Friday, November 29, 2013
Behold the Bold UMBRELLAPHANTS Along the Oregon Coast Drive to Lincoln City
Behold the bold UMBRELLAPHANT
That’s not the least afraid
To forage in the broiling sun
For it is in the shade
The pachyderm’s uncanny trunk
And ends in an umbrella
That has yet to spring a leak. -Jack Prelutsky
Nothing quite clears the mind like driving...
The bizarre ALARMADILLOS
Are a clamorous quartet
For they’re in a constant frenzy
They’re incessantly upset
You’d imagine they’d be calmer
No one means them any harm
And besides, they’re thickly armored
Yet they’re always in alarm. -Jack Prelutsky
Leaving the Redwoods, we follow the ocean north, toward home.
Emerging from the salty sea
A wondrous beast appears
It is clearly a CLOCKTOPUS
We marvel as it nears.
It moves with slow precision
At a never-changing pace
Its tentacles in temp
With the clock upon its face. -Jack Prelutsky
Along the way singing songs, playing games with the blurring objects passing by... making shapes and stories about everything in our world.
The EGGBEATURKEY’s whisklike legs
Are excellent for beating eggs
They beat them by the dozen, then
They often beat those eggs again. -Jack Prelutsky
By Lincoln City, we run out into the sand and play in the slow moving waves...
HATCHICKENS are odd
And the reason is that
Instead of a head
They only have a hat
They muddle about
In a permanent daze
In bowlers and beanies
Sombreros and berets -Jack Prelutsky
We let our senses come alive. Salt surf. Warm summer wind. Stiff grass. The ocean is bank of memories that meets you throughout your life.
The TRUMPETOOS and TUBABOONS
Are blaring out discordant tunes
They play them loud. They play them long.
But most of all, they play them wrong. -Jack Prelutsky
For me, I watch the world now, so joyful of everything.
The tearful ZIPPERPOTAMUSES
They seldom cease their weeping
And they seldom even try
They have zippers on their bellies
On their legs and heads and backs
But their zippers keep unzipping
So they rarely can relax. -Jack Prelutsky
Daughters on driftwood mounds... campfire dug deep into he cool sand with embers bright as night stars...listening to the crash of waves in the dark... knowing all that one knows.
At home within a blue lagoon
The solitary SPATULOON
Calls longingly as it glides by
“Syrup!” is the plaintive cry.
The fowl, both curious and rare
Now flips a pancake in the air
Its tail, we note, is well designed
With this peculiar task in mind. -Jack Prelutsky
I feel so grateful. So overwhelmingly grateful to have everything I ever dreamed return to me as something I least expected.