cloth.
"You are but a novice.
So go race, run or fly.
You could never best me
However you try."

A nearby Centipede,
Sipping his morning tea
Adjusted his spectacles
And squinted to see
This Poppletoff Tree of which
He'd heard every boast,
And as he gently dunked
A bit of his toast,

He said, "Climb if you wish.
Race if you must.
Round every knitter,
And kick up some dust.
But beware and be wary,
Should you hazard that tree.
For I've heard things
About it that ought not to be."

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

And a deep silence fell
From each tree leaf to twig
As the Centipede topped
A small Sycamore Fig.
He said: " If you race to this
Poppletoff Tree's very crown,
You might get there just fine.
But you will never come down."

"This tree is a stairway
Into the deep blue.
A doorway as ancient
As it is new.
A strange port of call
For the phantoms of night
That, oh, though they try,
They cannot reach the light."

"It is a dark, breathless chasm
That drifts oh so high -
You'll not notice the hours
As time whispers by.
You'll drink in the loneliness
Draped in the mist,
And forever be lost
In its endless abyss."

They listened, of course,
To every wise word -
But stubborn they were,
Unafraid, undeterred.
They breathed in the twilight
That drifted their way,
And focused upon the great
Deed of the day.

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


The Mantis stood up
In-between the fair lot,
And said, "If you are so
Utterly certain.
Right now, on the spot,
Get ready! Get set!
From feeler to toe,
Stiff upper lip now.
Get ready and go!"

And off went the Cricket,
First one hop, then two,
As over the grasses
The young Ladybug flew.
The Ant whizzled up and
Between the dead bark,
And the Popsicle Bug
Disappeared in the dark.

That Peruvian Wick
Snickered in half a snap,
Put on his goggles
And cucumber cap,
He cracked every knuckle
That he knew wasn't there,
And breathed deeply in
Of the warm July air,
And as though he were
Timing each tap to a queue,
He izzled a snip
And his tiny feet flew,

The Whobee was already
Two seconds too late,
And had no intention
To linger or wait.
He knickered right in
To the soft summer sand
Chewed on his lip -
Then he ran
And he ran!

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

The Inch Worm inched up
At a brave Inch Worm pace,
His back arching with a vigor
And salute of grace.
The Grasshopper hopped
From grass blade to twig,
And left in the dust
Every single Aphid.

And the Wickellet Moth
Scampered round and about,
A fired tenacity
Draped over his snout-
Twas but a moment or less
And he was high in the air,
Clever and quick
As a prickly pear.

They rounded the trunk
Of the tree with a start,
As if this strange race
Were some odd work of art.
They darted and leapt,
They buzzled, they flew
Into the dark, and the deep,
And the blue.

They raced,
And they raced through
Each crevice, and crick.
They rushed through
The brittle bark
Three inches thick.
They snapped in their venom
Inside every cheat,
Unwilling to ever
Acknowledge defeat.

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

Until the dark grew,
And the shades of the day
Quietly slithered
About them to play.
And the Ladybug paused
As he saw the dusk rise,
In a silence that drifted
On down from the skies.

He could no longer hear
The Ant boast of his speed.
He could no longer hear
The Grasshopper stampede.
Every sound that
The Inch Worm made
Was swallowed away
Into the deep dark,
And the cold,
And the gray.

He shivered against
The cool dark
Of the tree,
Squinted his eyes
But he couldn't
Quite see
The shades and
The shadows
That seemed to
Know him by name.
And his courage
By now
Dwindled like
An old flame.

No song of an Aphid,
No shrug from a Slug.
Not even the whoosh
Of a Popsicle Bug.
Just that quiet of Ever
Draped softly in dew,
Where he stood in the deep,
And the dark,
And the blue.

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

Way, way down below,
Where the grass was still green,
A Flutterby Tock chewed
On a porcupine bean,
As an old Walking Stick,
Wearied from the heat of the day
Claimed a spot in the shade,
And had nothing to say.

It was July 26th,
And the air was so still
There was nothing but quiet
On top of their hill.
When the Mantis let out
A most startling sigh.
"I believe that they've raced up
A little too high."

The morning sun shined
With a summertime glow
That woke up each cockle
And flower below.
Where the Flutterby Tock
Shook her head in dismay,
"A fair bit of ego can sure
Foul up a day."

"They wanted a race,
To know who was the best.
What a hair-brained adventure.
A silly old test."
And as the Centipede gazed up
At the Poppletoff Tree.
He said, "I am so very glad
That I listened to me."


Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler