Tales Of The Unexpected : Roald Dahl Inspired

Those who recognize Love  
  are lichen to its presence:    
particularly poverty—  
  a pauper in the dell    
  with a cozy caravan  
poached breakfast    
  and mechanical garage;  
   
a widower unshaped  
by societal mold  
  and a motherless boy eager to learn    
is all it took to save the world  
  despite unbecoming behavior  
  of a profit monger—  
   
not the Queen's Guard  
  upholding monarchy rules;  
nor barristers in fancy suits—  
   
but, a wealth of togetherness  
wearing worn, yet clean clothes    
~

The door opened and a big fluffy dice jumped out    
And said trust me all, and rolled around the floor      
I am one it said but if I change my mind I'll shout      
The monsoon has brought the snakes out of their lair      
      
Ivy grew so fast and blocked the exit cave      
Just ahead a was a long ladder made out of wood      
And dice said do not be timid we must be brave      
For the boa constrictors are up to no good      
     
For we must climb up to the top      
Our first quest is not to slip or drop      
Trolls with slimy fingers green poke out your eyes      
With poisonous pet frogs in cages by their side      
     
They picked up dice who now was six      
We must sing a climbing song      
    "scratch your head      
    poke out your tongue      
   climb that ladder rung by rung      
   the rain it tastes like lemonade      
   some squares you must avold      
   to step wrong and then you slide"      
     
   The top of the canopy new adventure starts      
   They got there by the shortest route      
   The dice changed to  the ace of hearts      
   Down the slide chased by a great big ball      
          
Do what you want in that  games console    
Jump into the deep just don't push delete  
You are the theme and passion the prize  
Stardust for minds to depths realised

He sat in his shed and wrote as a child
To worlds that only he had contrived

Faux paperback writers fall
etching under shotgun
targeted thumbs,
but lines of psychotherapy spill
dripping from my veins.

Hot sticky droplets
stain my pages
with red prescriptions as
the plasma scribbles
mark the dosage
flowing from my fingertips
into my keyboard strokes.

If heartbeats race and
pulse sparks goosebumps,
my pen etches the smiles triggered
or the teardrops and battle scars.

A pen draws the picture of me my mouth
does not speak out loud,
paper without headlines glows white,
shows no daydreams no screams
and no encyclopedia of yesterdays

edited tropes growl
vomiting emblems on people
masking writer's block and
scratching paragraphs

yellow roses and not blue violets
add perfume to ink in the links of
a sweet sugar coated alphabet.

Fountain pens spread poetry
tied to the heartstrings of the poet
and every poem that's written down
may not rhyme the lines

so do you write with a flow or is it
just all an uphill-climb?
Do not write for me
do it for you or toss pencils
in a circular file with the junk mail.

Strands of silver,
Legs like arms,
The weaver did spin,
Some old yarns.

Creating a masterpiece,
As nature's Van Gough,
Which shines in the sunlight,
In ambers glow.

Body of gold,
You create your design,
Like stained glass windows,
in a shrine.

Fang like smile,
Came over your face,
Inspecting each little strand,
And every space.

As nature's winds,
Showcase the artist’s work,
Making an unexpected guest,
Come to Perch.

Causing your work,
To loosen its grip,
Making it wave,
tear and drip.

Fixing your design,
To entice more guests,
With desire and beauty,
in your quests.

Close your eyes,
Spread your wings,
Accept this open invitation,
We’ll take flight
And go to places you’ve only dreamed.

See the sites,
Hear the sounds,
Feel the indescribable elation,
There you’ll find,
What you heart has always wished.

Clear your mind,
Bare your soul,
It’s truly wonderful sensation,
You’ll feel free,
There are no limits or boundaries.

You are the one,
Who’s in charge,
Take delight in your imagination,
Live the dream,
Where everything is possible and pure.