Fear Not, I’m Entirely as Silly as I Seem

Digital illustrationMission Soon Accomplished

If I should seem suspicious or you think me too reserved

To let my hair down and relax; if I make you unnerved,

Don’t get all nervous and afraid–don’t fall apart and cry–

It’s not your fault that I’m this way: I’m not a super-spy.

There’s nothing wrong or worrisome that you should fear from me;

No problem, nor is there a thing that’s not as it should be–

Unless, of course, you would include on such a list of crimes

That I lie here in wait for you, reciting silly rhymes.

My mission, I confess to you, is simply to drive mad

Each person passing near enough to hear, however bad,

Each silly and ridiculous and impish bit of verse

I can dream up and spout at you; they go from bad to worse.

The only point in all of it, and you can rest assured,

Is that my secret will get out: I’m totally absurd.

 

Mysterious Phenomena & Exotic Doings

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It’s hard to know what to make of such goings-on . . .

Sharp Objects Falling out of the Sky

On certain Wednesday mornings

Sharp objects from the sky

Come shearing down the sides of clouds

Like spaceships zipping by

And boulders, ashtrays, cutlery

And great meteorites

Come slashing from the heavens

But clear up by Wednesday nights

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. . . but I’ve come to expect the unexpected . . .

Beware the Obsessive Joys of Scientific Exploration

And don’t ‘Do too much science‘! When it takes hold of you, there may be no escape . . .

digital illustration from an ink & graphite drawing

New Species, Same Old Story

Professor Bob Sponk and his lovely wife Myrtle

discovered a rare omnivorous turtle

and off to the swamp in the jungle’s dim inner-

most sanctum they tracked her, observing her dinner-

time habits, behaviors and preferences; then,

Bob sneezed.

It turns out she eats women and men.digital illustration from an ink & graphite drawing

Happily Haunted Houses

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Her Monument

In a strange little homestead lit by electric light

is a passing builder’s fancy floating in the neon night;

the spirit of the artisan flits by, nocturnal blue,

and shoots the moon by swooping through the ashes in the flue;

she drifts in starry glimmerings beyond the crooked room

where comet dust is settling on the folly of her tomb. O,

let lie the tools of wisdom where your little homestead rises,

and cry Hurrah! for moonlit nights

and foolish enterprises.

In Other Dimensions and full of Dementia

digital illustration + textdigital illustration

Companionship or Conspiracy

 

P&I + textP&I + textP&I + text