the thing you learn, when a child enters your world
is pain, and suffering out of your control
also, laugh and smile for things bigger than yourself
and how you missed, needed that one thing, friend -
wet wipes…

mostly, one of the thousand uncontrollable misfortunes’ birth
the moment when the first spoon of avocado needed to end up on your shirt

Should you see a wet-looking bird,  
Pecking outside your window pane,    
You can easily make a guess,  
He wants to get in from the rain.  

Go and open the window wide,  
And let the feathered fellow in,  
Then you can give him some dry crumbs    
And corn bits on a plate of tin.  

This simple act of kindliness,  
And seeing him picking his food,    
Will have you more than satisfied,  
And leave you feeling very good.  

And the wet bird that cannot speak,  
Will no longer be feeling weak.

My dog its name is Gizmo with a capital G, he isn't
very tall and not very long. He's very playful doesn't
always listen to what he's ever told. But it's like his name,
as others have said so. If somethings missing the blame
would always be on him, to this hairball this is just a game.

His favorite season for walks is when autumn comes to call.
The puddles on the floor and the leaves on the ground, all
he wants to do is be playful in the heaps of color and crawl.
Beneath them playing hide and seek, but he is always so
easy to find, following his lead a tail-wagging to and fro.

He never misses a puddle, his hair soaked, and has very
muddy little toes, chasing all the birds, but he's not scary
at all. They fly away squawking and he just looks at me
then runs around again chasing nothing at all. We see
in the distance home letting off the lead, he runs in glee.

Towel now around him, drying him quickly off. As his wetter
than a puddle. Shivering we give him a cuddle, feeling better
he now falls asleep upon his bed. Five minutes of peace before
he gets his energy back, and then a zoomy around the floor,
and then I'm like, has anyone seen my sock?      Gizmo!!

do you walk upon
water the exigent wet
do fishes know swim

After autumn's leaves depart, the branches
hang like spiders after dark, impending
winter moons and ice: The night advances.
Silence echoes the silently standing
trees. Ravens sail upon the frosted breeze,
and the small burrow for the longest sleep.
A cold rain collects in puddles of unease,
The naked forest unobscures a deep
uncertainty about tomorrow,
And the foxes speak in quiet snowfall voices
of the days that were and will be hollow,
Lanterns light a carriage.              Doubt rejoices.
In the dusk black vegetation spreads like cracks
in glass. The carriage scratches tracks
into a muddy past.

Under the gallows wet tree
I sat there alone
The droplets drenched my left shoulder
Free birds sang a good song
The sky above was blue
But gloomy on the east side
The sand was sticky
I felt the grains on my dry feet
The sun hid itself behind the white cotton clouds
The trees stood still
No breeze but it’s cold
After morning rain it was.

She ad this hobby fishing with
    A pole.
      No worms wanted

Dats a fact.

I played it cool rod in da pond,
  That became a pool.

Those
  Waves splashing out.
     Rod didn't catch nything..

But the fish were swimming
    Deep now.  

And we just smiled,
       Who need bait

When the rod catches

    Her every time.