Mr. W’s Signature

Illustrious, industrious bug –

‘Mr. W’,

obscure pupal foe of wood,

your signature damns you;

literacy condemns your wormy way.

In getting under her skin,

your art, a permanent addition

to Nature’s  Driftwood collection,

becomes proof positive

of your

unfettered appetite.


This ‘writing’ is in truth a wormy guest beneath the living tree’s skin.  Don’t you think it looks like ‘Mr. W’?

Laundering Royal Robes

Not to worry , my friend;

those spots where the pollen has perched,

those places where the stains of choices made

mar the beauty of your pristine robe

are about to be

treated to a spot-free rinse,

a soothing soak,

a whitening process to rival

the best dentist’s tools.

Yes, walking around in the gutter

does tend to dampen the hem –

but your  Royal Robe

was pre-treated

in ‘Saint-Guard ‘(TM),

with ‘Prayer-Release’ technology

designed to


that the wearer will


in Dazzling White…

Total Knock-Out

Enthralled, I pause –

Entranced, my jaws

Are slackened as I spy

This tiny flower

At evening hour,

As I go walking by.

Beguiled, bewitched,

I’m in her grip,

This luscious blooming fount;

Enslaved, intrigued,

I grow fatigued –

I’m knocked out for the count!

Garden Patrol

Rude Becky, standing tall and proud, to guard my garden gate,

You can relax, I come in peace, I wish you no ill fate.

What’s that? You now demand a search for items on your list?

No knives, no scissors, nothing sharp – okay, I get the gist.

Stand down, my friend, you can relax.  You see?  I’ll go away.

(I’ll come back when you are asleep – I need a fresh bouquet!)


My vigilant garden patrol, Rudbeckia, making sure I leave my cutting shears outside the perimeter!