Pitter Patter

This stream of consciousness is going to work out!  I just know it.  I am pretty dang sure that I can sit down to this computer and just type, and no matter what I type it will be awesome!!

Ok, now I am out of ideas.  Oh!  How about another poem?

Pitter-patter little mouse
sneaking all around my house
Fae caught you once inside her closet
While she made a shirt deposit

Pitter-patter little mouse
Fae doesn't want you near her blouse!
so I sent Ethan for my broom
(I keep it in the other room)

My eyes stayed fast upon your spot
A way to pass me filled your thoughts!
Oh where's the broom!  Hey look! It's here!
and then you knew the end was near.

The curtains closing, things looked bleak.
Your chances slim, your position weak.
And just when things were at their worst
When with fear you thought you'd burst
a tiny flash of hope and chance
told you that you might pass Lance
without being hit by my large broom
maybe you could skip your doom.

So up you sprang!
Out toward the door!
My broom, I swang
down toward the floor!

I did not get you on that day
You jumped and zagged and got away

But heed my words, for this I swear
If I see your mousy hair
Even though It cause me strain
I'll whack you hard right on your brain!

Frantically patient, softly furious.

 I guess what I am saying is:

I really do need oxygen, I just don't need it pumped into my lungs for me. You feel me, frog?

In quiet times I like to find a dim corner.  I slowly raise a plastic colander to wear as a hat on my head. Then I sing sweetly until forest animals begin to gather near me with soft looks of curious wonder.  When all of the stresses of life have settled and I am at one with nature, I pull out my air-horn..

Listen, I haven't written in this blog for awhile.  I don't know why.  I can't remember how to write stuff.  I sit down at the computer, and all that comes out is.... RELEASE THE HARPSICHORD QUEEN!!!!

Poetry is the wind from which we seek to establish the foundation of our base upon.  All writers of every genre seek that magical moment when a string of letters forms into words, and those words form into word-strings, and those word-strings form into word-string-clusters.  That's where the magic really happens!

You know what the real problem with blogging is?  You can't do a clip-show when you don't feel like recording a full episode!!  That would be cool.  Well, for the author, not for the reader.

I could be like:  2009 was really full of fascinating fine literature.  We all remember the moment when the Sadbot....

I won't though.  Although, now that I think of it, I really should write a Sadquel.  I know that everyone has been pining for more about that big metal heartless cutey-pie!!

Ok, well my pen is out of ink..