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