"ribbets" poems
And that was all another story,
Now bed my little eggs
As A Hundred And One
Little eyes shut tight,
Night,
Night,
Eggs Sleep
Eggs Grow
Eggs we love you so
So they slept
Morning Shimmered
Like a blanket lifted
A Hundred And One
Eyes awoke
"Mum"
"Mum"
Above Bubbles frothed
With each
POP
POP
POP
Was heard faint whispers
Of a
croak
ribbit
A Hundred And One times
If didn't lose count??
Mother out of breath
Hopping,
Jumping,
"What is it my many children"
All at once
A TAIL WE DO HAVE
My little ones, that was the story
"Of which I spoke"
But I guess
A Hundred And One
Were playing spot the egg
And not listening to what
RIBBIT mother said,
You wait till tomorrow
My young
Now go out and play,
So they rushed and played
Till the glow in the heavens sank down
Beneath the ponds gaze,
Now bed my little ones
Growing up so fast,
As a hundred a one
Little eyes shut tight,
Night,
Night,
Tadpoles Sleep
Tadpoles Grow
Tadpoles we love you so
Morning broke not as before
The racket from above
They awoke
A Hundred And One
Ran with tail between there legs
MOM,
MOM,
MOM,
All were afraid of the unknown
"Children, children"
She softly ribbited spoke,
"It is but water"
From up high and then
Drips from the clouds,
To down Below,
"Fear not my young ones"
She spoke,
And the day was noisy
And a mess did they make
But to bed early they went
An early morning
You all must wake,
As a hundred a one
Little eyes shut tight,
Night,
Night,
Frogs Sleep
Frogs Grow
Frogs we love you so
And It was Just reached
Dawn,
She softly spoke
Time to wake
Babies no more,
You are grown up
!!Its time to go!!
"Go where mother"
"To the world beyond the pond"
Life is ever moving
And so you must move on
Be brave my little
Ribbits,
&
Ribbets,
For your life is just a
Hop,
And a
Jump,
Away,
Find your damp patch,
My Hundred And one
And then make it your home..
For you are not children ribbet any more.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
Dance without thought
Along to this music, listen
To the rhythm of the chirps
And the hum of the ribbets
That waltz across the night air
From an invisible orchestra
Of nocturnal noises
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 1:20 AM UTC
And then they stopped.
Little frogs stopped their night sounds.
I couldn't figure out how to describe the sound.
Certainly they weren't chirping
for they were not birds
Nor cricketing for they were not crickets.
Quirky quaking.
But isn't quaking quake,
which means to shake violently?
They seemed to be
tiny ribbets actually
Perhaps two whole steps higher
on the piano keys--
higher than the pitch I have
in my head.
Perhaps even an octave higher.
No matter.
They were tiny ribbets to me.
Tiny ribbets actually.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC
Frogman leaves a trail of slime for children to slide on
Frogman doesn't care which side you're on
Frogman only cares if his belly is full
Of flies and spiders and of all things
Children.
Frogman rests his mind in a dark, dark place
On a lily pad with his ugly face
The children skip around and laugh and laugh
Because his eyes droop on the side of his head
But he knows they'll all be dead
They'll be sorry.
Frogman ribbets and croaks
Waiting for the children to sneak into his marsh
Of death, Frogman's tongue wraps around a child's waist
The others frightened, they beat his soft green head with nail bats
He croaks and exchanges goo-ey green pudding that burns
The skin of the cruel, curious brats who now resent
Frogman's foul release of farting out young toadlings.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 5:24 PM UTC