Cronk the Crocodile

Cronk the crocodile lay abed
Scaly, warm and trim.
And when his friends the birds did call
Cronk smiled and let them in.

He proudly bared his mighty maw–
With teeth that mouth did brim!
He held it fast and safe and wide
And let the birds begin.

The first bird was an eager chap
As fast as he was dim.
With lightning pecks and darting leaps
He quickly cleaned Cronk’s chin.

The second was a pompous sort
Who gazed ’round with chagrin.
“Dear Cronk!” he moaned, with much dismay
Your mouth smells like a bin!

Yet later when their work was done
Cronk’s mouth was finally clean.
And when the birds flapped proudly off
Cronk’s beady eyes did gleam.

For a third young bird had just arrived
Far plumper than his kin.
This bird had lived an easy life–
Was fat where they were thin.

“Welcome to my mouth,” smiled Cronk,
“Come have a look within.”
And when the poor bird hopped inside
Cronk did an awful thing.

His mighty jaws and teeth came down
And with a single bite,
Cronk gobbled up the poor young bird
And swallowed with delight.

The next day when the birds returned
Cronk didn’t say a thing.
“Oh where is our dear brother gone?”
They never guessed Cronk’s sin.

They attended to their work once more
And scolded Cronk’s hygiene.
His mouth was in an awful mess
The worst they’d ever seen!

So in the end they never found
Their poor lost chubby twin.
Their chores had cleaned off every trace
From Cronk’s sardonic grin!

Nom nom nom!!!

Bad Cronk!

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A Desert Prayer

Hail deliverer, here I am.
Weave a wicker basket, not a wicker man
Then draw me forth to pass over
The snap and hiss of knives in hand.

Because I am who I am and nothing more
I dug a grave with my own hands
To hide a whip and cruel thoughts
I left my God behind.

But I long to leave this in my past
And burn old laws in desert heat
To sink my soles in scalding sand
And stumble far on burning feet.

Because I am who I am; nothing more
And there is no place for sandals here
A burning vision came at night;
That vision called on me.

Hail deliverer, here I am!
Go and call; speak and free!
Drop the staff and strike the breast!
River to wine, bread to feed!

Ten chimes through a hurried meal
We grab our cloaks and go and steal.

I am who I am! I will unchain!
Hail deliverer! Borne in reeds!

And still…

The sand is loose between my toes
Yet fear will not pass over me
Though burning lights guide our way
The path’s not always clear to see.

For doubt still daily plagues my thoughts
Like chariots that I must flee
A task to do; these words to speak;
A burden which weighs heavily.

I have looked back through desert heat
And here I am, down on my knees.

Hail deliverer, now I pray:
Open my eyes so I may see
The sacred flame that I once saw
And hear the voice that guided me.
Split the waters that blind my sight
So I can know all I can be
Unweave the wicker man I am
Like your people, set me free.

21

The date says I am 21,

Few years once were many.

“In 9 more you’ll be 30 son;

In less I was a daddy.”

.

This slideshow sequence — strange to see

Myself from way back when.

I wonder what makes that child be me?

What links me now with me back then.

.

Familiar stranger/old friend:

In 9 more years will I still see,

When I look back upon me now,

A distant child that’s somehow me?

.

Yet freezing time is wistful fear,

Potential must Become:

As chrysalis; then spreading wings;

To be Realized… And no longer young.

Kevin’s Favorite Boxers

Sometimes when you really like a pair of boxers, you just have to wear them on your head.

Caught in the act.

I am not ashamed…

A lot of people were curious about the intriguing pair of purple boxers that I wore while bag-packing last weekend. So–ever eager to please my loyal fans–I have created this special edition, once in a lifetime post so that you can finally witness them in all of their 3 megapixel glory. Continue reading

Dust

Cue the night:

I’m buried in seaside dust, raw from overreaction;

Building futile ashen castles,

Ironically unwashed by vaguely dreamt metaphors?

{And I should know} If I opened my mouth, I’d only sneeze in more than would be wise;

Those strange laws of expulsion-impulsion.

So I will stay, holding my breath though I never reached the sea,

Contemplating lasciviousness in bewildered detachment;

Like a cow in a charnel shed, face shoved in dead could-have-beens.

Tourist guide:

Not quite sure why I was there. Just let the dust be dust again.

A White Christmas

Oh how the tree glitters like snow.

And will the forest miss it anyway?

Celebrate and decorate; cover everything with empty tinsel.

The carol singers pirouette,

And we graciously grant them more than indifference.

One penny here, one reluctantly there,

“Wouldn’t you hate to be so poor?”

We sink our teeth in lakes of gravy,

(Harland and Wolff would be so proud.)

Our chins drip fowl grease; not sick for want of food – too sick to stomach more.

Santa’s workshop drips as well; his elves are little Chinese kids.

“Well, don’t their parents love them?” Because we know to show we do.

And the rest of the world can wait,

For this one lovely Winter’s day.

When we share for sharing’s sake – never just for force of tradition.

And the Christmas shoppers flock the tree,

Flapping violently,

Shoving in consternation,

I see their eyes light up like magpies’.

And oh how the tree glitters like snow.

As the other birds weep.

A white Christmas,

The coldest time of year,

When we paint our consciences to match our skin.

Words of Wisdom

Don’t trouble trouble until trouble troubles you.

Blissfully ignorant.

You aren’t in theatre.

But everyone’s acting.

Where difficulty arises, use a graduated response.

YOU! SHUT UP!

It’s a concrete situation.

I can’t get out.

The great well of human forgetfulness.

Bottomless pessimism.

You haven’t a leg to stand on.

So hop hop hop away.

Splat.