Blog Archives

Run Tell Say

Tell me you want to be craved
Tell me you’ve already been saved
Tell me to linger just a while—
Come on over here sweet honey chile

Say you wanna go dance right here
Say you’ll tarry in the Artmosphere
Say things may be hot, maybe moist—
Come o’er here and kiss me foist

Run down the road to Alexandria
Run down new dreams outside California
Run down the best you ever seen—
Come o’ here lil Cajun queen

Run, tell, say why our romances all fall, fail, and crash
Only we do it again at the long crisp linger of the cymbal’s splash

First Day Of Spring

Wouldn’t it be great
If I could soon pollinate
But can’t seem to find the right flower
So here is your Bee
Down on bent, creaky knee
Hoping to sway in love’s power

You certainly do impress
With your floral print dress
How it adds to your bonny dower
And I’m sorta pretty cute
Before you in my old King Bee suit
O Queen, let’s retire to yonder regal tower

Certainly would be grand
Take me hand-in-hand
We’ll whisk off to the nearest private bower
Ah, but still here by myself
No bees, dwarfs, nor elf
In isolation how I lowly cower

So on this first day of Spring
Not doing much of anything
Only to enjoy the next soft shower
It could be so great
If I would soon pollinate
But can’t seem to find the right flower

For My Next Valentine

I wanna send you flowers
Or maybe some Mardi Gras cake;
To become your next someone
I’d do whatever it’d take,

Get you look up from your phone,
And get you on over here;
But to take such heartfelt risks
Causes such a shrinking fear.

Daisies, ‘glories, roses, or tulips?
Purple and green and some gold?
Or sip some liquor, ‘tis quicker,
At least so’s I’ve been told.

But I want us pure, clear, and real
Not lost in a sick dawn’s early mist—
As a week later you’d do a whimsey start
Remembering how we had finally kissed.

Call me a florist of winged feet
For a bouquet to melt yonder rock!
Look up, look up from that anchor phone—
Eyes to eyes, can’t we find room to talk?

I wanna send you some flowers
(And someday plan wedding cake);
Can I become your next someone?
Look up, look up, for Heaven’s sake!

The Queen’s Annual High Tea

Sally Gossamer Wingstep Met Marcus V. Featherstone
Attending the Queen’s Annual High Tea
The danced and talked and walked together
In the warm manner of increasing complementarity
A touch of highlight crimson rose
Colouring the tips of Sally’s forewings
Soon she found she had forgotten
To share the gist of many amazing things
Marcus managed to hide his stammer
Girls! Curiously an ever-haunting mystery
Together they had soon discovered
A sharing in fairiekynd’s land and winged history
The Queen rose, oh so soon!
The High Tea was now at its end
Sally and Marcus bade the other their adieus
Dwelling in the warmth that such a meeting did attend
Oh yes, sleep would elude them
A shared dream now a waking reality
But where to end this little story
Of a love lacking in any signs of finality
Would you grant this poet reprieve for this his crime:
Who makes his adieu abandoning you with there’ll be more in time?