4 more poems by 4 poets

illustrations by palomine studios

by myself: a fragment by regina osgood stapledon under a tree, all by myself i wrote a poem about an elf a wizard, and a unicorn and a princess who wished she had never been born ergath the elf was very short he was a cruel and violent sort filled with grievance against his fellows and disinclined to be kind and mellow wando the wizard was short and round and dispensed his magic by the pound set himself up by the side of the road and offered to lighten travelers' loads roger was a unicorn of all his illusions he had been shorn he had been a philosopher for a while and had forgotten how to smile the princess was a prisoner of all who had betrayed her she was the meekest of the meek and tears rolled down her shadowed cheek the lost road by jack dale moody long ago and far away we had songs to sing and things to say we had worn out soles and crooked dentures but every day was a new adventure long ago and far away we met girls named trixie every day we didn't vacation in the south of france but life was one long song and dance now the roads are long and the days are short there are no more girls in any port and though we wander many a mile those who pass us never smile where are the windowsills with apple pies? where are the laughing clouds in azure skies? where are the scarecrows with their floppy hats? the friendly barking dogs and sleepy cats? the empty fields now watch us as we pass who knows what hides within the tangled grass? born by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy" see the trees see the sky i was born but i don't know why waiting waiting for a ride night is falling nowhere to hide folks are nasty folks are nice folks are quick to give advice best advice i ever had don't get too happy or too sad got a blister on my feet sure could use a bite to eat waiting waiting for a ride night is falling nowhere to hide youth by samantha monday sternwall a tender yeared cynic can give a clinic to the worldly wise and old on being cold the rosy cheeks of youth blush with truth and the false smiles of elders are reduced to embers with unclouded eyes beneath blue and empty skies they describe what they see without hypocrisy as it was in the day it is just nature's way what is colder than morning air? falling night can not compare