Poetry, Haiku, or Rhymes

Return of Dumb Poetry

To you few who,

Are my readers dear and true.

And may not have had a clue,

If I had said “pooh-pooh, vamoose “and adieu.


I have not been far from you,

Just a bit of an education I pursue.

Please do not think that I misdo,

My life has just been one hectic snafu.

My return has been long  overdue,

Though this rhyme is truly full of poo.

I know that I sound like one with a loose screw

It’s finally over. Whew!

As my first semester in college comes to a close, what comes with it is my return to the blogosphere. It’s been one fantastic heck of a ride, and I am mentally prepping up for another one, but I missed my beloved hobby. 

May this be one wild hullabaloo!

Poetry, Haiku, or Rhymes

The Blushing Banana

Have you ever seen a banana blush?

That golden delight colored pink?

A shyer fruit you’d never meet,

One moment glorious, another moment mush.


I met a banana once,

Gerald was his name.

The blushiest banana for miles around,

He could speak, and yet, still make not a sound.


If you smiled, or talked to him:

His mustache twitched,

His nose would itch.

To his face, the blood would rush,

Giving him the pinkest, blushiest blush.


What’s a poor, poor, banana,

Like Gerald to do?

Maybe grow a beard,

And move to Timbuktu.



Poetry, Haiku, or Rhymes

The Case of the Flying Shoe

Went for a ride in a flying shoe,

Up, up, up, and a hey didi lee doo.

We flew over the block,

And under a nose shaped rock.

With a hey nonny noo,

Me and the flying shoe.

Gave a “Ho there,” and a “by your leave,”

To a group of pirates celebrating on a midsummer’s eve.


On and on we flew, my shoe and I,

Singing a merry la dee die.

To where a group of hippos pirouetted in tutus,

Followed by cartwheeling toads in muumuus.

To a snowy land we flew,

Where shivering and teeth chattering, I and my shoe.

Saw penguins tap dancing, row upon row,

While the polar bears, with flutes, kept time on ice caps below.


We joined in the winter dance, my shoe and me,

Stomping, tapping, and twirling, hey diddly dee.

Till dawn’s first light, we capered quite merrily,

To the beat of the stars’ winter symphony.

Away from the icy ballroom we flew,

Tee da lee dumm, me and my flying shoe.

We went for a visit to Ms. Sarah Tott,

Who had her abode in a large teapot.


She lived with a giraffe named Gregg,

Who wore striped socks on each leg.

He was purple, and wore a checkered bowtie,

And, he was quite prone to weep and mournfully sigh.

Ms. Sarah Tott had stars for eyes,

Merrily, merrily, would they cheekily twinkle.

Her roundness and red cheeks gave an appearance of a large cherry,

(And that’s what she was! Me oh my)

And there was none merrier than she.


After tea and crumpets, my flying shoe and me,

With a toodle pip and hey diddly dee.

Bid a fond farewell to Ms. Sarah and Gregg,

The latter of which, at our departure, sighed most mournfully.

Off into the clouds, we rose and flew,

Me and that splendid, splendid shoe.

Then, as I woke up in my bed, yawning and stretching,

Something at the foot of my bed caught my eye.

One lone shoe, worn and wind-tossed,

Stood there, as if it had been adventuring through the night.

Poetry, Haiku, or Rhymes

A Random Poem About a Random Mountain

I wrote this poem when I was about 15, and going through a phase of wanting to write Lord of the Rings fan fiction. Thankfully, I got over that bad idea, but I did find this poem that I wrote for it in my old writing files, and I thought that I would share it with you. It didn’t even have a proper title yet.

O’er the thundering sea,

Where sky meets earth,

Where the sun and moon like lovers meet,

And where bird songs are truest sweet.

Oh, Mountains! It is

Thy morning song and eventide lullaby,

That makes us mere mortal beings,

With hope and longing sigh.


Your beauty is unsurpassed,

The majesty of your form lacking a rival,

Nothing more splendid can I compare to you,

You are the queen of all, tis the honest truth.

Many deaths have you seen on your craggy slopes,

Many tears have been shed while in the comfort of your arms,

Pain and suffering have been your misfortune to partake of,

Sadness and misery have replaced where once there was love.

Why do you weep, my darling,

Thou guardest a most sacred place,

Where beauty and life emanate all around you,

Where colors have not yet lost their vibrant hue.


Poetry, Haiku, or Rhymes

Wonderland Dreams

This is a poem about how it feels to lose yourself in the pages of a book


A clock ticks its tock with blithe unconcern,

The sun dapples me; warm freckles of light.

As I open the book on its creaky hinges,

The edges of its pages, beckon me to take flight.

When into its embrace I step,

I am welcomed as an old friend.

As if the world outside these pages were not truly mine,

And rather this one in a book some author penned.

For days, and for hours between,

I am swept away, beyond what I know.

I am spellbound, enchanted by the words written on its pages,

I don’t think I could ever go.

Down a path of starlit dreams,

I will wander for a time.

And, though I wish to remain there forever,

I will return to that world of mine.

Poetry, Haiku, or Rhymes · Random Thoughts

Memory Land


Though the years go sailing by,

From the rosiness of youth to wrinkled sagacity,

There is the single thing that reminds us of our purest self,

That grew within us; the truth that was, and that used to be.

Memories of the happy times.

When the world was our stage to command.

Hot cocoa, on a chilly Winter’s Eve.

Walking down Memory Land

Times of sadness and grief,

When we knew the child’s honor, and had no shame to cry.

Not allowing the world to break our strong will to be,

But letting the wind lift our wings to fly free, free.

Memories that last forever.

The very first spring that we walked among the flowers.

Our first breath of life

That diamondy beauty of a melting cube of ice.

Nature’s smell after the first rain.

The aroma of aliveness and raw sensuality.

Sitting round an oak log fire, under a stage of stars,

The feeling of true freedom; not the stifling sensation of being caged behind bars.

Yet, when out of childhood we step,

Into that age when we are supposed to be wise.

We lose the true wisdom that lies buried within us.

And we view life with world-selected, cynical eyes.

Childhood dreams buried deep down, in the core of our souls.

Our memories just fleeting symbols of who we once were.

Our truest self, hidden behind a mask of false humanity,

That hopes to break out- if our will is strong enough- and again fly free.

Poetry, Haiku, or Rhymes


Painful with words; mouth is dry

Her heart beats with the time of the pounding drum.

Longing to be one of them, surrounded by that jolly crowd.

But, holding her own counsel close, not daring to make a sound.

Her stomach clenches and unclenches, fifty times- quite certain even more.

Thoughts struggling for air, but she too scared to let them fly.

Fidgeting with the nearest speck on the wall,

Arranging the table condiments, ten times more than she must.


Watching the rest of them laughing with unaffected ease,

While she, like a fly on the wall, steps off an inch.

Then, when fear of the unknown predator, yanks her back to safety,

Burying deeper, deeper into herself- a wall fifty feet thick.

Can a fly on the wall become a butterfly?

Flitting from blossom to blossom, with the grace of a summer breeze.

No more trapped in a world where she hides her truest self,

But sharing with the world the joy of her amazing singularity with the greatest of ease.