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. '
His Mother thinks her way is supreme So
another man arrested by hubris.
My gifts learned and honed in fire are
as useless to her as tits on a bull.
Unable to see the unseeable.
Hear the unhearable.
know the unknowable
Renders gender sense to the ash heap of
Why not pluck the eyes
Cork the ears with molten lead.
Burn the olfactory to the ground.
Testosterone will dazzle and fling that yolk aside.
Mother nature has her place but
Father Time will bring all to balance.
If left to his devices.
A fathers gifts are underrated. A cultural
Sorry baby bunting.
Daddy can't go hunting.
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
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"
Your back is almost broken.
Your mind is almost taken.
Your sex is just a token
Of the hearts you've broken
On the day you kneel down.
You used to know the clean cool water
As it drove itself around the bend.
But you forgot the notes from father
His will found you talking without end.
Find the silence frozen in you mind,
The half-song that was your pride.
Feel the stomps of boots on soil.
That's our rythm, and the sign its time to move.
You feel the hands of thunder reaching out to touch
The lightning you forgot was still hidden in your groin.
Everything else you know doesn't matter that much.
Lets find our masks and guns and go find the coins
That only we know were ours, but still belong to us.
You will know the answer to the riddle in her cries.
You will remember every word you ever heard.
You will finally know why you did the things you did.
You will agree with all the reasons why she left.
You will see there's no wrong, but only right.
You will see the dirty dreams she dreams at night.
You are the rapist and the raped.
You are the guard at your master's gate.
You'll hear the the secret that you feared.
The music of the game of masks.
You'll know the end has come and gone.
The sound of lightning when it comes around.
On the day you kneel down.
You're present when I hear this song.
As if our moments in time
and futures unknown
One hears the sound of water
that you hold so dear.
Washing away regret
and all that you fear.
Its rhythm flows with dark ease,
as if to level down time
and propel our purpose.
Just as you ebb
from your story's past,
to channel its pain,
you propel past rocks
and aspire to climb.
Its tempo is
Just as your gifts to others becomes
Its tone is
Just as your voice shares its
The song takes its time to bring us through,
As you unveil the vibrance of your colorful view.
And as you savor today's moments,
seek it significance,
C. . .
I hope you
like this song,
Oh, I hope I got it right.
I felt your presence,
heard this song,
wrote this poem,
People are mysterious,
We all have stories,
Secrets to keep,
We all have our lies,
Most importantly we all know pain,
It is always the ones with the most pain,
Who become the targets,
From other people they are judged,
It's a very strange process,
Giving more pain to the pain,
They already suffer,
Take time to think,
Before you judge a person,
Ask yourself what they may be going through,
What happened in the past that affected who they are,
All they are trying to do,
Is figure out why they are here,
Who they are,
Sometimes they get blinded by judgement,
They get negative answers,
They think negative thoughts,
Then they become someone....
Wrong for who they were supposed to be.
It's also the strongest people,
Who have been through the most pain,
They suffered through all,
Found themselves in a better place,
Lit up there lives,
Ignored all the judgement,
And forgave those who put them in pain,
They grew from their experiences,
They never gave up,
They followed fate,
It brought them to a stronger place.
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 heart aches, from time to time,
When I think of all that's been left behind.
How I wish I could go back,
To retrieve the things that I now lack.
Is it just me who feels this way?
I feel there's so much left to say.
At least I have memories, with those I'll never part,
Holding them deeply, deeply within my heart.
You said you loved me, lied through your teeth
No persuasion from my end maybe it's not how it seems
How you left me again for the fourth fucking time
But I knew it would happen before all the signs
I don't know if you're confused or just confusing
It's funny now that you're the one who's losing
We could never be the same again
Watch out, watch out for all of your "friends"
There is a pain swelling
Like a boat listing in the ocean
And every time, all I feel is the sickness
Sickness with Pain.
One and One make Two..
So why am I all alone?
Because the Two has split
And I'm alone as One
Shattered to millions of pieces,
With no hope for recovery,
Because you stole my chance
The Glue for My Heart is gone.
And everytime the Two talk,
it is like a song stuck on repeat,
With me writing false messages
Of Hope and Wonder for the Future
And desiring to speak my mind to You
I'm Alone and Lost without My Light
And How I Really Feel is Sick
Sick, Disgusted, Lifeless, Hated
Prove me wrong, My Second Half,
And take a walk down Memory Lane
Open up the pain and embrace it with me
Because with You I can feel at peace
But Deep Down, I feel it is my fault