The moon woolgathering tonight wrapping its glow in snatches of fleece from the sheepy clouds that happen to stray too close to its face on their heavenly way. Still it can't resist peeking down now and then to see what's up in the world of men.
A humorous, familiar tale by Edgar Guest
Janet has a pair of rabbits just as white as winter’s snow
which she begged of me to purchase just a week or two ago.
She found the man who raised them and she took me over there
to show me all his bunnies, at a dollar for a pair,
and she pleaded to possess them so I looked at her and said:
“Will you promise every morning to make sure that they are fed?”
She promised she would love them and she promised she would see
they had lettuce leaves to nibble and were cared for tenderly.
And she looked at me astounded when I said, “I should regret
buying pretty bunnies for you if to feed them you’d forget.
Once there was a little fellow, just about as old as you
who forgot to feed the rabbits which he’d owned a week or two.”
“He forgot to feed his rabbits!” said my Janet in dismay.
“Yes,” I said, “as I remember, he’d go scampering off to play.
And his mother or his daddy later on would go to see
if his pretty little bunnies had been cared for properly,
and they’d shake their heads in sorrow and remark it seems too bad
that rabbits should belong to such a thoughtless little lad.”
“Who was the boy?” she asked me, and the truth to her I told,
“A little boy you’ve never seen who now is gray and old.
Some folks say you’re just like him,” but she looked at me and said:
“I won’t forget my bunnies! I’ll make sure that they are fed!”
And she bravely kept her promise for about a week or two,
but today I fed the rabbits, as I knew I’d have to do.
RUSH, RUSH, RUSH
Shower in a hurry,
toss on some clothes and go!
I still recall those deeper soaks
enjoyed so long ago.
I’d fill the tub to brimming
soak til I was a prune
recalling ancient jingles,
rehashing them off-tune.
“Nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven…”
Blub…blub… “Life is a Mutual Affair!”
“Wherever you go…trust Texaco.”
“…they’ll love to run their fingers through your hair.”
Always in a hurry now,
no time for bubble bathing;
pursuing self-set deadlines,
must forego marinating.
For I’ve become a cyber scribe,
at my computer slogging;
from early morn ’til midnight
composing posts and blogging.
heavy with fliers
cheap hotel room
checking his lottery numbers
by the fake fireplace
drift down a slum alley
teen pushing a stroller
found in the toe of his boot
love always — mom
On Wednesday I added some clouds to one of my seascape paintings, as the original clear blue sky looked so blank. Yesterday I ordered a set of fan brushes, all the better to cloud my future skies and fern-leaf my foliage.
Which leads me to this senryu:
with my fan brush
I scuffle in some clouds
promise of rain
Again on Wednesday, while on a walk, I watched the fluffy clouds drift over and wished they’d dump some rain on us. Yesterday’s cloud brought us about fifteen minutes of snow flurries, just enough to whiten the ground and briefly settle the dust. We desperately need a good soaking rain.
stop white clouds!
honor us with some drops
dust swirls along the road
soft morning rain
pattering in the trees
I have an anthology of haiku on my bedside table for when I need something relaxing to help me fall asleep. Often, though, some snatch of phrase inspires me and I grab my pencil. So here are a couple of my written-by-lamplight verses:
boys on bikes
chugging up a hill
scattered along the sand
islands in the sun
his work boots
sport flowers on the step
soft slipper days