BrainStorm

Often finding myself caught in

Chaotic twirls of brand-new thoughts and

Many already stretched thin and taut,

Used by others in this form.

 

A vicious wind, a ripping howl,

Tempestuous rain, a day gone foul.

All these aches and groans and ows

When attempting to BrainStorm.

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Pen’s Wood Collection

Deep in a forest, not too far from here, there lived a forester by the name of Pen.  Pen had moved into the wild a few years back, when there were less security cameras to catch him stealing vegetables from neighboring gardens.  Of course, this was only until Pen could grow his own crops, and for the third year in a row, his tomatoes were ripe and ready.

He stepped out of his shanty to gather them up when he saw a ground squirrel hanging around the trunk of a birch tree.  Sidling up to the small creature, Pen extended his hand to try and pet it, but naturally the rodent sped off as soon as Pen moved his arm.

Disappointed, and rather disheartened, Pen plucked his tomatoes and put them in a basket next to the fire-pit in the center of the hut.  To try and cheer himself up, the forester gathered up his extensive wood collection and went through the pieces, feeling the texture of the bark and naming the tree by memory.

Feeling significantly better, Pen lit the fire and hung an iron pot over it, supported by a tripod he had built when he had first settled to the area.  Adding ingredients, he let his supper simmer and went out and about to collect twigs.

Twig-collecting was an arduous process, and Pen found himself a good ten-minute walk from his shanty before he smelled smoke.  Smoke along would have been fine, but the bright orange flames that flared up around the settlement bode ill for Pen’s supper.  And his house.

Frantically sprinting back to the shack, Pen saw that the basket of tomatoes had caught aflame and spread it to the wood-lined interior.  Then the whole thing lit up like a greased pig with a pack of firecrackers on its back jumping through a ring of fire.

Pen, desperately trying to save his wood collection, gather as many as he could and hurried out of the shack.  He dropped one, but lacking the flexibility to bend over and the heat-resistance to stay any longer, Pen tore his gaze away from the log and trudged on, crying all the while.

His tears stopped abruptly, as did the crackling of the flames.  The scent of smoke lingered, and as Pen threw his logs in a heap and turned around to see what had happened, all that remained of the flames were a few sparks hopping around the dropped log.

To this day Pen has traveled the world, educating Park Rangers on fire protection and its important role.  He recommended that each and every one of them keep a wood collection, like himself, in case an untimely disaster occurred.

And when he retells this story, the youngest of the Rangers always asks him his secret.  Just how on earth did a piece of wood keep the forest from burning down?

And Pen always grins, and says “Only Yew can prevent forest fires.”

The Boy Who Had No Ears

There once was boy who did not have ears,

Which made hearing an impossible task.

He grew up in a world that sat silently still,

A face in the crowd with a mask.

 

This boy never listened, for he found he could not,

But he refused to try to be taught.

And if you tried to teach him a lesson, well,

First he would have to be caught.

 

Then a man came along, a sizeable fellow,

And he happened to be lacking a tongue.

But what he missed there he made up for in cheek,

And it seems as though those two had fun.

 

The man in question has no college degree,

But he understands how the boy feels.

And that, my friends, is how one truly teaches,

Not with lessons, but with sharing one’s meals.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/21/daily-prompt-greatness/

Well, Well.

Well, Well.

Well, well.  I don’t know what to say.

I gave you all my hope, but then you took it all away.

You granted me the wish and will to never use you again,

The loss of my quarter is supremely hard to mend.

 

Well, well.  Why are you still here?

Do you wish to see more of my pain?  More of my tears?

You pail in comparison to the friendliness of others..

..But I suppose I have more change here..  Well, have another.

 

Well, well.  I’m supremely mad this time,

I dropped in a quarter first, but now you’ve cost me a dime,

And my wish remains unanswered.  I really need to know

If this wishing well’s for real, or is it really just for show?

 

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/14/daily-prompt-bookworm/

Optional (Title)

The world is upside-down,

Reading right to left, while

Commoners sport crowns

On top of their heads.

 

While the mute men sing,

And while the cats chase dogs,

I sit still, wondering

How to make dough from this bread.

 

I walk onto the streets and as I keep on moving,

There’re crowds thanking congress for the job they are doing,

And as far as I can see,

Everyone seems happy,

In this world spun upside-down.

 

The world is inside-out,

Raccoons dig through recycle bins

And the old men shout

For kids to jump on their lawns.

 

And while everything’s grand,

There’s just one thing I don’t get.

Maybe you understand, but

Where has our old world gone?

 

For I’m running down the streets now being chased by the school-bus,

The taverns  fill up quickly with some nuns that can out-cuss

Every sailor on the seas,

So now I’m begging, please

Give us back our normal world.

 

Sure it’s filled with hate, violence, racism, and scum,

And chocked full to the brim with spirits from whiskey to rum,

And it’s bursting at the seams,

But at least those of us that dream

Can patch up our broken world.

 

 

*Edit:  Work in progress.  Feel free to comment how to make this better.