One fish, two fish,
How do you do, fish?
Black fish, blue fish,
I am after you, fish.
A bold fish, a cold fish,
I don’t care how old, fish.
Green fish, mean fish,
Swimming in the stream, fish.
Fat fish, lean fish,
You are on my wish list, fish.
Brown fish, clown fish,
Swimming up and down, fish.
Blow fish, glow fish,
Nowhere left to go, fish.
Red fish, dead fish,
You will make a tasty dish.
Hatch a fish, catch a fish,
You will be delicious, fish.
A hook, a pole,
A roll of twine,
And, pretty soon,
You will be mine.
Butter sauce with lemon-lime,
Sage, oregano and thyme,
A lovely glass of cold, white wine,
A meal which will deserve a kiss.
I’d like to know, so I don’t miss,
Are there other words which rhyme with fish?
Suwannee Lady sings this song. The catfish swim and the snakes are long.
The smoke that’s spilling from the oil filled grill, is getting pretty strong.
Everybody’s hungry now. I hope I’m right instead of wrong.
Put your napkin back, in your old knapsack, and everybody sing along!
I’m going to bake a jellyfish cake,
And, make up a big pot of caterpillar stew.
I hope that you, will be having some,
And, I know I’ll be having some, too.
There’ll be spider web pudding with fire fly goo.
It is one of my favorites, but, I’ll give some to you.
Grab a knife and a fork and a big plastic spoon, because,
You know, now, it’s almost noon,
And, everyone knows, we’ll be eating very soon.
We’ll have crispy, and, dee-fried, blue horsefly’s eyes,
Served with sweet beetle soup, and, with dragonfly pies.
Butterfly butter makes a very good spread.
You can try some instead, on the live-oak tree bread.
Then curried cactus, which is such a treat,
I make it with fresh, furry, hush puppy’s feet,
Mixed with hot muskrat, in red-fire-ant sauce,
And, tossed in a dressing of wet, spanish moss.
Acorn salad with kudzu, blue tailed skink fondue,
Try the wild catfish candy, with Branford’s own brandy,
Or, with wine distilled from dandelions and mimosa’s seed,
Or, whiskey which my neighbor made from leftover, jimson weed.
We’ll have ground goobers, the frozen kind. I never use the canned.
Then goulash made from gopher’s guts and spiced with lots of sand.
There’ll be sizzling, flambed lizards with hot, bubbling, buzzard’s gizzards,
And, finger licking, sweet, red, frog jam spread on alligator ham,
Roasted toad toes in a sauce with crushed snail’s shell,
A rich, dish which I think is swell,
And, a dish which I make really well,
But, watch out for the wasp-sting dip because its hot as anything.
After lunch is over, you can sit with me, beneath a tree.
You can have a sawgrass soda, or an unsweet, pine straw tea.
If you want one, I could make, a copperhead slushy or, a rattlesnake shake.
If you find some of these dishes don’t fulfill all your wishes,
Or, if you think that one of them might sound a bit suspicious,
Thank your lucky stars and consider it auspicious,
That a good cook can take anything, as long as its nutritious,
And, turn it into a gourmet dish, which is wonderfully delicious.
Intoxicated, under the influence of smoke,
And, rainbow oil,
Energizing spicy pheromones, and intentions,
The fluidity of rain water,
The endurance of the green sap running,
Throughout the veins of your leaves,
Caught by your own roots,
Unable to escape the settling clouds,
And, the fogs containing gifts spun by spells,
Uttered between whiffs of potions,
Incense and the echoes of poems,
Words and wishes,
Nothing to do now but float in the forest,
Rock in the wind. Wait for the end.
Watch a golden spider,
Spin a golden web.
Listen to the voices of visions.
Talk to the gods.
Cast out a fishing line.
See what comes by,
And, live right now.
Once I knew three songbirds. The songbirds knew no words. But, the first bird, though he could not say, was sure he did not want to stay and so, instead, he flew away, and he married a jello giraffe.
The second bird thought this was funny. When she saw them together she’s laugh. On the back porch she’d rock when she mended her sock and, she’d chuckle and smirk for a hour and a half.
Now, sure was the third bird they certainly were absurd and, sure they were really quite daft, then she shocked the whole staff and the other riff raff, when she waved us adieu and, flew off to the zoo, with the son of the checkerboard calf.
“Either Or” – pencil on paper – 8 1/2″ x 5 1/2″ – April 2018
“Either Or – One” – digital art
“Either Or – Two” – digital art
Heads are flipping up. Tails are falling down. Should I go out to the river? Should I go into the town? If I should go out for a swim, should I float or should I drown? Should I wear a pretty dress, a long, white robe or a lacey gown? Should I wear a worried look? Should I wear a dismal frown? Should I dance like a dragonfly or dress up like a clown?
Should I get out of bed this morning? Should I open up the door? Should I have a cup of coffee? Then, should I have more? Am I entertaining or, am I really just a bore? Should I dance upon the ceiling, walk on the walls or just sit on the floor?
Should I become a spider, a beetle or a bee? Should I paint the house today or should I climb a tree?
When it comes to say goodbye, should I try to cry or wipe my eye? Should I go away by automobile? Should I take a train or fly? Should I boil or broil or bake a cake? Should I stew or should I fry? Should I always tell the truth? Should I sometimes lie?
I need to know. Should I stay or go? I need to make a choice. Should I go or stay? And, what should I say? Do you think I should to raise my voice?
Should I shake and make a dreadful noise or confound with a sweet and delightful sound? Should I make you guess and guess again or should I tell you what I found? The rollercoaster is fast and fun, in fury and flash from the sky to the ground, While the carousel’s singing a bright, pretty song but, it just goes round and round.
The Frog Pond is full of frogs. They can be very noisy but they have nothing to say. They are waiting for the evening. They are waiting for rain. They are waiting for the fun to begin. They are waiting to turn into stones. They are waiting for the end of the world. They are waiting for the fall. Waiting for a love letter. Waiting for the door to open. Waiting for a miracle. Waiting for a chance. Waiting for the last dance. Waiting to be declared the winner. Waiting for the martians to land. Waiting for the omnibus to arrive, for the carousel to start, for the ferris wheel to begin, for the day after tomorrow.