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There’s a giraffe in here, in my house
There’s a giraffe in here, his name’s Strauss
There’s a giraffe in here, watching my TV
There’s a giraffe in here, he's got a key

I think it’s fun to have a crazy friend
I don’t care if we go round the bend


There’s a giraffe in here, in my kitchenette
There’s a giraffe in here, he’s a great pet
There’s a giraffe in here, in my car
There’s a giraffe in here, smoking a cigar

I think it’s fun to throw away my meds
My crazy friend, is in my head


There’s a giraffe in here, in my mind
There’s a giraffe in here, he’s refined
There’s a giraffe in here, in my padded room
There’s a giraffe in here, I assume
Don't grow so fast, little one
You've so much to see and do
But take your time....your time and enjoy
And love the little moments in-between.

Run and play and s-i-ing with joy
Don't join the queue of  Life too soon
But take your time....your time and enjoy
And love the little moments in-between.


CHORUS
Bedtime songs will end on a day
When you no longer feel the need
But hugs and tugs will always be there
These are the precious moments in-between.

So sail your ships and build your dreams
Paint your pirate face and ri-i-ide your horse
But take your time....your time and enjoy
And love the little moments in-between.


Refrain
Your steps will take where you wanna be
And then, you'll be grown
And all your pictures drawn on the walls are the best treasures
And all your words so very funny
Are safely tucked away......in my heart.




Star Toucher, 14 March 2013
A touch of nostalgia for the beauty of innocence in the eyes of my youngest child, who as a 5-year-old then, used to enjoy organic playtime . . . .
Written in 2007.

Everything must pass.
There should be a genre of poetry called waste verse
tasteless and terse like the khaki pine needles that
litter the space underneath your porch.
a neglected place,
where the broken blue bottles and dew
marry in early morning ,
attended by a congregation of woodchips,
beers cans and
guinea pig ****
dancing easy with the morning breeze,
and carried like the currency of an early dreamer's reverie,
morning.

morning.

morning is gluing a teacup together knowing
that it will be broken tomorrow.
and day by day, the absence in form will grow
until that once teacup becomes nothing but empty space, with
its base designated in place of the back porch ash tray.
when i turned back one day, there was nothing left of its body
nothing left of it that i could see but paint dust, a couple of cuts
and some blood covered by a bandaid that doesn't stay on
because feet sweat a little too much.

morning is repetition for comfort
but breaking routine is
starting to feel more appealing
than keeping it,
because I know one morning I will wake alone,
with a rusted infrastructure and fractured backbone,
and have to look upon a screen with thousand texts that read,
"there are other fish in the sea"
well, *******, maybe he was my sea.
i mean,
he is my sea,
maybe.

there is a genre of waste verse called poetry,
and the simple syllogism of it all
leaves me reeling.
but after i finish my cigarette over the khaki pine needles
beneath your porch and go inside,
"good morning", i say.
"good morning", he said.
i cannot remember what was so important just a few moments ago.

morning.
I stood aside a vast river

I do not know how I have come to be here

The air was dry and the night was dark

No stars were apparent in the sky above

Only the moon gave light to the glistening river before me

A wooden boat stopped aside me sailed by a robed figure

“It is time to cross the river my friend”

He said to me as he held out is hand

“Your work here has come to an end”

“Come with me I’ll take you to the over to the other side
But we must leave now before the tide”


I climbed into the vessel

“Your deeds were bona fide
In you must trust me for I am your guide”


I soon began to realize before me was no man

No mortal man anyway

I began to remember falling ill

I began to remember my friends and family

I began to remember my life

And then I had forgotten

The boatman looked at me with his skeleton face

*“Cast your fears and grief aside for you have already died”
Sort lost thoughts;

Yet find

Dangling want o'er mind's lip.





Star Toucher, 11 March 2013
(First attempt at ten words.
Gosh, it's not so easy!
Please have mercy?  :)
I cradle her in my arms,
Rocking her gently back and forth-
Her tiny hand griping my finger,
Wrapping it around like a pole-

Innocence is the name of such sight,
Heaven on earth is the proper name
For such a beautiful wonder and gift.
But the world is too vile, so it won’t remain the same;

The greatest murderers and villains
Once held this innocence and heaven
In the depths of their soul at birth,
But reality is the only air we know to breathe

Which hardly brings any comfort
But all man for himself
And all lives in chaos without a proper cause,
midst this filth, heaven disappears from earth.

So I cherish this moment and sight
for I am blessed to witness a glimpse
of heaven on this earth before it vanishes
by the air of reality we all are forced to breathe.
http://www.amazon.com/OLAF-Nothing-Above-Fiction-ebook/dp/B009XZ9OVY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid;=1353822133&sr;=8-1&keywords;=olaf+last+king+of+nothing
burn the light of fire
and wax the ears of injustice.

chide the moon
and bid ado to the reckless sun.

count the blessings of misfortunes
and wave verbs in the air--
breathing the hopeful breaths of married sandals

Label the pains of a billion rain drops and fawn the feathers
of a nightingale over the glory of failed
triumphs known as yesterday.

break the hands of a wristwatch and make a ******* of time--
for through the God in Satan was how Earth was won.
I am sorry, please forgive me
You are my precious weeping willow tree*

I did not mean the words I spoke
If I hear them again,
I would choke



Let me mend your tender bark
If only words could fix a broken heart
Let this be the start
Because without you

I’m
                                
falling*
          ­                                                     apart

Oh how I miss my precious weeping willow*
Her love soft and sweet like a giant pillow

Please oh please come back to me
My beautiful weeping willow tree
It is more fun at times to go full speed
Can we say we have been to those places

The ones we pass as we go so very fast
It is at times better to take things slow

One can look around and see where to go
A wild journey with no destination  

One thing is clear look around before you steer
Traveling straight ahead is straight and dead

Don’t miss out on what’s living around us
And let us not die before we have **been
Let me wonder about the day
Fly to the meadow like a bee
Play among the woods and decay

Now these trees belong to me
Obey no one no favor pay
It is me you will never see

Portray my true face is my essay
I will sneak upon you sweet pea
Say not the words that speak of they

This place is mine here I am free
Display no tears by the way
Cry not the sounds of what would be

Today is the day to betray
I must hurt you out of duty
*Away to the night in Hell’s cafe
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