“……but I’m not GOOD enough!”





“……but I’m not GOOD enough for that High Room!”

“I not good enough,clean enough for goin’

into that High Room of Light,” moaned one critter,

that Flop-Eared Donkey, brayin’ in sad groanin’

in the Wind of Disgust of mind in fear so bitter.




Flop-Eared Boy ran to cry on Donkey’s neck:

“You beez mah fweenz, youz carry mah load!”

“Waitsee,waitsee,” spouted Big Croakie on deck.

“Dat beastie kicked me down no bettr’n a toad!”




So Boy pulled one donkey ear to lead up to Room;

But Croakie hopped on other ear to smash back down:

“He’uns no go in High Room of Light wid ME!”did boom

Out Old Croakie in great frantic hoppin’ under mean frown.




“Then ye can just hop right on out with Snarlies and Growlies,”

pointed all friends in winding chorus blowing up to high shelf.

“Oh,me, oh my, oh bye-bye,” Croakie wept deep in his bowelies.

“Oh, I sees now I give not to Donkey what I’se wants for Self.”




“Oh, please, please, O thou dear cloud o’ witnesses so clean:

“I is beggin’ just one-toe-room in low,low corner of High Space.”

Then did Flop-Eared Donkey step right up smartly to keen:

“Oh, now ’tis I who begs dis Croakie to be forgivin’ me w’out trace.”




Then didst Littley Lamb whisper up to Old Crow:

“Let Rainbow Fly gleam on Donkey and Frog alike,

“Flap them both right quick, quick up and up in tow

“Right straight into High Room free from all strike.”


“……Save us from that snorting and growling!”


“……Save us from that snorting and growling!”




So now all filled and thrilled our friends do lean

On rocks in mock of bugs in rugs so snug

All friends, all fed, now thinking to preen

Without a care one last drink to chug.





“What, what, bot, bot?” did Crookeye and Bushy disclaim.

“What means such snorts and growls on the prowl?”

Did even Crow and Ugly flap in wonder not so tame.

“How canst Rainbow Light have faded with this howl?”





“Quick, quick, slide under this shelf,” bleated dear Littley Lamb.

So scarce awake did friends roll and squeeze and tug under ledge.

“What, what, ye bot-bots?  scrape ye selves back, back, bam, bam!”

Did Lambey push all friends into glinting hug of Rainbow Fly.

“……and Jitters did WHAT for that little injured girl?”





“……and Jitters did WHAT for the abused girl we found?”



So friends in circling love laved herbs and oils on battered child.

So critters in crooning bowing eased twinight’s falling shades.

So all questers ne’er doubted the Light would wait e’er so mild.

So blessings and healings and hummings covered all in glades.


“What, what? Hark, hark!  Bark, bark! So snark a jumper enters here,”

cried all friends at once as new dancer, new prancer, Mr. Jitters did come.

“Me, Mr. Jitters, me flips and trips all ’bout ye healin’,come to wipe tear

of bashin’ from this dear girlie eye wid me dancin’ and me totin’ like a bum.”


So Mr. Jitters did swing, so sweet, dear girl to broad shoulder of mercy.

So all friends did gasp and swoon and fall to praying knee at such a jest,

Yet jest bearing light of fresh-born hope to face born by such nursey,

Such new hope face alight in swinging by Jitters,all bouncing blessed.



“……and suddenly we heard singing!”




“……and suddenly we heard singing!”







And, now, dear friends and fellow travelers, we watch,we swatch,

Sturdy loving critterly folk make their rugged way o’er water and rock

Ever looking up, ever guided by the Winged Ones, in quest so splotch

With bramble and thorn and glitter and song of wind with heart to stock.

Let us now hold back and listen so still in thrill at climb up a notch

In trail under Wing and Bill shone next ray of Light none could mock.



“Be quietsy, ye ol’ Stumpy Woman, no snortsing of Bush Nose do make;

“For weuns do stretch heartstring to hear sweetsie note by yon lake:”

Thus did friends and critters all did rest with all steps did forsake

To listen and watch and stretch their souls out to veriest edge of calm take.



Toes whispering in the grass,

Fingers whispering the honeysuckle

Tongue whispering in the ice,

Lips whispering in the search.



Windy sun chasing joy;

Tossing branches weaving birds.

Purple perfume smoothing steps;

Dewdropping grasses washing minds.



Chirping birds, chipping old stump.

Rustling grasses, flaking old skin.

Floating petals, drying bloom edges.



“The least, the least!” cried Old Crow.

“Ne’er forget the least,” scraped Grasshopper.

She pondered, “All these berries be enough?”



And so did friends find battered Lil Child

‘neath a poking bramble, near to fainting

And so did friends lift up bleeding Lil Child

bringing saved one to healing juice in painting.









Each one holding the other all angles

wondering in circles out of the bog

Each one minding not wanting for more tangles

Not wanting for headed oil slidden as  log.

Now though these friends made to lie in green

no more wanting for rocks and horse and berried table

Now left to beaking vulture and scorning mien

no more cupping still waters beside tripping cable.

Then did friends cross arm and leg and ear and nose  to rely

For succour of heart to bide and hide the eyed rod

Then did cloak with healing stripes of myrrh thereby

For resting in bone desired spilling guarding nod.

Soon GreyHorse circled the friends with staffing care

no more forsaking close treading besiding still

Soon sighing and byeing in sleep to tear

no more dreams from each heart softing in thrill.

Now shadows of old hopen smoothed the heads

for soon shadows trading in want would crawl

Now curls of legs and toes and twigs in beds

for rest in folding holding unseamed shawl.

GreyHorse smelled the dawn of day untold

when menlings and swordlings would cut the cords

GreyHorse knew had once led in peace unsold

when yet lambs by ewes were made lords.

Dreaming these friends moldered the paths

that morn crouching to show

Dreaming in flops so snuffled the olden lathes

that shape the morrow in glow.

Stumbling and stretching and blowing and yawning

new day to greet in mind of old vow

Scratching and squinting unseamed dawning

new way to scratch ever East ever bent in bow.

Leaning on shadows molded to hold

now toe, now hoof, now claw, now shoe

Leaning on shadows shaping to scold

now fallen, now risen, now holden to rue.

Leaning on shadows bearing arm and staff and shield

against side of GreyHorse straining to lighten

Leaning hearts in the rising light enflaming field

against side of GreyHorse stretchin’ not bitin’

Leaning grass blades no meal for to yield

against belly of GreyHorse sworn for sightin’

Leaning hills in sands no stories dealed

against hoof and tail and flank of GreyHorse bestridin’

     On and on did dear friends toil ever East ever least ever beast never feast ever foil gainst broken tale of menlings fore fruited turn, down to the age yet to come.




Old hens and converted weasels, dear;

Blue,blue dragonflies decorating spotted goat, mere;

False striped ones caught in barbed wire, dire;

Mousey hearing aided repenting liar;

Swawking crow of rooster waking dovey bier;

Crowing nightingale singing black winged trier!

Such a great crowd of witnesses leaving their mirrors

Behind in the alleys, dropped beside unknown gates;

Blind and crosseyed and deaf and bushy nosed in shivers

Behind a town left in the west because star shone on pates;

Joining we expected role players sweating fear in rivers

Beckoned by skipped ropes left by shepherds crooked of traits!

We all winding and unwinding and tripping and skipping

Along behind a now found Littly Lamb, patted by Babe tripping

Of heart in love-light of young mothery eyes ripping

The very heart from innkeeper’s rules, no wine for nipping

The cold from the morn of  First Day of New Life tipping

Off our prophecy from high perch over biggy froggy head clipping!

Oh, we all no more looking at ourselves, marching ourselves eastward

Climbing ourselves eastward cracking eggs laid forgotten

Oh, we all snagging each to each in ro-bed,hi-ded long boastward

Snaking our  trails round rock and thorn under Star begotten

Fore basement of world ever laid genesing record coastward

Making our tracks in midst of robbers cutthroats to trotten.

We all friends tied in cords woven from missing parts, we unfolk

We critters in bond to render the go tell mission inyoke

We all friends leaving bystanding alleyfolk for fields to poke

We leftoffparts from smooth paths to fall on rock’s stroke

We critters and unwound twitters seared by smoke

We campers in stable left weaving up in star-toke.

We friends stumbling and clinging and crying and singing

On to the East gone from the West now parched and empty

We friends now thrummed by stamp,by rumored hoofs ringing

Out from the East gone from thrones long done with skimmed tea

We friends clutching tales for hope in stumbling stinging

We friends of nettles and bones and cold caves in the lea.

“How bear we this load of lost but not  lost?

“How dare we this go telling, go seeking, go meeting

“How High Kings bearing bounty of whole nations’ cost

“How dare we, care we, swear we this oath of treating

“How lands we cannot see but must only BE, only tossed

                                                                                                                                                                   “How peaceward, how lightward, how blessward good news feeting?”







We are now  going to revisit a small spot, a small dip in the road, a small vale almost overlooked before traveling on with our four friends:  Floppy-eared Boy, Floppy-eared Donkey, Stump Woman, and Sherpherd of the Crook Eye.  We will pull back a segment recently appearing on Generation X website, run by Jennifer James in Oklahoma City.  The following had appeared, at Jennifer’s request, a little over a week ago:


Big Croaker rolled in the last midge of his dinner

For it would soon be time fornight’s rivetting chorale

For, you see, Big Croaker is the new winner

The new top boss of Big Pond morale.

Oh, yes, bow low, all peppers, all thinner

All multitudes, vast crowds, even to SoCal.


Rivetting as his vast band should be,

Big Croaker soon grew boared with so many lowly peeps,

Now Bigg Frog bulged eyes and sprang to tree

Up on the hill above Big Pond, all the better for reaps

Of richer, juicier bugs of  the night awaning in lee,

For, you see, Big Croaker would always want more in leaps.


But, wait, halt–what is this little parade below?

What is this man, this donkey, this girl on the road?

What is this parade of the evening on a quest to tow?

What is this parade, of low esteem without Big Toad?

Oh, yes, this parade must have Big Toad leading the row?

How else would any quest be worth the load?


So no Big Croaker hopped with throat blown up,

All ready to lend some glory to man and donkey and girl,

Big Croaker only could give these three the proper shine up,

The proper line up with proper flippings of that tongue in curl,

So  bulging were Biggie’s eyes at hopping out,up,out,up,

He never saw Caterpillar dropping from limb to saddle’s burl.


Until little Cattie  whispered in his fuzz, “I will go, I will see,”

And then did Big Croaker hop higher, croak louder, blow bigger:

“But I am the leader, I am the Biggie, you fake bee!

“I will lead the quest, I know best, snigger, snigger.”

Then did Little Cattie wriggle and snug, just content to be

Riding on the trip of the ages, not heeding Croaker trigger.


So Big Croakie blew harder and hopped higher

Until little donkey’s hoof did fling him into ditch,

Blinding him with mud and dulling Croaker to Sigher,

For now Croaker was choked with a stitch

Of pain in the throat that once ruled the mire

Of Big Pond, now forgotten in night’s pitch.


Little Cattie snugged in girl’s robe, holding truths under starlight,

“Oh, yes, I hear the song, oh yes, I see the wings.

Oh, yes, I am little, I am only one,I have no might,

But I am riding to Bethlehem with things

No home could make so right,

Riding to Bethlehem held by the mother of God’s son.


NOTE:  When our four friends, listed above, continue on their own special road, they will be surprised by the Shrub Girl, who can smell over great distances!





The strangling vine seems to be brittle and dead

as winter approaches.

The creeping white of root rot seems to settle downwards

out of sight in the mists of autumn.

The invasive stinging stink of chemicals burning then reported

move out of town.

The vulture cleans up roadside slaughter  and then slowly

sails to the next county.

The little hens’ nest of gossip retires away and nobody knows any details

in the here and now.

The snakeskin rest on the basement steps after the slither takes the poison

to curl away in the creekbank.


The screeching tires and wild eyes turn the corner into a descending cloud of

frayed synapses and blocked passages.

The crashing nightsticks batter amidst the sleeping tents, piling revenge upon deprivation

into an ill-assortment crowding the dawn.

The changed words drift down upon the kneeling at the altars collecting heart-sadness

at yet one more eventide.

Darkness falls–evil curls and crouches in committees.





Dewdrops at dawn quiver witgh expectations of bejewelment

in the sunrise.

Birds’ first shy chirp testing the air

from a treetop.

A sudden gust of ripening pear breeze carries away

exhaust fumes.

Neighbor’s young dog yipping with the joy at the first

grass-run of the new day.

New sprout-greens flickering in a communal garden

bless the eye of the oldster-and-

Fresh-washed pavement tickles the nose of the jogger

who thought he would not notice.

A gentle smile, nod, and wave from a neighbor driving out

oh, so, care-fully.

A flipped-open newssheet blocking out the details of

new charities and steadfast democracy.

A special touch at a healing altar rejoices the heart and

stands in the legs rising up.

Goodness and mercy spiral up to shine in new light before all giving life.




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