A chair that rocks but doesn’t squeak
and lulls me to wonderland.
A skylight for the moon to watch
my dreams that leave in daylight.
As she sings to me
and I go to sleep in her arms
I know someday tura lura
will mean more than looking at stars.
In a twin sized bed with drawers on the bottom
too small for two but somehow managed
she held me as close as we had been
when I was possibility.
Flurries of song tickle my hair
as she sings to me
in the nighttime,
else wonderland might be kidnapped by
a killer with cruel intentions.
But a lullaby
never says goodnight
just tiptoes into the morning.
That little gem was part two of my series of poems about my childhood. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to promise this vast quantity of hastily written poetry to you, my little muffins, but you’d better appreciate it. Also, I do know why…it was 2 a.m. and I was falling asleep as I was writing.
I had a dream a few months ago that The Hunger Games were mixed with Jeopardy.
The competitors had to survive in the wilderness, of course, but they also had to know a lot of random information about rivers in Europe and Chopin’s favorite food and how many toes Marie Antoinette’s cat had.
Alex Trebek was the first to go, obviously, because he’s a massive twit and kept correcting one of the competitors’ pronunciation of French words. “It’s leviOHsa, not levioSAH.” After that he got a bit of a stab in the jugular, and the games continued.
I don’t really know what happened next, because I never remember much after Alex Trebek dies in my dreams (it happens a lot, people). I just wanted you all to know that this is a thing that could happen. We could mix Jeopardy and The Hunger Games and it would probably be rather fantastic. Though I do wonder what would happen after we slaughtered some of the more intelligent people in the country.
Maybe we should just leave it as a dream. The world doesn’t need this.