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,
The fat
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:
“Counting-Type Mouses
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,
Hopping about
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. '
-John Burroughs
……………………………………………

My father once told me the story.of The Scorpion and the frog,
Have you heard it? Robert Blake told to me a couple.of times too while I watched
Baretta.?
You know.ole "don't do the crime if you can't do the time"Baretta.But
I digress.That was a long time and one murder ago.

A tale of woe of being true to one's nature.

A scorpion stood on the river bank seeking to cross for the family reunion.
Comes a frog swimming along.trying to get to his nephew's wedding.
So.  Brer scorpion sticks up a thumb
"Going my way" ? He says.

Sure said the frog but jump on that log .you might float over by sundown.

"If you let me ride over on your back,I can get there in time for the feast"

No way Jose,"you will sting me to death if I let you climb on"
said the frog.

The scorpion insisted even offering bribes until the frog recanted.
The frog pushed of with his cargo aboard.looking back with one eye and the bank
with the other not really trusting his long tailed brother then BANG,BANG
went the scorpion's tail.Frog was done mid river
sinking slowly he began to shiver.
"But you will die too he said to the frog."

"Believe me I know" said the venomous bug
"Then why asked the frog"?
"Fish gotta swim. Birds gotta fly"
"The moment you let me on We were destined to die "
"Nature called. That was all. Nothing personal friend"
"I will see you on the other side and thanks for the ride"

What more can be said
before a guns put to the head.
BANG!
SCREAMS!
Innocent bloodshed.
Rights were there wrongs
and now the lifeless bodies of loved ones
lay face flat on the earth, DEAD!
Millions watch in horror as they bled
out like mammals with a limb cut off and see how fast
The light of life quickly shifts from green to red
and their dreams shut off!
Red light, Green light.
Lives gone in a blink of an eye
What more can be read
before one realizes
they're being watched by the feds
and
there was truth in these last words I said
Ashes to Ashes
Life and Death
Mankind will clash
Until no one is left.
Innocent Bloodshed.
© 2013

4 corners in the peak
of the room, the
choleric teacher has finally
let his guards down over
the wild hysterics, throwing
paper airplanes over heads,
over the pretty-perfect bleach
blonde girls only caring
about that new band,
over the tight glasses hunching
over their spick and span notebooks
over the video-game playing
boys punching keyboards
over the introverted hoody-hiding
kids, over the cynic stoned eye
blooded kids, over the goody-two shoes
filling calculations in the pockets
of their minds.

and i am in between air lines,
drifting like the wind, like they are clouds
curled together whilst boards and
screens shine over them,
and i am sighing, writing poetry,
wishing i was in another place,
wishing i was in a room full of
pages pressing against my soul
and poets lurking eyes of
prose and stanza.

Blessed is your devotion, offering better wishes;
Lips were bestowed upon me with lovable kisses;
You had brought my soul from most evil to the best;
I cache you the most in this existence as my dearest;
Since you altered my life within a flash of an eye;
And by an embrace of your body, you said bye;
Are you a graceful guardian angel sent from above;
To take care of me and shower me with pure love;
It so magical those things you've made;
To bring back my confidence that almost fade;
A desire to nurture your soft white wing;
While all glittering stars line up to sing.

BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
williamsji@yahoo.com
www.williamsji.com
www.williamsmaveli.com
www.williamsgeorge.com