Oakleaf Studios
Master Jay
Cocky Master Bluejay, jester of the oak leaves,
Cackling to spook the nuts from their branches,
Hides so well in spring and summer's court,
That nary a king can spot his mocking smile.
Chitter, chatter, clacking, to tell the squirrels to skitter
Lest Monsieur Pussy snare their young.
In fall, when nature's cloak is dropped from her limb's,
One may catch Jester
Jay cohorting with his fellows,
His white breast thrust out in pride and defiance.
Dip and bob, scold and scorn the coming winter,
Till even the chill wing is won, and Branches,
Warmed by his laughter, sway in a summer waltz.
Warmed by his laughter, sway in a summer waltz.
He cocks his head, a nod to an honored pal,
An steals an acorn from beneath an oak's nose.
A Dandelion Seed
A dandelion seed,
There!
A fairy, almost.
Tiptoeing on daisies
Sparkling in the sun.
Swooping on a current,
Spiraling,
Flip, whirl,
Rolling and lolling on a leaf.
It skitters,
To a rock.
To hide.
Moon Children
The mood is full when they enter.
Through my bedroom window they softly creep,
and around me the center,
They tempt and taunt till the very sleep,
Which holds my tired body,
Is driven from me,
And I know it's pure folly,
Rest for me again to see.
"Come" they whisper in their musical voices
As their golden bodies sway in rhythm
"With us you'll know your wildest fancies
Oh come " And my mind with them,
In unison with their wild contortions,
Bends and follows dropping it's earthly hold
To a land where reality is distortion.
And here their silvery wings fold.
The light is bright, with source unknown
Warmth and joy invade my spirit
The music is loud for volume has grown
Peace desired peace comes, I can feel it,
And those mind eating emotion breakers,
Are thrown to the dark.
For these golden moon children are dream makers
And with their dance they hit their mark.
So for eternities I enjoy this freedom,
But dawn arrives and they beckon me to leave
Down back through the window we all come
Sleep returns so I'll not see.
The moon children are images of my mind
And are called from my brain,
So when peace is needed I will find
These bright golden moon children will return again.
The Toadstool
One Moonlit Night,
Poking about the musty forest for a home,
I chanced upon the softest, nicest, snuggly, dome,
With roaming roof, brown with slippery moist vents,
And fresh sweet air, didn't cost a penny, not a cent,
unoccupied, beneath the twinkling heavens, made for the small,
Though musty and dusty with slithering slime on the wall,
I liked it, yes loved it, And murmuring a thanks to nature's God,
That night, to the howling of the wolves, and the owl's wise nod,
I moved into it quick,
Dusted it all out,
A mayflower bouquet,
To freshen each day,
And I set out to plan,
In the cold and damp,
For the long harsh rain,
When I, P.W.E. Ant,
Would doze in the chill,
Beneath a toadstool.