yet oh how de birds
in her branches once sing’d
each marnin’ at home –
now gulls only screeched!
Yet, when she complained –
the boat left her beached.
De beach was too sandy,
and much, much too gritty –
tho’ trav’lin’ a ways –
she soon found a city!
De city was lit up
wi’ sparklin’ lights!
She soon found a spot
in a park in de heights.
De view was excitin’!
De bushes quite strange!
De trees quite assured her
it was a good change.
Till one day a bloke
wi’ a helmet appeared
wi’ ribbons, and tractors,
an’ chainsaws all geared
ta chop down de trees –
ta clear out de brush!
Ta put up a rest’raunt
for folks in a rush.
She pull’d up her roots
as her friends was chopp’d down!
Wi’ smells of plants screamin’,
she quickly left town.
Oh, where ta go next?
She trudged all alone!
Through deserts and jungles,
‘cross mountains o’ stone!
She met lotsa critters
an’ listen’d ta all,
she heard lotsa stories
some true an’ some tall.
She dream’d o’ her island,
yet nowhere was aught
but mem’ries that sang
o’ her wee comfy spot.
She wandered de land –
wi’ ogre and gnome.
She frolick’d wi’ dryads,
yet still missed her home.
Her sweet liddle brook –
that wee comfy spot–
‘twas neither too chilly,
nor neit’er too hot!
where pixies nor squirr’l poop
never much rile,
her own sunny spot...
Her own sunny isle.
Then one day she got
ta de top o’ de world,
dat place where de ice
and de windy ghosts whirl’d.
She never intended
ta let her heart freeze -
but hearts aren’t quite made
ta be free like the breeze.
Most hearts need a home
lest they chill to a funk
and soon her heart froze
within her cold trunk.
Encased in a berg
of blue ice did she float.
She traveled and slept
in this cold crystal boat.
She drifted half dead
for a month and a day.
She melted while dolphins
and manta rays played.
The Tree washed ashore
by chance on a beach!
It was her own isle –
she learned wi’ a screech.
It was the red bird!
“Oh where ha’ ya been?
I dinna expect ya
ta hold ta my din!
Fer, I was jes’ joshin’!
I dinna mean naught!
An’ now der’s a saplin’
dat’s growed in yer spot!”
De Tree coughed
and sputtered
from days in de brine,
“My home is no longer –
tis no longer mine?!
If home is no longer,
where do I call home?
Oh, I am condemned then
forever ta roam?!”
Yet fin’ly, she settled,
fer that’s what trees do –
a spot wit’ no brook
an’ no cozy view.
A spot with no pixies
nor squirr’ls what poop’d -
Just her, by herself.
She was tired.
She droop’d.
When birds came ta visit,
they ask’d
where she’d been.
She told them all stories
o’ places she’d seen.
De squirr’ls and pixies
follow’d soon after
and stayed up late gigglin’
in ripples o’ laughter!
An’ sometimes they’d cry
when dey heard de sad tales
o’ young trees chopp’d down,
or de songs o’ old whales.
In time, a small creek
thunk to swing by and list’n
an’ sleep by her roots –
all sparklin’ and glistenin’
wi’ pixies an’ magic
an’ stories o’ gnomes!
All types o’ strange critters
soon crafted their homes
around her, an’ in her –
till one day she thought
dat “tho’ I left home –
I made my own spot!”
So...
She’s still a tree –
a comf’t’ble Tree
what loves all de birds
and de breezes so free!
She has a sweet brook –
a wee comfy spot –
tis neither too chilly,
nor neit’er too hot!
Not pixies nor squirr’l poop
dinna much rile,
her own sunny spot
on her own sunny isle.
Ode to My
True Love’s Nose
By Papy Wisherman
I love yer big nose!
‘Tis glor’ously ample
an’ hugely enormous!
Yes, oh such a sample
ta rarly be seen!
Its breadth, ‘tis unequaled!
‘T would ne’r be worn
by the timid and weak-willed!
Yer Nose is a sign
of cour’ge an’ strength.
(Yer neck mus’ be strong
fer a snoz o’ that length!)
Protub’rance mos’ noble,
so beaut’ous so large!
Were it a boat,
it would be a barge!
I love yer big nose!
‘Tis glor’ous an’ fine.
I’m lucky ta have ya,
oh dear wife o’ mine.
Dear Carrot
A poem by
Jack Saunders
Dear Carrot, please tell me
if you have a soul.
Should I feel guilt
when you’re diced in a bowl?
Do you feel good
when you reach for the light?
Do you feel bad
when small bugs start to bite?
Do you mind other plants
if they don’t sit too close?
When thirsty and tired,
do you get morose?
Your roots must feel joy
when they’re snug in the dirt
and taste all the minerals
like I taste dessert.
On a moist April day
with a sun in the sky,
do you feel so at peace
that you don’t fear to die?
Will St. Peter welcome you
at Heaven’s gate?
Will there be a line
where you might have to wait?
Are most carrots good?
I’ve seen som
e go bad.
With sub-standard care,
can a carrot go mad?
Wolves will eat rabbits,
and rabbits eat you.
and I’ll eat you both
if you’re cooked in a stew.
Yet sometimes I ponder.
I look in my bowl,
dear Carrot, I wonder
if you have a soul.
Olly, Olly,
Oxen Free
Twist open the doorknobs
you’ve clung to so tight!
Come out, Come out!
Where’er you be!
Out from the hidey holes
into the light!
Olly, Olly, Oxen Free!
No need to hide kindness!
No need to hide strength!
Come out to your fears,
where’er you be!
No need to hide questions
you’ve pondered at length!
Olly, Olly, Oxen Free!
Those hidden what-if’s
have something to say!
Come out new ideas,
where’er you be!
Start to ask questions!
Craft a new day!
Olly, Olly, Oxen Free!
Thank you for joining me on this Frey adventure!
This has been a journey. I started off trying to capture the stories I dreamed up when I was a teenager, but then the characters started making choices and saying things I didn’t expect. It is a curious dance to listen to the characters yet try not to forget the well intended outline. I wanted to explore that time in life when you discover the world is more complicated than the child-you might have expected. Sex, and body parts that we are supposed to pretend don’t exist, and ethical questions about what should we eat or not eat, who can we fall in love with, and am I the only one feeling these embarrassing feelings? Well... the characters took these ideas and ran with them. It was an adventure to be able to ride along.
Frey is suggesting a three book arc at the moment. Frey is a big place and there’s a lot curious places and peoples to explore, and there are still a number of unanswered questions! Jack and his parents have some issues to work out (they are all good people and I’ll not end it like this). And I’m really curious about the changeling Neo’s future, in addition to Millie’s cousin, Briton Wilde (who has been dealing with some pretty serious events behind the scenes of this book). There are strange and marvelous adventures in store for both Briton, Neo, and a certain... well, I’ll leave some surprise there.
Many thanks to the friends who read an early version of this. I very much appreciated their time and their thoughts.
If you enjoyed this book, please take the opportunity to post a review on Amazon and Goodreads, or anywhere else you post reviews. Your recommendations are a big help to independent authors like me!
You can reach me through the contact page at WilWhimsey.com I will always appreciate your thoughts and questions.
Thanks again for reading Olly, Olly Oxen Frey!
If you flip forward a couple pages you will get a peek at Pursuits of Whimsey, which is another book that I’ve created.
A few selections from
Pursuits of Whimsey by Paul Manchester
Pursuits of Whimsey is available on Kindle at:
https://amazon.com/Pursuits-Whimsey-Paul-Manchester-ebook/
Pursuits of Whimsey is also available in a beautiful 96 page hardback edition at WilWhimsey.com
Blair & His Incredible Flair
There was no doubt about it,
despite their despair.
His Parents could see
their boy liked to do hair.
Yet, he was very good.
No one could deny
that this eight year old boy
could tease hair three feet high…
with ringlets and feathers,
with pigtails and curls,
with strings of brown leather,
whole birds nests and pearls.
All this amid tresses
swirled smartly aloft.
Few parents had seen such singular coifs.
It started when Blair,
(yes, that was his name)
on Sunday at two
called on his Grand Dame
at the Sunny Brooks Home
for the old and infirm.
She bitterly complained
that she needed a perm.
“The nurses are lazy!
The doctors don’t care!
And I haven’t enough money
to fix up my hair!”
But, Blair answered quick,
without missing a beat,
“I’ll do your hair Grandma,
I’ll fix it up neat!”
He went straight to work
with scissors and combs,
with pill bottles for curlers
and some pencils from home.
He sprayed and he teased
and he scrup’lessly lifted-
pre-dying it to look
hirsuto-roufusly gifted.
And when he was done,
Grandma was such a sight…
that the neighbors all gaped…
and then started to fight
over who would be next
for remedial bliss!
Then the nurses came over
to see what was amiss.
‘Ere long, Blair was snipping
and coloring them all!
Nurses and Doctors!
He did wigs for the bald!
The senile! The sick!
With such gentle finesse,
Sunny Brooks soon glowed bright
with the light of his genius.
When Blair’s Parents got home,
they were not amused.
A boy should do boy stuff,
and not play with mousse.
A boy should play baseball!
(or tennis at least)
Boys should make slingshots,
or catch little beasts!
What future is there
for a boy who does hair?
They shuddered to think
the possibilities there.
But, that’s what Blair did,
for he did it quite well.
And his parents adjusted
to his experiments with gel.
Before long, they allowed him
to do their hair too-
and their fear turned to pride
in their son’s derring-do.
For becoming a man
has much less to do
with some skills with a football
or to get black and blue.
The skills of the heart
are what make the man
and using your gifts
the best that you can.
Blair’s crafting of hairdos
may not seem worth while.
But, the world is more beautiful
when somebody smiles…
And smile? The world did
when it saw his creations!
(And much worse could be said
for some other vocations.)
Or discover the adventures of Benjamin Bog!
Benjamin Bog loved owning a dog
but hated to pick up her poop!
He’d pet her and feed her
he even de-flea’d her
but wouldn’t touch poop with a scoop...
(Discover the dire adventure ahead for our hero Benjamin – mutant flies, big explosions... in Pursuits of Whimsey)
Little Betsy Duff
wanted skin just l
ike leather.
She tanned every day-
in all kinds of weather.
She’d cook just like bacon,
right there in the sun,
with a buzzer to wake her
when each side was done.
Yes, then she’d roll over,
singing, “What can be keener
than to lie in the sun
and fry like a wiener?”
(Her journey is truly... well... buy the book!)
This image is from The Fungus Poem: A Cautionary Tale about the perils of not cleaning your shower. Check out Pursuits of Whimsey and be amused. :)
https://amazon.com/Pursuits-Whimsey-Paul-Manchester-ebook/
Hardback available at WilWhimsey.com
About the author, Paul Manchester
Paul discovered he loved reading in the first grade with Chicken Soup with Rice by Maurice Sendak. It opened up a new world. Then in fourth grade, Paul discovered Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson, then the Oz books in fifth grade (they’d been lurking on a high shelf at home), along with Edgar Rice Burroughs’ adventure books (these often had half naked men on the covers... which were pretty intriguing to this ten year old), and an endless stream of favorite books after that. Paul also began writing and drawing around then.
Paul studied art and theater at San Jose State University (in addition to bible and music theory during a year-long stint at bible college). He graduated with a BA in Theater Arts where he focused on scenic design. He spent a few years designing stage scenery, then moved to Southern California to work in the TV and film industry. His work slowly migrated from live action TV, to the world of animation, then back to live action with graphics for props.
Lots of adventures over the years... Paul has met the rich, the poor, street people, celebrities, folks from all walks of life and points of view... it’s been a fascinating journey. So many stories. Despite the externals, folks are much the same. And most are pretty decent. He even (years back) had the opportunity to spend a marvelous couple of hours discussing Mozart and life in general with Maurice Sendak (a quite likable curmudgeon). Life is always filled with possibilities for the curious and persistent.
Olly, Olly, Oxen Frey Page 32