Little Wisdoms
Speaking of and to
The cricket on my shoulder
Back and forth and back and
For the last time
A spar spared sparingly
Right of course it is wrong rarely
Wrought I have already been
And better
For it
Is its aid I need
Its aid I said and it knows
So it stays on my shoulder
Not older but wiser and kinder still
Little wisdoms big enough
For a cricket that is
Enough for me
.
.
A Ball of Twine
Beware the fairy venerator
With unwary care
For whimsy and whatnot
Understand this and don’t
Merry mare married a mare
A broodmother’s nightmare I’m aware
It’s precisely imprecise
Running rampant with sensical nonsense
Back into Shakespeare’s of a lamb’s tale
The root of language is contradiction
Meaning is a needle balancing
On a fine point
Every word has one
Woven wondrously like a web
I’d have a ball of twine
With many needles and many points
Some seeming dreadfully dull
Understand them
But only if you don’t want to
Get to the point
I will soon
