Fiddleeebod

Emily the well dressed nanny goat spent yesterday on tomorrow’s boat dancing jigs and eating lemon pies and telling the most outrageous lies

whiskers of mice, poisonous dew boil in a cauldron of green jelly stew one bone of harm another of fright melt in the churning hissing delight

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

When lost in the Danken Wood I find it is always good to gather your bearings consulting with herrings or Little Red Riding Hood.

“This is my poem all about bears. It’s not about chickens. It’s not about pears. It’s not about clumsily tumbling downstairs. In fact, as I noted, it’s all about bears. The first part’s about a grizzly and panda taking high tea on a random veranda. The next part’s about a white bear most polar angrily […]

Sometimes I jump up and down shouting, “Rice!” It frightens the birds and scatters the mice. Why do I do this? I know it’s not nice. Oh well, time to stand on my head screaming, “Ice!”