you can’t save a star like you save a sandwich;
believe me, I’ve tried.
you can’t eat half and put the rest in the fridge saying,
“oh, I’ll save a bit for later.”
you can’t press them like you press flowers in a dictionary
flattened somewhere between “moth” and “mountain”
they always get rumpled, and they never come out right,
because anyway, they can’t read, and they get bored in there.
you can’t wrap them in foil, or plastic
or fancy cloth napkins
Such recluse backdropped by evening's fields
all spiky white in bloom
for fear of treading bees, wander with care;
not one for wearing shoes.
Such mind enclosed, and wreathed in sun
its glow revealing dust
more threadbare each year do we find the couch,
yet find such things, we must.
My dear, in secrecy of thought
so silently, I should--
yet I cannot disrupt the quiet hum
or a weeping dove, disturb.
A vase of amber glass reflected
so kneel, and hemmed inside
Note: It’s more fun if you read it out loud in his voice.
Dr. Heinz Doofenschmirtz on the subject of teenagers:
The problem with teenagers is that they never talk to their parents. My daughter Vanessa will not even look at me when she talks. I made an Eye-ContactInator Ray but then it… misfired… and it was like awkward. And even then all Vanessa said was, "You’re staring at me… it’s weird. Give me three guesses. Perry. The." And I [lied], "Why no. No it wasn’t." So she rolled her eyes and I was back to the drawing board.
To fly like a bird,
Soaring in the heavens,
The air rushing past your face,
Creating a roar.
To be above the clouds,
No engine's noise obscuring
The passing eagle's cry.
To fly.
To be the master of the sky,
To know it's every trick,
To ride an updraft,
Rushing upwards on it's power.
To rest, on a pinnacle of rock,
Higher than the highest climber's reach.
To know, that you are the stuff of legends,
And in every poet's dream.
It only takes a brief glance at the sheer volume of books on the market to make it painfully obvious that writing books is a popular thing to do nowadays. And as a result, libraries and bookstores are flooded with novel upon novel ad nauseam. The public demand for novels is seemingly insatiable. In consequence, writers crank out book after book after book, in very short periods of time.