mushroom people

The mushroom people are always dreary. They never smile and they’re never cheery. They build their houses under rotting logs And spend every day in the stinking bogs. I think you’d be likely to wear a frown If you had to live in the mushroom town.

cats and dogs

The cats and dogs of Shangri-la Parade around the town, With drums and flutes and tubas, too, From morning ‘till sundown. When, late at night, they snuggle tight And settle down to sleep, There in their dreams they learn the tunes And rhythms they must keep. Then, when they wake, they gather up The instruments they play, And, one by one, they fall in line To march another day.

these are the gray days

These are the gray days, When the sun hides its face, And the light fades from the world. These are the days when the trees Shed their coats of gold and copper, When their breathing slows, and their limbs grow weary, And their avian children take to the wing. These are the days when the dried leaves, like field mice, Scuttle and scurry along the pavement, Hiding behind trees and ducking into sewer grates


My clockwork heart is breaking down, The springs have come unsprung, The gears are stripped, the case is cracked - Wide open it’s been flung. An expert hand is needed now With skill beyond compare. To help repair my broken heart, I need your special care.


I am chased, Breathless, Running for my life. My chest burns and My legs ache But I must keep moving. I have no choice, I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I want to stop but I can’t stop. Oh God, I must keep moving. I must keep moving. I must keep moving for Rest means death. Rest means death. Rest means death, and There is no rest for the wicked, and


Every other now and then, I wish I were a stone I’d stay away from every day, and spend my time alone But then I’d miss my he and she, and even them and they So I resign to change my mind - a person I will stay


When they look inside of me, What is it they will find? Blood and guts and viscera, Or have they something else in mind? Stardust, sawdust, ticking clocks, Sinew, tendon, muscle, bone, A tiny little painted sign Reading, “Please leave me alone?” Perhaps they’ll find nothing at all – Empty, hollow, only air, Or maybe they’ll find something worse – The thought’s too much to bear. I hope that what they really find,

on a winter’s day

On a winter’s day When the air is crisp and fresh and clean and The snow that falls ever so gently, gently, gently Gleams in the golden light of the morn, While the world stands quiet, quiet, quiet Because all of the animals Have looked at each other and whispered, “Hush,” You turn to the person you love and Hold them tight in your arms since You are the only two that exist


The door is locked, My egress blocked – From here, there’s no escape. But where is there? The walls of air Refuse to take a shape. There’s only light, No stair in sight, As mist gives way to mist. I’ve found no key, No hope for me Is certain to exist. “Who’s there?” I cry; Out there I spy A figure moving round. The man I see Then, suddenly, Fades out without a sound.