Wee

In the lid of the eye,
the poop fairy nestles.
Dropping by in wee hours,
a wiggle bears a treat.
The splash, the plunge, the ripple,
while you lay there sound asleep.

drivel snip nursery rhyme or "look at me I'm a poet"

Drivel snip, drivel snip,
snap there goes the precious quip,
the keystrokes much too quick,
it rolls of the tongue and lips,
but to the mind nothing clicks,
not to see another day,
fleeting poem goes away,
your brain-licking yields no joy,
once again, time to deploy.

Eyeball Sauce part 1

Look at me....
“Why should I look,” a distant yet familiar voice whispered!
What the hell, who is there? I don’t see anyone, who are you I demanded!
“You have to look at the side of yourself for I am your eye cried the voice!”
Am I dreaming, what is this nonsense... I can’t see my own eye!
Again, I was interrupted by the shrieking voice, however, this time it was much closer!
“Look at me, LOOK AT ME…” who are you I interjected, answer me!
“I am the bunk in your eyeball sauce” cried the eye!

Sky Father (Version 1)

As seen on Tom Paine's Ghost:

Glorious fireball,
ferocious inferno,
so gentle from afar,
birthing steamy chasm,
the wind at our surface,
to the universe, a spark,
earth creatures, eternity,
giving significance,
its power so, stifling
delusions of grandeur,
we bask in your glory,
for what is ours is yours,
I hail thee, sky father.

thine Holy water

Tiny pieces of sand,
flecks spread across the land.
Eroding solvent swept,
springs seeping the depth.
The shaman's gait flowing,
consciousness, subtle glowing.
Wind sweeping through the mane,
toes squishing muddy grain.
Where shore and river merge
the spirit feels the urge.
The same flows through the veins,
blood thumping bathe the brain.
Whitewash blasts into the air,
refreshing soulful dare.
Mists recede to a dream,
like time, a constant stream.
Now the midst of winter,
vector slowed, it splinters.
Fragmented in the mind,
its form, only one kind.
Dynamic blanket sows,
the countless seeds bestowed.
Waiting to tilt on end,
cycle renewed again.