Almond Haiku..

Almond split in two,
When dampened by my wet tongue,
Looks like a soap bar.

Timber's Well, Part I

Draw near now, my friends, and listen up close,

for I have a tale to tell.

A story so grand you might think it untrue...

A tale I call, "Timber's Well."

Now long long ago, not so far far away,

There lived an old man named Mazoo.

With fourteen gold teeth and a hand made of oak,

He could scare you till your skin turned blue.

And then one cold day he done kicked the ol' can,

Leaving everything he had him behind.

Except, so they say, for one special device,

Made for locatin' what can't well be find....found...

This thing here had whiskers, and seven pink spigots,

And lenses of all shapes and size.

Just how one could use it, ain't no one could tell.

So they gave it away as a prize.

"Now who'd want to win such a useless device?"

You may wonder, and as well you should.

The lady, Ms. Higgins. "The one with the cats?"

That's the one. Yep, she thought she would.

So she entered their contest to guess just how many

Blue pickles would fit in a pie.

Her answer was zero, for "Pickles aren't blue."

The laugh of the crowd shook the sky.

"But pickles aren't blue," I can hear you be thinkin'

And true, true enough, no they ain't.

But imagination be needed round those parts,

Or else you might dry up like paint.

She stood there defiant as they read the answer,

"Eleven, and no more," they stressed.

Then off rode Ms. Higgins with her brand new prize,

For she'd been the only that'd guessed.

The story from here be at most speculation,

for Higgins tweren't seen e'er again.

There's some that would say she done found out too much

O' a plot old Mazoo hatched back when.

Then others might claim she was napped for a treasure

That thingy she'd won lead her to.

But I think it's bigger, and deeper than all those,

And it all has to do with her shoe.

For, you see, they ain't found her for nigh 80 years,

But one thing they did find, they tell:

The left shoe she wore on that blue pickle day

Was found deep inside Timber's Well...

"Murder most foul! Or moderately foul!"

Some cried at the sight of her shoe.

But scrawled on the sole was a note that suggested

She weren't dead yet: "Pickles aren't blue."

This well, now, were old back when old men were young,

And all manner of legend's they'd learned,

Of a whole mass of caves found beyond its dark shaft.

And none who'd gone down there'd returned.

Some say there's a treasure lost deep underground,

forgotten for many a year.

But others would claim that the caves are all haunted

And tell of the ghosts they could hear.

But were it all true, or just fable and myth?

I'd bet you Ms. Higgins now knows.

For twenty years later, she sent me a letter,

Attached to a single red rose.

"What said the letter?" You're wonderin', I'd guess.

I'll tell you, when time we don't lack.

Until then let simmer these thoughts in your head:

I went down Timber's Well and came back...

A limerick, for a change.

Oh, Pickle, you smell kind of funny.

Like licorice wrapped up in money.

I would take a bite,

But I fear that I might

Be turned into a polkadot bunny.

The Lippity Dip

Just there! Look fast!

Don't think and don't blink,

or else this one chance may just slip,

To catch a brief and fleeting glance

of the rare Lippity Dip.

What is that, you ask?

Why, do you not know?

My good friend, where have you been?

The Lippity Dip is a small clipper ship

that sales atop a small bean.

Oh, don't fret, my dear friend,

you heard right now just then.

Your ears, they are working just fine.

A ship, full and true, with ten sails well rigged,

On a bean in this garden of mine.

Alas, now it's gone.

The moment has passed.

The ship's sailed on beyond view.

I hope you could see it, the pride of bean ocean

(As I like to call my bean stew).

First in 9 months...I'm a bit rusty.

I have a friend called Tape Measure,

He's twenty-six feet long.

Not twenty-five, for some reason,

but whatever. On with the song.

My Tape Measure and I are bugs.

...Um...Buds. I meant. My bad.

And where I go he go there too.

And neither us be sa.d

This thing is getting out of hand,

my ode to Tape Measure...

'is what I get for starting late.

I go look for treasure. Now. I. Um...Yeah.

(Thank goodness this is a nonsensical poetry blog...)

Inconvenient Cheese

Oh, pickled cheese,

you aim to please,

but if you could,

don't make me sneeze.

Oh, peppered chips

in queso dips,

right down my shirt

your cheese just drips.

Oh, mustard swiss,

you are not bliss.

You make lunch break

a time to miss.

Oh, old bar joke,

you moldy bloke,

my humor sense

you just now broke......(because the joke is cheese....get it?....)

The Wild Hamster

Somewhere across the Western Sea,

beneath wet tufts of moss,

a wild hamster lies in wait,

his prey: an albatross.

Now you might think that bird too big

for such a little guy,

but wild hamsters know no bounds.

Some even learn to fly.

But albatross, for him, will not

be dinner on this night.

For now comes near a zebra goat

who's looking for a fight.

And oh, such battle would they wage,

that hamster and the goat,

if only they were not divided

by a four-foot moat.

The branch where once the bird did sit

is without bird once more.

The wild hamster sighs then walks

out to the grocery store.