Cosmic Turkeys
Each Christmas day in Outer Space the Cosmic Turkeys hold a race. Around the Milky Way they run and gobble stars up just for fun. Like feathered leggy poultry cars, they zoom past Mercury and Mars. Then zipping past the asteroids they gurgle through their adenoids. It takes a while to run their course (and…
Fish and Drift Hide and Seek
THE ARCTIC WIND SNATCHED Fish’s words from her mouth and laced them into its howl. “Ready or not.” Fish sighed and looked around. She had walked, well, Drifted really, so far North there wasn’t much to see. Just another snow-clad valley scooped out of the blue sky like a large bite from an ice cream.…
Is Grant McWishes a Meanie Genie?
Grant McWishes, the local town genie has always been known as a terrible meanie Though genies are meant to make wishes come true. this one just seems to shout rudely at you. “WHADDYA NEED? WHADDYA SAY? WHADDYA WANT FROM ME TODAY?” When Grant McWishes appears in a flash the town dwellers all run off in…
Go to sleep, my baby—a nursery rhyme
from the Wicked Children’s Book of Nursery Rhymes Go to sleep, my baby and maybe you’ll sleep sound, I’m sure you won’t be kidnapped or buried in the ground. Go to sleep, my baby and don’t give in to fear of waking up without your teeth and only half an ear. Go to sleep, my…
Bonfire Kite
When fires light on bonfire night each spark becomes an amber kite, but try to fly that will-o-wisp and you’ll be burned into a crisp. —
Laugh and Cry
Sir Laugh-a-lot Sir Cry-a-lot – They did not get Along a lot They stood upon The lawn a lot And used to laugh An awful lot But then one day Sir Cry-a-lot Bumped his head – It hurt a lot Sir Laugh-a-lot Just laughed a lot Which did not please Sir Cry-a-lot There were a…
What You Are Not
You are not the apple of my eye You are not the cherry in my pie You are not the plum upon my thumb You are not the last, delicious crumb You are not the icing on my cake You are not the meal I’d choose to make You are not the cat who got…
New Gold—a National Poetry Day poem
In 1977 two spacecraft were launched on an endless mission into the cosmos. They each carried a gold disc upon which was stored information about Earth in the hope that should any alien life see it they would know they are not alone. This poem imagines a new disc being created. A disc for us.…