August 12, 2014

2014-08-09 09.02.18

There once was a very fine boulder.

No one in the meadow was bolder.

He gathered flowers

for several hours.

His true love? Over he bowled her.



August 8, 2014


The Sun Man often stood at the center of the walkway connecting the mightiest wings of the fortress. He enjoyed looking down on the throng gathered below in the bitter frozen depths. He spoke to them.

‘Behold,’ he said. ‘Your work this past month I have found to be satisfactory. All quotas have been met. Santa himself has expressed approval. Therefore, as a reward, I will call down the sun to supply you with a fleeting moment of comfort before you return to your grueling tasks.’

Having spoken, the Sun Man raised his arms and ordered the sun to come down. The sun obeyed. The workers experienced their fleeting moment of warmth before hurrying back to work in response to the snarls and raised whips of the attendants.



August 2, 2014


Jesterbeasts from the world of Boad once upon a time traveled back and forth to Earth through portals linking the two worlds. On Earth they are legend, mysteries called bigfoot, sasquatch, yeti. On Boad they are fact, happy go lucky performers and clowns. Soon their story will be told in Book 9 of The Bekka Chronicles.



July 25, 2014

carefree daffodil

“Oh, no! They’re going to pick us! I knew it! I knew it! Oh no!” trumpeted a daffodil sprouted near the edge of a meadow positively yellow with daffodil blooms.
“Who cares?” sniffed a neighboring daffodil, head held high while the meadow all around swayed in floral panic. “Get picked. Don’t get picked. It’s all the same.”
The collectors swept in with baskets, and soon the meadow was nearly empty and the baskets nearly full. The bride-to-be’s mother bent down to snip the last stem, but was stopped by her daughter’s plea.
“Oh, Mummy, we have enough. Let’s leave one,” said the blue-eyed maiden, glowing with joy.
The mother smiled a gentle smile and put away her razor-sharp clippers. The collectors gathered together and moved off, chatting and laughing. The meadow with its single standing daffodil was abandoned.
“Who cares?” sniffed the daffodil, head held high.

Moral: A carefree flower often survives, especially if it is a daffodil.



July 19, 2014


this is a poem all about lambs

and how they resemble not at all clams

clams are not woolly and legs have they none

a clam in a meadow does not romp and run

a clam does not bleat, never says ‘baaa’

if you think clams are lambs, in you there’s a flaw



July 7, 2014

2014-07-05 09.42.04

A maze of gentle hedges surrounds the Elf Queen’s Glade.

I wander for days to solve it. I’m trapped, but unafraid.

Finally, yes, I step through. She sits there on her throne.

‘I’ve been waiting,’ she says. ‘Come closer. My, how you have grown.’

‘What’s that?’ I gasp. ‘Do you dare confirm what I’ve believed so long to be true?’

‘Give me your hand,’ she says, and then, ‘I’ve no other son but you.’

A maze of gentle hedges surrounds the Elf Queen’s Glade.

What joy to be a spider in the ever cool afternoon shade.



July 1, 2014


“Are you one of those quinces we’ve been hearing rumors about?” said one of the avocados pleasantly, just to be polite, just to make the newcomer feel welcome.

“What’s it to you?” was the quince’s rude reply. “Is that your skin or did somebody green vomit on you?”

“Well, I never!” uttered the avocado, stunned and offended.

“I can believe that. A fat blob like you couldn’t if it wanted to, whatever it was!” said the quince.

With a haste rarely seen, the avocados rolled from the bowl with what dignity was possible for avocados and wibble wobbled down the length of the counter to gather next to the microwave oven.

“Geez, I thought they’d never leave,” said the quince.

“It’s a yellow apple. A SOUR ONE!” called out the boldest of the avocados.

“I’ll be a preserve! What’ll you be? GUAC! HA!” shouted the quince.

The avocados were stuck for a snappy comeback, so they opted for haughty silence. They wished that they really were alligators, instead of merely being called alligator pears. Then they would give that insufferable quince a lesson in manners not soon to be forgotten.

Moral: Rudeness is not exclusive to the Animal Kingdom.



June 25, 2014

yellow marble

A cat’s eye marble, crystal clear with a wide yellow ribbon twist, rolled across the rug and came to a stop next to a short heavy club leaning against the wall in the corner of the room nearest the fireplace.
“Excuse me, club, are you tall enough to see the clock? I’d like to know what time it is,” said the marble in her small round voice.
“Cudgel,” replied the club shortly.
“Pardon?” said the polite little marble.
“I’m not a club. I’m a cudgel! I smash, bash and break! I crush! Oh, how I love to shatter things! Shatter, I tell you, shatter!” said the short heavy club with much emotion.
The cat’s eye marble quietly rolled away.



June 20, 2014


The biggest tree was twice as tall as any other tree in the forest.
“I can see the ocean,” boasted the biggest tree.
“Who cares?” piped up a young Douglas fir growing carelessly by the stream.

“You’re fat.”
“Why, you miserable toothpick, I’ll …”
With great effort, the biggest tree wrenched itself to fall crashing toward the

insolent Douglas fir. The fir, who had been planning for and longing to meet this

moment for fifty-three years, spun quickly away, deftly pulling up its roots and dancing

in triumph around and about and on the fallen giant.
“Missed me! Missed me! And guess what? Guess what? Go ahead. Guess!” taunted

the Douglas fir.
The biggest tree stuffed branches into its ears, closed its eyes and shut tight its

mouth in a grim line.
“No comment, eh?” continued the sassy fir. “Well, listen to this. I’M going

to the ocean! Ha! Walking there! How do you like that?”
And the Douglas fir did walk to the ocean, where it was elected mayor of the small town

there and opened a successful used car dealership and married an attractive plum tree.


Moral: Never underestimate a determined tree even if it is rude.



June 16, 2014

mountain bike

The mountain bike hung on the garage wall. It was deep night outside and quiet. All the back wheel spokes and most of the front wheel spokes were sound asleep after an exhausting day of spinning up and down rocky trails. The few awake on the front wheel whispered so as not to disturb the night or awaken their brothers and sisters. They discussed dizziness remedies.

“I felt like throwing up after the first rotation. How do you keep from barfing?” asked the new spoke, a recent replacement for the spoke bent by the most recent mishap on the mountain.

“I like being dizzy,” boasted his near neighbor, no help at all.

“Never mind her, new guy,” said the spoke two stations above. “I used to be dizzy all the time, too, when I first spun. It takes a knack to avoid it. Here’s what you do. Pick a cloud to look at. If there’s no cloud, choose something far as possible on the horizon. Even plain blue sky is better than watching those trees whipping by.”

“Thanks, I’ll try that,” said the new spoke.

“I like being dizzy,” repeated the near neighbor, a silly smile on her face.