THE LAND OF CHUZZLE WOO
In the far North West, where pink vultures nest,
Lies the land of Chuzzle Woo.
There the mountain range might appear quite strange,
For the highest is four foot two

I've heard hippos cry as they try to fly,
Flapping legs like Twitchy Sue,
But its best all round they stay on the ground -
Imagine droppings of hippo poo!

Just how does light turn into green
travel from your eye to mine?
Make for all the splendor seen?
Does a stream rush into a river
or make the ocean of a dream?
Can the mark make your arrow quiver?

Steam from an engine is rising
masking a frothy dark umber.
Cream colored foam hangs upon it.
Crusting and dripping it changes.
Muscle in movement formations
shaping on cold winter mornings.
Exercise done, I untack him.

I can think of no subject more mundane than my job. Parse this sucker please.

THE BRICK sonnet
The Wee Elf wants this mundane, "LIke a Brick".
My heart sinks, should I give my muse a rest?
Can mundane still be novel? That's some trick.
It's not just words in poems that may get stressed.
Although I'm slow, I'll try to write them down-
Those lines that flow unbidden from my gob,
I'll try to get them bouncing, metric, sound
If really good give up my daytime job.
Here in my hand I hold two common bricks,
Their purpose, to be part of someone's home.

Try buttering bread naked, and precariously clumsy.
Invite a mate, one unopposed to a little spillage,
and without the best selling brand of paper towels,
buttered bread, buttered bread, have some fun,
feed a friend.

It's time I rake the leaves outside
so now I'll go and get the rake
at the insistence of my bride
and for propriety's sole sake

I'll rake leaves into small piles about
under the swing and old grape vine arbor
working beneath warm autumn sunshine
a yearly necessary labor

Soon wiping sweat from wrinkled brow
muscles loosened from the work
I survey a job well done
and get a drink of tea

I decided to accept Wesley's challenge to convert this verse of Blake to Iambic, but won't try for pentameter, that would demand a total re-write.

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

To see a World in Sand's small Grain
a Heaven in a flower's bloom,
To Hold infinity in your hand's palm
Eternity each hour.

Your beard rough against my face
lover's sweat upon our bed,
emotions lingering press,
your hands wrap around my poem..

I’ll have to buy tobacco very soon
or else I have to smoke the wretched crap.
I keep it on the chance I might run out,
but elsewise I prefer my Captain Black.

Buying my tobacco must be sooner
than the chance I’ll smoke the wretched crappy.
Keeping it on chance I might run out soon,
Captain Black I elsewise do prefer it.

I have this recurring dream in which I am pursued and devoured by a giant ball point pen, which shouts triumphantly ; " I AM BIC - PEN : TAM EATER! !

The Corner Shop
On down the stairs to reach the old front door
I clutch the list that gives me power to buy
The groceries and hardware but no more
Than items she denotes, I dare not try.
On down the stairs to reach the old front door
I clutch the list that gives me power to buy
The groceries and hardware but no more
Than items she denotes, I dare not try.