I
When the ant had told,
That December cold
Night, the grasshopper,
Who had spent his summer
Singing in the tree,
To go dance now that
He was hungry & free,
He didn’t show the hurt,
Because he was alert
To the pain
Of winter and language,
So he left the village.
II
When he, thirteen years
Later,
Came back as a baker
(Who worked in the day
And sang in the night)
He went to see the ant,
A blue guitar gift-wrapped -
In his hand.
© LazharBouazzi, TUNISIA

Having felt something     change me there and then,
I was blown away.     Spores of dandelions.

A bow and arrow
I gave the God's hands
And red
I paint his hands and feet
No benches at school
Dad doesn't use pencils for
writing any more
The poets of my country are vanishing...
My mom never grows rice

...به دست های خدا تیر و کمان دادم
دست و پایش را قرمز می کنم
میز و صندلی مدرسه نداشته باشد
پدر دیگر با مداد نمی نویسد
...شاعرهای کشور من رو به انقراض اند
مادرم هیچوقت برنج نمی کارد

"The ocean is a desert
with its life underground
and a perfect disguise
above..." Dewey Bunnell

On a horse with
no name I rode
bare-backed in
the purple sage...
***** Pipe cacti
played the melodies
of Mexico.

Swaying sea grasses
were skirts for the
range fences...
broken and rusty.
To be avoided,
my parents warned...
Tetanus... lock-jaw.
Other things to be
aware of...
don't swim too far
from the beach...
don't stay too long
in the sun...

I was happy at the
tide pools... aqua and
pristine. Sea slugs...
far from slug-like.
Flat and purplish
with frilly edges,
undulating dancers.
Picked up and dropped
over and over.
Baby octopi... an
entire tidepool
drenched in purple
ink in its desperate
bid for freedom...
Sea Urchins...
"Their spines can
****..." my parents
warned. It was
fascinating how
they attached
themselves to
the rocks...
Almost as firmly
as the limpets...

We had
Hermit Crab races
Ate food disallowed
at home... swam
out to where water
was ultramarine...
jumped over the
barbed-wire...

with our arms

hugging

the

sun...*


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/21/2017

Mr Warrington lived up the hill
He was very big and very round
With a big round wobbling face
Guiness loomed large in his legend
When he used to come home from the pub
He'd say to us cheerily
"Give us a push up th'ill kids!"
So we'd gather round
Pushing him and pulling him up the hill
Like a tiny fleet of tugs
Nudging a liner into position
"Yer good kids!" he'd say "Ere y'are!"
And he dug into his pocket for small change
He threw it on the ground and
We scrabbled merrily
With every penny a blessing

                                        By Phil Roberts

THERE IS A COWARDLY LION
WHO IS AFRAID OF A BUBBLE
SNAP CRACKLE AND POP
THE LION IS IN TROUBLE



THE KING OF THE JUNGLE
WATCHING THE BUBBLE BURST
WHAT AN INCREDIBLE VIDEO
I DON'T THINK IT WAS REHEARSED

There's a killer whale in the bathtub
And a crocodile in the sink
I know you think I'm lying
I know that's what you think
But i really am being honest
And truly they are there
You can even go upstairs to check
Just don't annoy the bear.
And if you creep softly to the toilet
And sneak on quiet feet
You'll also get to see the thing
That lurks beneath the seat

April 2017

=================================
recalculate now
how many bubbles meet clouds
kids playing bubbles

~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~

I see you
          falling
               through
                   the purple air
                       eyes bulging              
                          teeth showing
                              like a blind, hungry tiger
                                      without a sun to guide
                                             without a son to follow
                                                  without day or night
                                                       to know the alligators
                                                        on the black river
                                                       in the jungle
                                                   where the russet snakes
                                                  wrap themselves
                                                 around your mind
                                              squeezing seeds from it
                                                      
I see you falling from
     the emerald tree, first
           clinging sanguinely
               then giving in to wind
                     and gravity, toppling
                      dropping like ripe fruit
                    splitting open spilling
                   your tawny seeds sharing
                your succulent flesh, flesh
               which feeds succeeding
             trees, trees where you can

sit to watch
             the tiger
                   and
                      the
                      alligator
                        struggle
                           struggle for
                              a place to be
                                     before they fall
                                          through
                                             the purple air
                                                air that forces
                                                 out the seeds
                                           seeds spewed
                                       on the green
                                    granite mountain
                                under the sizzling
                              saffron sun.