Those days recall less colors
and even less sense
With longer hair like Jackson Browne,
Pensively reeling in half rhymed ballads
walkin’ like Dylan and shredding our voices
like Springsteen.
“walkin’ real loud…”

When poets sang and singers
Listened, from a freight car door
Waiting on an old white fence
Anything that made an album cover.

My crew was meticulously unkempt,
one day shy of a much needed shampoo
but okay -
we were just 'okay' then.
...Surely for another day.

Our moms were old with
thick rimmed glasses and smoked
and our fathers,
they were smoking men too
wearing two shades of gray
tucked in all the way… around
And around, my dad and I went.

We spoke with twisted lips
Groomed our eyes and looked out
From behind narrow poles
and ***** brick walls
That gave, what we knew of our souls,
This, sorta clandestine refuge.

And our pockets
Were empty, our wallets -
were empty .
Except a beer cap and a phone number,
Scribbled and torn from the corner of
a Houghton Mifflin textbook.
“I’ll call her when I get home.”
Let’s go home.

Sitting on the hood of my Torino
I scanned the streets, smelled the tar
Of our last summers burning.

These girls hugged their diaries to their chest
and we’d gaze
we’d gaze through
Sunlit dust and dandelion fairies
eager to unbutton their secret stories about us,
always about us,
and our eyes made such nimble fingers.

We were outward bound on inward glory...
always thinking about love
hoping on plans that’ll get us "laid" by
a girl who wears daisies in her hair.

Big sweet flowers for the butterflies
Stirring in our stomachs
Fluttering to land softly at the entrance
of her big – sweet - flower.
My generation loved love.

The cold wind greeted
the hoarfrost that
evening as white
butterflies started to
fall from the dark sky.
Soon the pearly blanket
was spread across
the whole land.
It sparkled on the milky
moonlight, giving the old
willow tree a wooly gown.
Covering all the roofs,
the fields of corn and wheat,
the tall grass on the meadow.
But then she appeared,
sending fairies to dance on the
frozen lake thus melting the ice.
And with every step that she took,
snowdrops began to bloom.

Hyperbole in front of me,
Political effrontery,
Lies dressed up as Scripture,
Treason beyond conjecture.
No hope of restitution
A gutted constitution
Guarded by mercenaries
Who hate blacks and fairies.

A pain to liberal brains
As hope goes down the drain
While major constituencies
Are sold out for SUVs.
Journalists lost their relevance
Kissing the haunches of elephants
In a mad rush every news day
To keep their beloved pay.

Chip-off-the-block jabberwocky;
Son talks his Daddy’s talky.
With no attempt at recompense
The fool makes little sense,
Hiding behind the leverage
He gets from his evil heritage.
There’s no need of morality
Or decency or much formality.

No matter how much criticized,
The wrongly, constantly victimized
Suffer the ignominy yearly
And continue to pay dearly
From our position down on our knees
As they try to rob everyone they see
And we are the casualties of infamy
Because neighbors stand by silently.

Where is that inner child,
why did it depart-
And take with it the stories,
That were close unto your heart

From Mother Goose to Tennyson's
"Idyll's of the King",
folklore and fairy tales-
Of which the minstrels sing

Knights in shining armor                            
atop their steeds of grace-
Protecting king and country
as they ride from place to place

There’s Jack and his stalk of beans,
“Lil" Red and her hood-
Hansel, and his sister-
traips'n thru the wood

Rainbows and leprechauns,
elusive pots ‘o’ gold,
Oh, how many, many times have these
tales been told-

Fairies ‘neath the mushroom caps,
elves in their acorn hats,
Dancing 'neath the moon-ring light-
as fireflies flicker, to the “music of the night”

And from the heavens, a horse appears-
adorned with wings of flight-
And from its head, a single horn-
the pure, and blessed, Unicorn.

The minstrels, with their lutes and lyres-
amused the population-
But, could it be, these tales be true,
or just your imagination?

That inner child, it's still there
It hasn’t gone away-
It just needs to be awakened-
on perhaps, this very day*


r.riddle December 18, 2010-Copyright

bare feet by the creek, cold mud
it’s quick-mud, like quick-sand, slithers up
between your toes
I bet it could swallow you right up
October, maybe, maybe November
swear there are fairies in these woods,
swear it. I do. Can you eat those little red berries
that grow on the bushes?
Lullaby, say your prayers. Pray to the almighty
maker of twigs and leaves and
shallow ponds- slip and slice your toe on a rock,
don’t let them see you crying
your face was cold but your tears were hot
there are no daisies left this time of year
to make a crown with
but I’m still the queen of the forest.
You can’t laugh at me.
I’ll break your arm.

Adeline lives in  Far Away
where magic fairies with dragons float on  rainbows n' candy
all night, n' day
She took a trip down Abby road where giants live with
talking toads
on a weekend out with friends
where Adeline has decided to go again
but this time she won't be calling home
her parents lost her long ago
tripping down Abby road...

*Adeline is only twelve years old

The water moves in the wind
while the sun fairies dance gracefully over top.
Never removing their sparkling feet.
Mrs. Sun applause's in their performance.

Watching by the sandy shore
I find my head sitting atop a rock
over viewing a similar view
on a day of wondering minds losing themselves in blindful bliss.

A pair of hands entwined, walk down a path
where they end up at a pair of eyes awaking.

Removing myself from that day,
I am sorry for always getting lost.
Loosing myself in memories that are by now
long forgotten.

I am sorry for not being able to move.
Like a boulder, I will soon be covered under sea.
A fool on the other side of the world
unable to even throw a stone.
And all I can do is remember the forgotten.

As a rainbow sends down a colourful hue,
a wasp swirls around in a puddle of dew
and lost in the hollow...somewhere within
an imp practices magic his planning to spin
an ocean of flowers bow down in their praise
as a dung beetle carries his load through a maze
and far in the distance a nightingale sings
happy in the warmth that the sunshine brings
a giggle of fairies and Will o' the Wisp
a dragonfly makes his way through the mist
a butterfly dances on the wings of a breeze
a waterfall hides behind the shade from the trees
a ladybird whistles about as she plays
a squirrel bustles through the place where she stays.....

...yet in all this beauty and clandescent touch
it's lost on me ~ I've grown up too much!

Have you ever "dashed through the snow"
"in a one horse open sleigh"
Seen eight maids a milking
saw the three ships I saw today

Have you ever seen a reindeer
With a nose that blinks bright red
Dreamt of fairies and of sugar plums
While sleeping in your bed

Have you ever put a penny
In the old man's hat
Sat down in the parlor
And played "the ministers cat"?

Have you travelled off to whoville
Seen the grinch, his fur all green
Have you ever seen Oriental Kings
Frankincense..I've never seen

But, at Christmas, yes at Christmas
We all sing and sing so well
Of these things that we believe in
And of things we know so well

I've never seen a Christmas
Where a snowman comes to life
But, for me, he lives each Christmas
With Jack Frost, and Frosty's wife

Seeing is believing,
But at Christmas, not so much
We believe in Father Christmas
Things we can't see and won't touch

Christmas is more than  giving
It's a feeling in your soul
It's believing in mankinds goodness
Christmas makes me whole.

is it strange that i believe in supernatural things
       like fairies
                                wild creatures that cant be found
or looked for
          they appear when and if they want to
                                              living separate
with nothing to do
     with humans
                                      mischievous things
                                                           that never die
of common illnesses
      i do believe that fairies
                                                                   could
be possible
                           because there's nothing
      to prove anything

                                                                                                              and you're far to
                                                                                                              otherworldly
                                                                                                              to be a simple
                                                                                                              human
                                                                                                              like me

I am from worn out measuring cups where the numbers no longer show,
From years of guessed quantities and over sugared cakes.
I am from cracked blue paint,
And the mantra “we’ll get a new coat next year.”
I am from the cow peas, crop circling, and honeysuckle vines ornamented with butterflies.
I am from Grandpa’s tobacco yellowed hands, Grandma Doll’s old wives tales,
From “eat your bread crusts and your hair will curl,”
And from “your face just might stick like that.”
I am from morning walks and the sylvan veil of moss,
From meandering trails and the drip of rain on leaves.
I am from Otter Pops, and bright blue tongues.
I am from cassette tapes, now left in the back of the closet to grow antique.
And VCRs,
From Monsters Inc. and Totoro.
And I am from the worn bindings of The Phantom Tollbooth and The Velveteen Rabbit.
I am from the meadow,
From searching for fairies, and sometimes even finding them.
And from the whispered promise “I’ll dream of you and you’ll dream of me…”
I am from the babbling gurgling creek, from the itch of nettles and the deep earthy scent of loam.
I am from the cat in Alice in Wonderland,
From Jacob and Leah’s wronged daughter.
I am from the Xanadu, the Akela, and the Dynamite,
From the crack of sails and the swing of the boom.
I am from placid seas and the rushing tumult of rain,
From heavy grey skies and flaming sunsets painted in watercolor across the Olympics.
I am from the pink syringe and the old blind dog’s last breath,
And I am from the hole where we laid her.
I am from the evergreen planted in the frozen ground to the sounds of my first cry,
That tree whose limbs witnessed my first breath, whose lofty trunk now stands as a testament, a marker, of where I am from.

The fairies are coming to play,
They paint the leaves,
They turn the sky grey,
They shake the trees,
They sing lullaby's
Making the animals want to sleep,
They fill the clouds with air,
Having them blow wind everywhere,
They drink up lots of water,
The lakes become dryer,
Sometimes the sun shines,
It's as bright as ever,
The fairies like the night,
So they make shorter days,
They make everything peaceful,
Everything is beautiful,
I wish autumn could stay,
But the seasons will continue,
Nature will begin to change,
Everything will get colder,
Everything will become more grey,
Nature will cover up the land,
With a big white blanket,
Maybe to keep it warmer,
But everything else will freeze,
All because the fairies came out to play.

The Breakfast Fairies (a humorous treatise)

Summoned for to break the fast
of sleep-and-dreams that can no longer last,
As the clock to noon draws nigh,
I happily paddle off to the cabinet
Where the cereals that I CHOSE,
Since I am now a grownup,
faithfully await, calm and in repose.

The refrigerator, in nearby proximity,
sources a Stony-field yogurt,,
A yogurt that I CHOSE,
light and sweet with processed fruit,
due to the miracle of Aspartame.

Distracted, back to the kitchen for
Some multi-grain slices to hail and toast,
Which I prefer dry (no butter)
and ready for anointing with oils of
Strawberry jelly.

To the table return ready to sound
The horn of plenty,
When I see the ****
Breakfast Fairies have struck yet again!

Cousins first to those that reside in nearby dishwasher*
The nefarious fairies guard my health
tho nobody asked them too!

My Crispix, with its malty sweetness,
And the ***** aftertaste of sprayed-on "enriched vitamins,"
has been smothered neath layers of
Granola, with cranberries and nuts,
Contaminated with a hint of cinnamon.

My processed yogurt,
vanished, without a trace,
replaced by their bacterial cousins from Thrace,
which is in Greece,
who, tho white, taste like plain yogurt sourpusses,
Even when littered with blueberries,
Nothing can replace the taste of my
Artificial Sweetener!

Dry toast has been sheeted and shined neath
A tribute of fattening butter,
rationalized by a commonality,
"Everything is better with butter..."

The last indignity is that my coffee,
Not the light brown I cherish
When kissed by whole milk,
Now muddled and muddied by skim milk, so named,
Cause they skim off all the taste.

Because they are fairies,
With fluttering wings,
Hasty retreat they beat,
But I know where they hide.

The next time it be for the morning meal,
I will eat it in bed,
far from their kitchen hiding places,
And celebrate my heroics with original
Frosted Flakes and milk,
And extra sugar just for spite!
The bedroom fairies, living under the pillow,
Emerge to beg in iambic pentameter,
Won't get nary a bite,
Until they they return the poems they stole
From my midnight dreams.

I walked back through the empty streets tonight after work.
I felt alone, as usual, but not as lonely as usual.
The moisture in the air gave a halo to the lights
and I breathed in the rain drenched night
and the air stuck in my chest and bathed my lips.

Before I entered my apartment, I paused:
The quiet of the night thrilled me for a passing moment.
It's a night Shakespeare would have written for his fairies.

I opened my senses to the universe:
The sound of a distant train,
leaves rustling,
droplets falling in a "Ping! Ping! Splat!",
the taste of a cool May night,
the moisture covering my face like sweat,
the sight of a street lamp casting a glow that lovers might have run off into the night to avoid...
The smell of clean air:
just washed cool after several days of rain
...and the dew...
falling...
falling.

I looked up at the large Maple tree in front of my doorway
and allowed the "Pings! and Splats!" of the vestiges of the rain from the day
to fall on my face
touching me.

I felt so attuned.
So. Aware.

And to make the moment perfect,
I willed myself to cry...
But

Didn't.

Because sometimes, the night and the senses and the mere truth of being in a moment:
might not have to move me to tears.
So I let the night continue without adding my dew to the "Splats!"
and I went up to my apartment to sleep.

1.        Eugene And the Pumpkin Pie

Wee Eugene's but a lonely boy
(arrayed in cap and corduroy),
has Jungle Jim (a ragged toy)
and fancied Friends his only joy.

Well, Jim appears from time to time
behind a pane of pantomime,
a charmed mirage, or dream sublime
inside a Cuckoo's nursery rhyme.

Still Eugene always finds a way
(while riding on his magic Sleigh)
to meet with Jim somewhere halfway
between the Moon and Yesterday.

When Jim brought Eu to Timbuktu
to kiss the Queen (a Kangaroo)
and tweak her tail (bright shiny blue),
Eu sneezed instead “achoo, achoo”.  

The baby Roo, surprised, awoke
and thought 'twas but a funny joke
beholding Eugene cough and choke...
well, sounding like old Froggy's croak.

Said Jim to Roo "Eu has a cold,
we mustn't laugh, we mustn't scold
instead we'll let the tale unfold
and frolic in the marigold".

With runny eyes and mighty sniffle
Eu could hardly get a whiffle,
climbed a hill to reach the cliffle ,
searched the sea for ship or skiffle.

Behind the breeze, some sloops were seen,
a grand delight that pleased Eugene,
and Jim, and Roo, and yes, the Queen;
they then set sail for Halloween.

Above the sea, below the sky
they saw a skinny Scarecrow fly -
within its beak (one couldn't deny),
surprise, surprise, a Pumpkin Pie!

The Scarecrow wore a veil and shawl
so really couldn't see at all
and swooped too near the sunny ball,
got grilled and let the pastry fall,

which bounced upon the waves below,
then slid beneath the undertow.
"Why did it fall, where did it go?"
cried Eugene with a gasp of woe.

Roo wondered would it reappear
(for where it went was certainly queer),
but where it went became quite clear
to Eu and Jim while standing near

the Queen who, hungry, hopped awhile
observing Crunch the Crocodile
come floating down the river Nil
with belly full and toothy smile.

2.        Eugene and the Wolverine

Within the sandbox played Eugene,
as well, his little friend named Dean,
a simple-minded Wolverine.

But yesterday was Halloween
when they collected sweets unseen,
all stuffed inside a sad Sardine.

And making sure their hands were clean,
they shared a snack - a tangerine,
a cantaloupe and big fat bean.

But they forgot the Sandbox Queen
whose hungry name was sweet Pauline -
with no invite she felt so mean
and woke the naughty Sand Machine.

Sand trickled in their fine cuisine
which scratched their gums and set the scene
to brush their teeth and in between.

Poor Dean was sad he hadn’t seen
the sandy specks with sparkly sheen,
all hidden like a submarine.

Eu sold his cookie magazine
And bought a brand new limousine
To flee the naughty Sand Machine.

Next time their food they’ll try to screen
from something hard and unforeseen
while tapping on a tambourine
to sooth the hungry Sandbox Queen
and trick the naughty Sand Machine.


3.        Eugene and Antoine

Eugene awoke and looked upon
his Mirror in the morning Dawn.
He saw himself and stopped to yawn
then saw instead his friend Antoine.

Well Antoine said ‘come in, come on
I’ll whisk you with this Magic Wand
then we can journey to the Pond
and sail astride the Silver Swan’.

And once inside the Looking Glass
amazing conquests came to pass
before the midday hourglass
released its sands upon the grass.

Well, first they sought and found the Pond
and hypnotized the Silver Swan
to sail them to the edge beyond,
to Charles, the Froggy Vagabond.

Well Charles was said to be ‘a King’
(whose Crown was hanging from a String)
while hopping with a golden Ring
just waiting for a Kiss in Spring.

Now Antoine said he’d kiss ‘the King’,
(or better said, ‘the Froggy Thing’)
but Eu refused to do such thing
unless the Frog removed the Ring.

The Ring transfixed poor Froggy’s Nose
instead of round his tiny Toes
to keep away the Midnight Crows
(as far as anybody knows).

When Froggy’s Nose was finally free
there was a sudden kissing spree
with Ant and Eu (and Swan made three)
to fix old Froggy’s Destiny.

The Rest is rather imprecise.
As to the trio’s Sacrifice,
the facts alone should now suffice -
the Pond and Froggy turned to ice!

And Swan became a Toucan Bird,
the strangest thing I ever heard,
instead of chirp she only purred
and even then she sometimes slurred.

Though Charles the Frog was mighty cold,
upon the Pond he stiffly strolled
behind the The Ring that slowly rolled
in search of one more nose to hold.

Well, Eu watched Antoine set the Pace
when beating Toucan in the Race
to seek and find a warmer Space
in front of Mother’s Fireplace.

So Antoine waved his charmed Baton
and whisked Eu back to Mum’s Salon -
But looking back, Eu’s friend was yon
behind the silvered Amazon.


4.            Eugene and the Milky Way

Eugene stayed in to play today
inside his secret hideaway;
he laughed and ate a Milky Way
with little fear of tooth decay.

But Dean, his friend, was far away
just driving in a Chevrolet
and didn't wish to disobey
so hurried home with no delay.

What took so long, I couldn't say
but Dean came late, in disarray -
he'd lost, alas, the Milky Way
that he had hidden Yesterday.

When asked, Eugene led Dean astray
about the missing Milky Way,
blamed Pauline in her negligee
who'd fed her little Popinjay.

Then Dean said sadly, in dismay,
"It was a gift for your birthday".
Well Eu felt bad, no longer gay
and offered Dean ice cream frappé.

Soon afterwards they romped in hay
beside the forest near the bay;
but when the sky turned somewhat gray
they flew back home to hide away.

At home, with all his toys at play,
Eugene confessed to Dean, to say
"Dear Dean, look here, I can't betray,
I ate the sweet, it made my day."

Said Dean, "I knew it anyway,
I saw the traces straightaway,
your chocolate lips, the giveaway;
but we're best friends, so that's OK."


5.         Eugene and the Gold Doubloon

Eugene took his nap at noon
and dreamt about Loraine the Loon
reclining in the long Lagoon
adorned in birdie pantaloons.

Then Eu suggested to the Loon
“Let’s pay a visit to the Dune
we’ll search and seek and very soon
we’ll find a shiny Gold Doubloon.”

But naughty Sand Machine typhoons
arrived and whisked them to the Moon
and left the playmate pals marooned
where gold of pirate ships was strewn.

Pale moonbeams played a mystic tune,
and touching on a magic rune,
Wee Eu, he found a pink harpoon
and in his hand a Gold Doubloon.

Instead of sitting on cocoons,
Loraine, she hatched the Gold Doubloon
when suddenly popped a blue Balloon
revealing Royce the red Raccoon.

Well Eu, awaking from his swoon,
was sad he’d lost the Gold Doubloon.
Instead he found a Macaroon
and munched and munched all afternoon.


6.        Eugene and the Dragonfly

When Eugene climbed a mountain high
and wandered down a dale nearby,
he came upon Doug Dragonfly
asleep beside a Tiger’s eye.

Soon Eu was thinking “Now’s the time
to take a rest from my long climb
and waken Doug to tell him I’m
about to pick a bunch of thyme”.

But Doug was quite a grumpy guy
when woken from his dream whereby
he’s dancing with a Butterfly
in magic realms that mystify.

So Doug complained “My dream's now gone
of dancing to the carillon
with Butterflies upon the lawn,
which won’t come back until I yawn.”

Then Eugene said “Well I know what!
A mug of tea and hazelnuts
served with a chocolate Buttercup
will surely help to cheer you up!”

Thereafter, picking tufts of thyme,
they heard the distant bluebells chime
and watched the Fairies pantomime
and dance till Eugene’s suppertime.


7.        Eugene and the Eskimo

Not so very long ago,
a bit before the morning’s glow,
Wee Eugene met an Eskimo
while trudging through the windblown snow.

Bedecked in boots and winter fur,
the Eskimo said “I’m Jack Spur.
Or call me Jack if you prefer,
it might be somewhat easier.”

Soon Jack was passing by to say
“Well could you help me find my way
back through the door to Yesterday,
to where I left my silver Sleigh?”

So Eugene said “I’ll come along,
but listen, hear the breakfast gong,
my Mama’s made the porridge strong
and chocolate milk, if I’m not wrong.”

So, filled with porridge to the brim
and feeling vigor, full of vim,
Wee Eu called Jack and said to him
“Well now we’ll travel on a whim.”

While seeking Yesterday and more
they searched an unseen corridor.
Somewhere behind the mirrored door
was Yesterday, the day before!

Without a fear they slid within,
with Jackie playing violin.
And Moon above was seen to grin
’cause Jackie’s tune was kind of thin.

Though searching long to find the Sleigh
they heard instead an echo stray
quite sounding like the Donkey’s bray,
the Donkey’s bray of Yesterday.

The Donkey’d left to find some food -
well, something fresh and not yet chewed
by Fran the Cow that always mooed
(and sometimes burped when she was rude).

The Sleigh was at the Donkey’s back
and nowhere’s near the railway track,
so Jack took Eugene piggyback,
just stopping once to eat a snack.

The Donkey heard the munch of chips
and wondered if his hungry lips
would ever taste some bacon strips
before the midnight Moon Eclipse.

Well Fran and Donkey, unforeseen,
found Jack at lunch with Wee Eugene
and shared a mighty fine cuisine,
provided by the Sandbox Queen.

Well ,Franny chewed her little cud
and Donkey ate a shiny spud,
and Jacky said “Now we must scud
before the coming springtime flood".

So Jack jumped back upon his Sleigh,
the Donkey droned a farewell bray,
(and Franny burped, need I to say?)
while Eu returned from Yesterday,
surprised to hear his Mother say
“Well, now it’s time for you to play!”


8.        Eugene and the Christmas Tree

Eugene awoke on Christmas morn
to find the Christmas Tree'd been shorn
and presents strewn around, forlorn,
midst bows and tinselled paper torn.

So blowing on his little Horn,
Eu called Eunice, the Unicorn.
The duo flew away airborne
(straped to Eu's side his Sword, a Thorn).

Escaping back to Yesterday,
in search of thyme and Santa's Sleigh,
Eu sought to brave the grinchy Fay,
reclaim the joy of Christmas Day .

Then Eunice and the Reindeer Corps
chased fey Fay to a sandy Shore
where Santa banned forevermore
the Fay to mop and scrub the floor.

Then Santa iced the windowpane
(thus waking Eu from dreams again),
left gifts arrayed, and candy cane,
beneath a Tree with candled mane.

You read my eyes
And when you see
the endless pages
I feel no cause
to close, but lay open
for your chapters

Ages my bound spine
wished to be splayed
wide for your bookmarks
your margin notes

Write in me, soft
pencilled reference
Mark me, as your map
Under the stroke of your hand
I am fearless

Breathe deeply in me
with no counting
and let your clocks
drop and break, in bliss
In knowing who we are not
we are timeless

Show me your darkness
and let me hold it
that you may laugh
at your fear
through Shiva's eyes
Play with me

I long to see
your child-mind
that knows so well
how fairies dance
in sun or rain
Moons ago, and now
my heart still comes
when you look at me

My hopeless allegories
hide no secret beyond
this honest open love
but one
I want to leave my flowers
on your doorstep every day

Copyright 2015 Ken Rush

Wet ink curtains press me
Down, sinking into my bed
But delicately raises me like lacy smoke
To hover in a violet cloud;

And such is the way of fairies

Peeking out the window
On all Hallow's Eve
Watching little Globlins
Skip about with glee.

Witch's and warlocks
traveling the streets
Looking so scary
Asking for treats.

Dinos and gators
fairies and elves,
scurry about
frightening themselves.

The sun grows dim,
the porchlight shines,
the ghouls and monsters
scowl just fine.

Creatures a-plenty
Come out to play
Once each year
for All Hallow's Day.

Best friends,
Lovers,
So close,
Long distance,
Million miles apart,
But dear dumb heart,
You carry on with your life,
I carry on thinking that you're mine,
Denying the truth,
What we were,
We're not anymore.
As I try to answer this unanswerable question,
I fall deeper and deeper into the trap of emotions,
But that one call,
Changes my world,
I see flowers and birds and fairies,even unicorns,
But then you don't care after you keep that phone away,
And I keep dreaming,
Unaware.
Why is it that we can never work it out?
Because now I'm tired of reading that chapter over and over again,
That beautiful chapter.

Being weird is important to me. I find it's a gift because it means that you are different than everyone else. I know I am weird because not very many 9th girls have my hairstyle. I say weird things. Instead of saying, what's up, I say "wasabi". I tell corny jokes. I'm weird because I like hugs and not very many teenagers like hugs. I'm weird because I eat olives and sunflower seeds, for snack. I'm weird because I believe in fairy tales characters like mermaids, fairies and unicorns though people tell me that they're not real. I'm weird because I'd rather read a good book than watch T.V. I'm weird because I have at least 20 nerd glasses and 5 snap backs. There are so many ways to be weird. I'm the weirdest person I know so I'll use myself as an example.
I know I'm weird because not very many girls have dreads at 14 years old. I also say weird things. Instead of "what's up? "I saying "wasabi". I also tell corny jokes that I know aren't funny like, what did the penguin say when his friend asked "why did you slap me? ! " He said, ¨I didn't slap you, I high fived your face." It's not all that funny is it ….Thats why its weird to say it.
I'm weird because I like to give hugs to show someone I care, but others only do that with boyfriends and girlfriends. A ****** like me might have a fairytale land of their own, where fairies, mermaids and unicorns live. I have a fairytale land of my own, full of candy canes and gumdrops, fairies, mermaids and unicorns. I have a black unicorn with a green and neon yellow horn, green tail, and a neon yellow mane. His name is Lucky. His favorite snack is Skittles and, his favorite food is graham crackers. His favorite drink is strawberry milk. We have dinner under my tree full of hearts. I'm weird because all that I just said is childish, but I don't care.
A ****** like me might rather read a good book than watch television. A ****** like me might have twenty pair of nerd glasses and five snapbacks. A ****** like me might not wear dresses, skirts, or shorts. A ****** like me might write books and poems.A ****** like me might fall on purpose to make someone laugh. A ****** like me might like school. A ****** like me might stare into space without noticing. I do this five times a week for at least two minutes; weird right. A ****** like me may dance, sing, or look up at the sky randomly without knowing. I'm me and you're you. I'm not you and you're not me. So, please don't judge ******'s for being who they are because they're gonna be them and you're gonna be you because that's how its suppose to be. So how weird are you? I bet it is not weirder than me.

A girl named Karma came running thrue the forest
branches breaking under her boots
her hair glowing in the sunlight that escapes thrue the leaves of the oak trees
a golden gold in all the green

the grass is lime and the taste in her mouth sour as the fruit
on her head is placed a crown of flowers
they smell as spring but look like summer
red like the apples that grows in her garden
the garden that surrounds her home on top of the universe

here she spends her life in the cold air surrounded by winter
here she isn't the princess, she is the queen
a beautiful queen with beautiful scars cut by knives
eyes ****** and bold like stones

she herself is an open wound
like the screaming song a fallen bird sings
when it has left the nest and has to follow its own voice

A girl named Karma
like the myths of the fairies
she is beautiful, skin pale like marmour
and eyes standing out in her sharpened features
her jaw tightened as she walks towards the storm and takes what is rightfully hers
to save her people from the enemies in an armor of bones
the bones of the monsters under her bed

They called her Charlotte
as in “free man”
a royal name from The North
that was their biggest mistake…
...they should have named her Karma

A girl named Karma came running thrue the forest
branches breaking under her boots
her hair glowing in the sunlight that escapes thrue the leaves of the oak trees
a golden gold in all the green

the grass is lime and the taste in her mouth sour as the fruit
on her head is placed a crown of flowers
they smell as spring but look like summer
red like the apples that grows in her garden
the garden that surrounds her home on top of the universe

here she spends her life in the cold air surrounded by winter
here she isn't the princess, she is the queen
a beautiful queen with beautiful scars cut by knives
eyes ****** and bold like stones

she herself is an open wound
like the screaming song a fallen bird sings
when it has left the nest and has to follow its own voice

A girl named Karma
like the myths of the fairies
she is beautiful, skin pale like marmour
and eyes standing out in her sharpened features
her jaw tightened as she walks towards the storm and takes what is rightfully hers
to save her people from the enemies in an armor of bones
the bones of the monsters under her bed

They called her Charlotte
as in “free man”
a royal name from The North
that was their biggest mistake…
...they should have named her Karma

As I sit in my old overstuffed armchair
          and watch the fire
                                       flames rising
                glowing
                         sparks flying
                                              throughout the room
                around me
enclosing me in a circle of diamonds
         light shining off them
                      as if they were fairies
knowing I was in need
                            of  encouragement
            feeling my problem
                     despair
and lifting me on their flight
               carrying me to more exultant plains
     protecting me
               talking to me
                         giving me their strength
before returning to the fire
           wings beating
                    flames moving
and I realise why
          flames dance and sway
                     and are never still
it is the magic of the fairies

Sunday evening, it's time to sleep
Monday starts another week
Tuesday I am out with a swing
Hard at work doing my thing,
Wednesday I am working late
Carrying bricks for a house to make.
On this ladder climbing high
When I come down I'll take a break ,
I hope this day will soon pass by
Those building bricks just multiply,
Wow! Thursday now is getting near
One more night then Friday's here
I am thinking of that ice cold beer
Raising a glass giving a cheer,
I hope this day will soon fly by
On Friday night's my mouth gets dry
When in the pub I put things right
Away with the fairies all of the night
Monday morning it will keep
Then off to work for another week,
For now I am in this pub so nice
It's my Friday night in paradise

The first time I saw him in 2 years all I could manage to choke out was "where do you stay" and "I'll pay you as soon as i can"
I dreamt of him that night. I dreamt of dew covering the ground, chlorine, and dead things. Dreams of sugarplum fairies danced around my head.
You know, they say "relit cigarettes never taste the same and that's all I've got to say about rekindling old flames" but I imagine you would taste like the last time I kissed you- salty.
Because as soon as our lips touched I started to cry. Because I knew it would be the last time. Because we were too young. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be with you again.
I wish I could roll you into a joint and get high off you. I wish you didn't talk like one of the bad guys, like a gangster.
I wish you never learned what it was like to be without me.

Bumblebees making love or war
On an Easter Sunday morn'
Spritely fairies in pinkish frills
Wearing their patent leather buckles
Little boy blues in powder blue suits
Running amok in the chapel belfry
Sanctuary dressed in lavender hues
As the ***** sounds the call to worship

In the darkest depths of dream time
The mind does start to play
I can't get any peace while I'm awake
It's better off this way

I'm going for a joyride
On a psychedelic tortoise
Riding barefoot through the air
On a wave of floating fairydust

A mass of smiling faces
Of people as we pass them by
I wave and grin right back at them
And breathe a contented sigh

The sun isn't just red and yellow
It's blue and green and pink
The tortoise glides towards it
We're heading there I think

Fairies sprinkle magic dust
with gold and silver hues
The land of golden memories
Where no-one sings the blues

We drift around from place to place
Past villages and towns
Just floating through the cosmos
Enveloped in sights and sounds

Onward to the morning
My tortoise brings me back to light
to spend my day anticipating
where we shall travel to tonight.