Dreams are made of chocolate huts
With burgundy windows, cherry **** doors
Sweet icing on cream layered roofs
Almond -walnut -caramel floors

Dreams are made of iris and jasmine 
Jacarandas lined in purple rows
Tree blossoms in clustered cobs
Petals that dance like a ballerina's toes

Dreams are made of fern green forests
Oakwood trees  that cast a spell 
A  gossamer web of magic and charm
The music of clinking coins in a wishing well

Dreams are made of cerulean skies
Contrails of clouds in ivory snow
Violet mystic misty mountains
A  tangerine orb riding a rainbow

Dreams are made of romance laced nights
A golden peach vanilla moon
Venus lighting, igniting,love's fire
The silhouette  of love in rain soaked June

Dreams are made of turquoise seas
Calm waters stroked by gentle waves
Or enticed by the charm of a midsummer night
Waters that heavenly Cynthia craves

Dreams are made of silk and satin
Dappled with reds, greens and blues
But the dreams that I love to dream the most
Are all the dreams made of you

In purple checked dresses we are confronted
Behind a piano sits ‘Miss Creak’ head of house
She has one bad eye, unfixable from childhood
But plays beautifully perched on an oakwood
And fabric stool. This is our secondary school.

On the wall above the piano is a framed print
‘Madonna of the Meadows’ by the artist Bellini
I pushed a drawing of a couple intertwining
Under ‘her’ door knowing she never would have
But a boy may have felt affection for ‘that’ affliction.

Here we all ate meals, did fashion shows and sang
I was glad my dress was purple not orange or red
Went better with my blue eyes and blonde hair
The rest of the school diveded into coloured checks
To represent Shakespearean female characters.

Just opened in Wandsworth a new comprehensive
Serving all abilities, behaviours and nationalities
Cordelia, Beatrice, Juliet, Katharine,
Portia, Rosalind, Olivia, Viola a rather unsuitable
Vision for such an uptake of adolescent froth.

Miss Creak was, kindly, I wish I had always been.

Wake not for the world-heard thunder,
Nor the chimes that earthquakes toll;
Stars may plot in heaven with planet,
Lightning rive the rock of granite,
Tempest tread the oakwood under,
Fear not you for flesh or soul;
Marching, fighting, victory past,
Stretch your limbs in peace at last.

Stir not for the soldier's drilling,
Nor the fever nothing cures;
Throb of drum and timbal's rattle
Call but men alive to battle,
And the fife with death-notes filling
Screams for blood--but not for yours.
Times enough you bled your best;
Sleep on now, and take your rest.

Sleep, my lad; the French have landed,
London's burning, Windsor's down.
Clasp your cloak of earth about you;
We must man the ditch without you,
March unled and fight short-handed,
Charge to fall and swim to drown.
Duty, friendship, bravery o'er,
Sleep away, lad; wake no more.

YOU made men to lead the race,
Bequest him with pride and ace;
For him you made the trees and taught him to graze,
Then why O’ lord you put him to this disgrace,
To raze and blaze, the haze and the nature’s face

YOU made him sneak speak and smart,
Bequest him with amazing skills and magnanimous art;
For him you erected the forests and Oakwood’s mart,
Then why O’ lord you put him with that heart,
That preys and disobeys thy inimitable nature’s cart

Whilst razing and blazing, preying and disobeying,
He got bothered of his survival and living;
For him you then again made him to earn the dollar and the sterling,
To put it for the make-up and the filling

But O’ my lord, he, in tranquil kept himself fooling,
That he benefits thy nature with his meager darlings.

Likewise, or
So flustered got her bewildered
About pins and needles

How could he the knock-wood
my piece quoting her,
Your my pin flower near
the pin Oaktree
Wishing upon me
The woodsy-star* riddle

Not very far they see the castle
Her sticky glued shut eyes

So delicately-pinned cries
Her pincushions like
pinwheel's of flower
He bloomed right in
Pinnochio the falling star
Trying to pick up her
jeweled pin but the
hardwood
hammered
him in
Pinnochio was left
there saddened  in
a bin
Like a mix up your
dukes up
What a fluke-prize
The gift came and went

The passionate
((Pin)) handshake
Handling with care
His wooden hand
I Pincurls she's the bay
fantasy night
land

The country-girl acts
So picky meeting
the right
heart positively
She feels she always
right so conceitedly
"I Charmed" repeatedly
At times jittery but Smitty
Any wood could talk
she knocks them pin pretty

The wood cradle of hay
What a pity she's born to
be witty
What a highboy she's
the tomboy why?

Not a Momma and
the Papas boy
Miss wooden chair
With her overall pants
Consider yourself corduroy
The woodsy Troy
He loved his
rocking horse
Met Jimetty cricket
That carved
*******, he sneaked
something Oliver twist
in his pocket

Perky pin of hats joy
Real McCoy but he's
the wooden boy

Gheppetto with his
wooden pipe Oh! Boy
The wooden
soldier boy
Cracking jokes
Nutcracker
marching
Woody Chuck is
quite the inspector

A house is not a home
Everyone smokes

Robin Hood
What a wooden hole of a
glitch for the gals so plastic
King Charles hunter
Mr.Geppetto needed a
miracle (Holy) thunder
Not a human on
facebook to wonder

Her X-husbands playing
X-infinity such activity
Picture zoom in
"Just Dream" of a
wooden dollhouse
Without your
spouse

Email or wifi
Legs were creaking
and Pinnochio say Hi
his nose was love-longing

The desk was
a bad omen flying
Inked pens and
Wood Chipping
The Woodpecker
Ancient wood heart
locket

His wooden head
wouldn't
fit into the socket

Woodcarved body
lines frame was
Eye pin curving and
stripping

The snoop dog
His paws got into
Pinocchio's puzzle
Hungry cry like a
Wolf Tie one on
Lie one con
Con one peeping Tom
Pinnochio his nose
is getting graphically
Longer Sherlock
  Magnifying nose
Like a calendar
  year whole pin
ball wizard
new nose longer
lucky 8 oddball months

She left his schoolboy
clothes on the wooden
hanger

Ringo met Pinnochio
They had something
in common the nose
has wisdom

Ghepetto and Giovanni
Battista looking for Julliete
loved classical she-devil
the cafe barista met her
Romeo

This wasn't the year
for a cup of the nose
Cappuccino
Go-Chopin he looks
frazzled
The Cook beef barley
soup

Pinned and looped me in
Her maple eyes to
  fit any tree
Her juices of bacon
Went timber chuckle
what was on his
wooden buckle
I pinned him

Pinnochio revival
Reversal or rehearsal
Get rid of the humans
Metaphyseal, things
So gray beyond any
sea cloud seal not real
If the wood could talk his
wooden rifle bang bang

Like a red white and
wood little boy blue
missile he sang
They were in school
time for dismissal
The wood is
productive

Christmas heart of light's
seductive
Flame on the fruit bowl
they weren't
watching the
Super Bowl

Strong bones with a
wood conscience
To have swooned into a
wood puzzle

  The damsel what distress
Like a hammer and nail
Buckled her smile
wood dress
They were nose long
For the devil in the
blue dress
Xmen Wolverine

The hard talker smooth
as a babies safety pin drop
Oakwood Knight
the lock opened the
****
Pinnochio looked
Like a shocking pink

Someone lied again
Her hairpin splinter
Pinnochio how he
got covered
All white flurries
star flakes of winter

Pour the milk with cornflakes
Watch out for Mr. Quaker Oats
The wolf eyes get to you
So timid to be starved

Like his fern another turn
of the century
The rim of the goblet
on the brim of time so
sublime banged his
wooden pencil
Italian art drawing
stitched stencil

But with hesitation wood
At its best the most clever
Was heavenly touched
by God like no other
Pinnochio has a heart
He carves a smile in you
You just feel him so true

5/20/1994
I'll forget your face--
even those hands I fell in love with.
The soft way they grasped my hips
as your head nestled into my chest.
I always admired how petite those fingers of yours were,
when compared to mine, they were inch worms wiggling between the earth.

6/20/1994
I'll forget our first--
even our first kiss that was always our biggest thing to laugh at.
That little parlor, was our first kiss,  
To find out how it would be with ice cream in our mouths
Little droplets of your favorite ice cream, vanilla cranberry.
Surrounded the bottom part of your upper lip,
slightly puckered, bending over the table towards each other.
I started to laugh before we even touched,
accidentally getting some raspberry on that sundress you love so much
Our lips didn't touch that day, but I still consider that our first kiss

7/20/1994
I'll forget our last--
Even our marriage, I can no longer remember what day it was on.
Although I replay that moment in my mind almost every single day,
trying so hard to keep it stored inside me, that even today I prayed to remember.
Your admiration for Swan Lake was obvious that day;
no wonder you had to dress in a black dress, and brides maids in white

8/20/1994
I'll forget the tiniest and the most important details to our wonderful life--
Even the ones you thought I never could:
we live at, 197 oakwood lane, or is it pinewood road,
we have three children...I love them very much

9/28/1995
I'll forget everything--
Except what I promised to always remember.
Dear, to me every day is our wedding day
It's the only thing I've been able to keep
Thanks for playing along with me,
It's been magical to marry you everyday,
to feel as young as we were back then.

Sorghum Fall , October blue windfelt opera
of curious Winter tapping November's hardwood door
Days of colorful wishes falling to Earth
They meet in oakwood harbors , perform
in the crystal sunrise ballet , pie pans
ring in crabapple arbors , withered corn songs
crackle exquisitely , they echo o'er hayfield terrace ,
red , brown and golden forest
Hillandale , windballad allegories , butterscotch fields
suing for frosted cover
Warm cabin firewood symphonies , cider and cinnamon
Hereford morning bawl , early wren catcalls
Oak chair and fescue pillow* ....

It is such a short journey, life. In moments, one moves from infancy to old age seeminlgly in seconds. Life is but a shooting star. First, you are here, and then you are there. What has happened? Of what consequence? Your mother's breast, then a red wagon perhaps, a playground of sand and swings, a crush on a fair-haired lass, your first kiss, a miss at the ball that goes whizzing by. Which school to attend, which profession to choose, which sweetheart to capture yours, your children suddenly, this city or that one, a house to become your home, springs of hope, summers of heat and trips to mountains or seas, a fall of desiccated leaves, a winter that portends getting old, all in a flash. Highways of success, dead-end alleys of despair and defeat, then finally you meet yourself. Do you say hello, or do you simply walk by? Your love leaves you in death, leaving you only with memories sweet and now still. What has happened? Where did it all go? Who knows but God and the robin high on an oakwood limb.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Cherry , huckleberry , and peach Indian summer bouquets
glide across honey- brown sugar loam
They rattle , crackle and dance at the cue of fragrant ambergris winds , gather in splendid sheltered havens , attending by cackling red-winged mavens
Sing to me airborne madrigals , Cooper angels , Pileated conductors of the oakwood , choreographed lapping lakesides , the scrub of White Pines
Land of the pumpernickel shadows , of cinnamon needle carpet
cast adrift in the very breath of artist , lover and songster* ..