the happy land

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

i dream of a happy land where the woodchopper chops his wood and the brewer brews his brew and the brew is always good where the cowboy ropes his cows and the shepherd tends his flock and the sheriff keeps law and order solid as a rock where the miller mills his mill and the baker bakes his bread and lily jones the schoolteacher puts good thoughts in the children’s heads where mrs johnson bakes her pies and wins prizes on the fourth of july and the preacher preaches his sermon and folks listen with open eyes where little dogs run down the street in the rain and in the sun and gus wilson the postman says hello to everyone where sally tends her garden and chester tips his cap and judge harris rocks in his chair on the porch enjoying his eternal nap

birth

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

oh you who prize your human birth in this your current stay on earth think back on your forgotten lives in dusty caves and buzzing hives in windswept trees and scattered heaps in icy rivers and ocean deeps in drafty stables and muddy pens in lowly lairs and desperate dens i see a frown upon your brow perhaps that is enough for now and so i pause - but anyhow remember you were once a cow * remember you were once a beetle remember you were once a snail and if you were really lucky maybe you were a blue whale you may think my statements silly you may think my musings odd but if you have a little patience some day you may be a god if you do, try to remember the trillions who await their turn see their faces in the cosmos and know you still have much to learn

lady elizabeth crew

by samantha monday sternwall

lady elizabeth crew was beautiful, kind, and good the very apotheosis of british womanhood she lived in a stately home beside a placid sea and everything in her life was as it was meant to be her cooks and servants loved her as did her horses and grooms adoring dogs and silent kittens filled up her hundred rooms every room held cases of books filled with the wisdom of ages and as the rain fell softly lady elizabeth turned their pages one day a gentleman caller presented his card at the door and stood before lady elizabeth with his boots on the rug on the floor i have come to you, my lady the gentleman said with a bow to say that you must come with me you must come with me now elizabeth closed the book in her lap and placed it on the table and said, i will do as you ask, sir as soon as i am able elizabeth put her hat on her head and her shawl upon her shoulders and left her home and life behind before she was a day older her younger sister, lady jane took the house in her possession and rules it with a steady hand and admirable discretion now jane stands at the window with her hand upon the sill and watches the birds fly over the sea but the sea is forever still

lady carol and the toad

by jeremy witherington

lady carol was walking in the garden the tulips were withered and sere the owls were spouting moonshine because it was that time of year lady carol was composing a sonnet her brain was ready to burst a toad was squatting in her path because her ancestry was cursed she passed a hand over her forehead as she struggled with her thirteenth line i would sell my soul for a crumpet, she cried and my body for a glass of wine the toad was having none of it he held his ground like an hussar you will never write a sonnet, he cried if you do not know who you are lady carol cried avant! avant! and fell down in a heap now beetles and caterpillars curse her as around her carcass they creep somewhere dogs and children are playing on a sunny adriatic shore but in the gazebo the silverware is silent because lady carol is no more

groundskeeper

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

i am not the groundskeeper and i am mot the groundskeeper’s son i don’t want a billion dollars i just want to have fun i am not the housekeeper and i am not the housekeeper’s daughter i don’t want to save the world but maybe i oughta i am not the butler and i am not the butler’s secret dream but i know many things and things are not what they seem i am not the master and i am not the master’s favorite hound but i lie awake at night and hear strange sounds i am not the mistress and i am not the mistress’s little dog but i walk alone at night and get lost in the fog i am not the cab driver come to take the mistress to the train but if you asked me what i know there are things that no one can explain i am not the footman straightening my little black bow tie i write no anonymous letters to the police no, not i i am not the pastry cook muttering to myself as i roll my dough there are things better left unsaid there are things it is better not to know i am nor the bishop standing in the rain at the master’s grave who will run to the mountain? who will jump in the river and be saved? i am not the grave digger and i am not his shovel made of wood but i would walk the earth walk the earth forever, if i could

bubblegum

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

one, two, three, four tigers growl and lions roar or is it the other way around? i buy my bubblegum by the pound five, six, even, eight old mother green is in a state of delaware or oregon and leaves bubblegum wrappers on the lawn nine, ten, eleven, twelve henry ford has fired his elves and retired to a castle in mexico wth bubble gum stuck to his toes thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen i am good, how have you been? the price of bubblegum keeps rising but is that really so surprising? seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty bubble had good, and gum had plenty bubble and gum shared thanksgiving dinner and the sun went down on all poor sinners

wish

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

i wish i was a kitten sitting in a tree wearing a green tuxedo for all the world to see i wish i was a goldfish swimming in a bowl everyone could look at me but i would have my soul i wish i was a turtle wandering in the road snakes and dogs would pass me by but i’d be true to my code i wish i was an apple pie on a windowsill baked by old mrs johnson and stolen by old bill i wish i was a wise man in a purple bubble of soap the world would burst around me but i would not lose hope i wish i was a bullfrog on the emperor’s lawn he would send his dragon to get me but i would be long gone

the animals

by nick nelson

they made it safely through the night and over the mountain. they were the first people named eddie and doreen to make it over the mountains with a truck full of animals. they were so proud of themselves. eddie had the paperwork all ready and he took it over to the dispatch office while doreen went into the cafe and got a booth and ordered coffee for both of them. the sun was coming up. the inspector looked at eddie’s paperwork. everything is here, sir, eddie said. the elephant is going to the ygr corporation, the ostrich to mr magee, the leopard to the church of good faith, and the koala bear to the fair tax party headquarters. <> yes, it all looks in good order, the inspector agreed. he finished off his cup of coffee he got up from behind his desk. let’s go take a look at the animals, the inspector said. they went outside and eddie led the way to the truck. eddie opened the back of the truck. it was empty! what is this nonsense? the inspector thundered. what kind of flim-flam are you con artists trying to put over? i am sorry, sir, eddie managed to say. i am as surprised as you are. i do not know how such a thing could have happened. but i know what is going to happen, the inspector replied. you are going to be made an example of, make no mistake about it. there has been entirely too much of this chicanery and it has got to stop. after a speedy trial in the old barn behind the dispatch office, eddie and doreen were sentenced to hard labor in the andromeda galaxy, and never heard from again.

bulldog

by nick nelson

i was standing on the corner when i heard my bulldog bark this guy came at me with a knife i gave him the old china sea shake from my days in the navy seals in iwo jima we won't be hearing from him any more billy (he's my bulldog) kept barking i knew he was out there somewhere i went back to waiting it's not easy for me i'm not a patient person a car pulled up "where's eddie?" i figured eddie was the guy who came at me with a knife hey pal, you seen a guy? you mean tonight? yeah, just now. like in the last half hour? no, i ain't seen nobody hey eddie! eddie! say you wouldn't be the russian, would you? do i look like a fucking russian? i don't know, i heard there was a russian around - no need to get sore i ain't no russian okay, point taken i don't know if i like your tone of voice, asshole i don't know if i like anything about you, dickbrain what are you doing? looking for my dog i bet your dog is a real candyass, like you. you teach him to dance in the chorus, just like you? i don’t think i like the tone of your voice. hey, hey, what’s going on here? what’s all this noise? good evening, officer o’malley. good evening to you. allow me to repeat myself. what’s going on here? we were looking for eddie, and this character, this stranger who isn’t even from the neighborhood, was giving us grief. really? not from the neighborhood, is he? let me remind you that this is a free country, ever since washington beat the redcoats and lincoln freed the slaves, and the gentleman can go where he likes as long he does not disturb the peace - my peace. we were just looking for eddie. i can tell you exactly where eddie is. he is in the cooler, where i put him, for being drunk and disorderly. which i where will put you, if you do not behave yourself, as the good sisters taught you to do in school. all right, no need to get sore. and you, young fellow-me-lad, wandering around in the dark like a moonbeam, not even in your own neighborhood, what do you have to say for yourself? i was looking for my bulldog. i didn’t hear any bulldog. i thought i heard him bark. he ain’t got any bulldog, he’s lying. and he doesn’t belong around here. here, what is going on here? good evening , commissioner. nothing to get excited about, sir. just a little disagreement, everything is under control. a disagreement? let them settle it like men. you mean with their fists? no, with swords. i have some some swords in the trunk of my limousine. and the parking lot behind flaherty’s market - they can fight there. all right, you mugs, you heard the commissioner, let’s go. i was just looking for my dog. i said, let’s go. the things i put up with in the line of duty. i don’t like this sword, it’s too short. i am more of a long sword guy. no whining. play the hand you were dealt. a cat meowed from under flaherty’s back window. the swords flashed in the moonlight. a light rain began to fall. the stars looked down and laughed.

the producer

by jeremy witherington

dear friend, how are you? i had a sudden urge to write to you. i am trapped in an old dark house by a madman. other than that things are not too bad. here is how it came about. i was down on my luck, as usual. i was hanging around the bus station, hoping my fortunes would change. a rather seedy looking individual, but with a few shreds of dignity and gentlemanliness about him, approached me. are you not t x—— -, the famous producer of productions? he asked me politely. i could not resist either his flattery or the prospect of a square meal, so i immediately acquiesced in his identification. thus it was that i found myself in the old dark house. the production, and the date it was to be produced, were somewhat up in the air. i never did see my benefactor in the flesh again. (assuming that he was was indeed made of flesh) i was given a gaggle of “assistants” to help me. i first took them to be some sort of feral children, then evil sprites, and finally concluded they were demons from the lowest pit of hell. their principal occupation seemed to be stealing my hat. you know, of course, how much my hat means to me. the production went badly. i had decided on a combination of lucia di lammermoor and the wild duck, performed mostly by puppets, but could not get my evil sprites/demons to grasp the concept, which they mocked relentlessly, when they were not stealing my hat and hiding it in the dark corners of the endlessly rambling and cobwebbed mansion. finally i decided i had had enough. i resolved to make my escape. but first i had to find my hat. they had really done it this time. i looked and looked but could not find it. but as i was desperately searching, i noticed something else. silence. the laughter of the demons had ceased. they had abandoned me, and left the house. but where is my hat? i can not leave without my hat! you know the one i mean - the one with the red band and the green feather. i have looked and looked, and keep finding myself back in the same rooms. i am beginning to despair. help me!