THE FOOLS OF APRIL
the fools of april we are indeed ruled by monstrous slaves of greed
the fools of april we are indeed ruled by monstrous slaves of greed
twigged limbs slender sleek, not tender sticky sap leaking lures the bee king leaves rattle rustle cattle captured hanged tree from tree a lesson for you a lesson for me
Once some daffy dills of spring gathered in a mass to sing, ‘Tra la fiddle bung dee doob, Mata Hari was a boob.’
a poem from the pen of edna st. louis missouri: * ides hides destiny rides on antlered foal wind be gentle my fragile soul nickers shyly oh sweet stab
timothy bodfellow went to bed hundreds of earwigs danced on his head timothy bodfellow rose in alarm checked out of the inn and returned to the farm he dug in the mud and giggled a lot earwigs victorious, timothy not
There once was a gremlin named Bill Who did nothing but sit on a hill ”That’s no way to act!” Cried his sister, Marge Dact But he shrugged, and he’s sitting there still
when one is old one no longer springs from one’s chair instead one rises with care
The bowling ball and the popsicle met on the path to the palace. Said the bowling ball to the popsicle, ‘Would you believe that my name is Alice?’ Said the popsicle to the bowling ball, ‘Why not if you so say?’ ‘Because,’ replied the bowling ball, ‘my actual name is Fay.’ […]
throat danger the marsh hen stirs a clever foe in hiding takes aim throat pierced
Harold Baffington Pendulum Steed possessed everything he ever would need. A bowl, a pencil, an owl, and a bead, a long thin potato and a spiced pumpkin seed, and a river of gold nurtured the greed of Harold Baffington Pendulum Steed.