Through the Living Hope

I will not play at tug o war
Id rather play at hug o war
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs,
Where everyone giggles 
And rolls on the rug,
Where everyone kisses,
And everyone grins, 
And everyone cuddles, 
And everyone wins

My skin is sort of brownish
Pinkish yellowish white
My eyes are grayish blueish green,
But I’m told they look orange in the night
My hair is reddish blondish brown 
But it’s silver when it’s wet
And all the colors I am inside
Have not been invented yet

Hector the Collector

Collected bits of string

Collected dolls with broken heads 

And rusty bells that would not ring

Pieces out of picture puzzles 

Bent up nails and ice cream sticks

Twists of wires, worn out tires, 

Paper bags and broken bricks

Old chipped vases, half shoelaces

Gatlin guns that wouldn’t shoot 

Leaky boats that wouldn’t float

And stopped up horns that wouldn’t toot 

Butter knifes that had no handles

Copper keys that fit no locks

Rings that were too small for fingers 

Dried up leaves and patched up socks

Worn out belts that had no buckles,

Lectric trains that had no tracks

Airplane models, broken bottles,

Three legged chairs and cups with cracks

Hector the Collector

Loved these things with all his soul

Loved them more than shining diamonds

Loved them more than glistenin gold

Hector called to all the people 

“Come and share my treasure trunk!”

And all the silly sightless people 

Came and looked… and called it junk

Would you like to hear

Of the terrible night

When I bravely fought the-

No? All right

Once I spoke the language of the flowers

Once I understood each word the caterpillar said 

Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings

And shared a conversation with the housefly in my bed

Once I heard and answered all the questions of the crickets

And joined the crying of each falling dying flake of snow

Once I spoke the language of the flowers

How did it go?

How did it go?

No one’s hanging stockings up

No ones baking pie

No one’s lookin up to see

A new star in the sky

No one’s talking brotherhood

No ones giving gifts

And no one loves a Christmas tree 

On March the twenty fifth