Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the caldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting, Lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble. Cool it with a baboon’s blood, Then the charm is firm and good.
This is for the moments that formed into seasons, the days of grief that spilled into months This is for the days when you forgetthat darkness holds no water in your souland the deep end will not swallow you whole When your heart hangs by a threadAnd agony stands ten-feet tall, whisper: In this sea […]
Have you ever heard the wind go “Yooooo”? ’Tis a pitiful sound to hear! It seems to chill you through and through With a strange and speechless fear. ’Tis the voice of the night that broods outside When folks should be asleep, And many and many’s the time I’ve cried To the darkness brooding far and wide Over the land and the deep: “Whom do you want, O lonely night, That you wail the long hours through?” And the night would say in its ghostly way, “Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!”
My mother told me long ago (When I was a little lad) That when the night went wailing so, Somebody had been bad; And then, when I was snug in bed, Whither I had been sent, With the blankets pulled up round my head, I’d think of what my mother’d said, And wonder what boy she meant! And, “Who’s been bad today?” I’d ask Of the wind that hoarsely blew, And the voice would say in its meaningful way, “Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!”
That this was true I must allow — You’ll not believe it, though! Yes, though I’m quite a model now, I was not always so. And if you doubt what things I say, Suppose you make the test; Suppose, when you’ve been bad some day And up to bed are sent away From mother and the rest — Suppose you ask, “Who has been bad?” And then you’ll hear what’s true, For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone: “Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!”
I cannot write; not here, not there. I cannot write most anywhere. Would I? Could I? In a car? I cannot, cannot in a car; Not even in my corner bar. Would I? Could I? On a train? I cannot, cannot on a train; Nor like Hemingway in Spain. I cannot write. I am not Seuss, Beatrix Potter, or Mother Goose. I cannot write. I’m feeling blue. Alas, this verse will have to do!
–––––––––– “Sometimes I write just for fun, but still dream of collecting my drabble in a book.” – the writer
Chia seeds with kefir and sour cherry syrup One of the good things in life is good food. When I was a kid I never thought about bad food or good food. I ate everything we got because we did not have plenty of food. I was a student and I ate lots of potatoes […]