Sick Days Sans Comic Books, Brilliant Children’s Poetry, & A Dancing Juggling KItten

 

 

 

Best Experienced With:    Bongwater;       You Don’t Love Me Yet

(please right click on the link below to open the suggested background music to this evening’s poetry gathering in a new window.  Nothing about boats, unfortunately.  And a beautiful cover of musical genius Roky Erickson’s “You Don’t Love Me Yet.”)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arAWKmQo5-o

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where the Sidewalk Ends


There is a place where the sidewalk ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
and the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
and watch where the chalk-white arrows go
to the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
for the children, they mark, and the children, they know,
the place where the sidewalk ends.

                                                                                                S. Silverstein

 

“Forgive, forget & eat more jam,” the jar said on the lid.

Dai ate some jam and thought a lot and, in the end, he did

go home and be a better boy.

Although, sometimes, it’s tricky.

There is a moral to this tale:

Jam makes fingers sticky.

                                                                                      A. Minghella

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  The Mind of Mully

 

 

The sidewalk never, ever, ever, ever, ever ends up here.  Thanks for visiting.

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5 Comments

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5 responses to “Sick Days Sans Comic Books, Brilliant Children’s Poetry, & A Dancing Juggling KItten

  1. Britt

    Mulli- The kitty dances a lot like Elaine (Seinfeld).

  2. Kristi

    I opened my eyes
    And looked up at the rain,
    And it dripped in my head
    And flowed into my brain,
    And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
    Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

    I step very softly,
    I walk very slow,
    I can’t do a handstand–
    I might overflow,
    So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said–
    I’m just not the same since there’s rain in my head.

    Shel Silverstein

    • surfer1965

      Shel was sure an interesting cat, wasn’t he? Would have traded all my worldly goods to have a tea party with Shel and Hunter S. Thompson. Both knew how to buy the ticket and truly enjoy the ride.

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