In The Imaginations of Children

Me too.

Richard M. Ankers

I was once told that the world revolves around the imaginations of children. In a child’s eyes, their inner minds, they see what an adult would reject and heap scorn upon. They imagine the worlds they wish for, rather than that which they inhabit. Dreams of outer space, dinosaurs and the like then transcend to professions, pastimes, as life takes over. The giving structure to what they once only held as fantastical seems to be expected of them. Yes, an adult attempts to dilute the dreams of the child by making them tangible. As such there becomes less and less to dream. The older generations seek to quash the fantasies of the youth as if to negate their own youth. But not all adults.

There are those who refuse to have their fantasies compromised. As those children rise to adulthood, they retreat to the depths of their imagination and expand…

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No. 657

Madstoffa's crunchy house!

The Warning! By CpSingleton © 2014

My staircase is a psychopath,
I suppose it’s only fair.
I’d be bloody furious if
I was traipsed on like a stair!

Up and down the footsies go,
With not a words of cheers
Would surely bring a psycho side
In between the tears.

So, the next you go wandering
From the ground floor to the first.
Just stop to say a fank you
Or the next time you’ll be cursed

To trip, fall and falter, slide
Plummet, crash and careen.
Wallop, flip, slip, bounce and
All the synonyms in-between.

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Edward Thomas: The Owl


Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;

Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof

Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest

Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,

Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.

All of the night was quite barred out except

An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,

No merry note, nor cause of merriment,

But one telling me plain what I escaped

And others could not, that night, as in I went.

And salted was my food, and my repose,

Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice

Speaking for all who lay under the stars,

Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.

Michele Habel-Coffey: Cinnamon Toast Crunch

Cinnamon Toast Crunch

By Michele Habel-Coffey

Would you consume me?
Glare at me, covetous, desiring, sinful
We gaze long enough to trace each other’s lines

Around right angles and pointed corners
Eyes wide with an anxious need
For answers and for alibis

You are enough like me that I need
To wrap around you with my mouth
And take you in, licking my lips

The sugar, dancing like diamonds
It can’t be left there, to gleam
Sugar is made to digest in addicted ecstasy

And so I spoon in your sweetness

Inside me it changes – adrenaline, insulin, energy

Content, I float on a river of candied milk

On the edges of drowsing and dreams, full of you.