This is a community poem, birthed from the womb of a hippie stronghold.
Should ye feel that the act of creation is within the stroke of your keys, add a
line, unwind your mind, and above all, be kind, for in the neverending poem, you can
I like this fly. His name is Jiy. I play with Jiy, and I don't know why!
This Jiy is sly, more sly than I. He'd like to eat some Cherry Pie!
I like this Jiy, 'cause he's a fly, and he likes me, 'cause I am I!
But late in the night, Jiy starts to cry
With tears of joy from eye to eye
for he smells the aroma of cherry pie!
Cherry pie! Cherry pie! My oh my! How lucky am I!
But Jiy awakes with primordial scream..........
the Cherry pie was just a dream!
The Cyclorrhapha gods were on a mission to implant this fanciful vision
and trick poor Jiy into believing his Cherry pie lust was non-deceiving.
Alas, my friends, its now crystal clear Jiy's real love is warm root beer.
Warm root beer!! - why that's absurd! - this liquid nectar is for the birds.
A hummingbird to be precise; a friend of Jiy's who's name is Jice.
Now Jice, equipped with long, thin beak, consumes a gallon once a week.
But Jiy is envious of his friend (a gallon is too much for him).
So Jiy flys 'round and spots a feast: a luscious lump of Brewer's yeast.
Brewer's yeast and warm root beer
now that's a combo Jice would fear.
The yeast-beer combo sticks in his beak and he can't eat for one whole week.
One whole week!! - why Jice would shrink
to be the size of Jiy, I think.
So Jice avoids that unpleasant treat and searches for some food to eat.
Up in the sky, darting to and fro (with Jiy on his back just so you know)
Jice and Jiy look high and low
for a meal that Jice can eat
washed down with root beer that won't clog his beak.
For hours on end they fly around, their sharp eyes peeled upon the ground.
But Jice grows weaker by the minute -
his tummy's empty without food in it.
In the distance they spy a frog in a bog - Ginger's her name and she's kept a log -
of hot dogs, that, for whatever reason are not consumed in the holiday season.
Hotdogs!! - hhmmmmm - now that's something nice.
Jice can eat all he wants without thinking twice.
But wait, there's a problem as Ginger grows near
Jiy shakes and trembles with a great mounting fear.
"Ginger's a frog" screams Jiy with his lung.
"She'll try and snatch me with her twelve-inch long tongue."
The scream startled Jice about to land at the bog
Though exhaused and hungry, like a raging, mad dog
he zigged and he zagged and with one tricky turn
he speared Ginger's log and then headed for home.
But Ginger's now mad and yells out at Jice,
"I'll get my log back and then I'll eat Jiy with rice!"
Jice tries to fly higher but his energy's gone
plus the weight of the log is now bringing him down.
With no strength in his wings and losing altitude
and Ginger closing in with a bad attitude.
Things look pretty bleak -
Is the end of Jiy near?
Stay tuned to this poem, things will become clear.
A short distance away, just east of the bog
are the ruins of a shack made of petrified log.
One creature lives there - he's seen only at night
when he scrounges for food before the sun's light.
It's now late afternoon and the sun's going down.
"Is there anyone home?" yells Jiy as they both hit the ground.
The hopping mad Ginger now grins with delight - that tasty little Jiy is now in plain sight.
As Ginger gets close and readies her tongue
Jiy's life flashes by - there's nowhere to run.
The log Ginger stands on gives her a clear shot. Its curtains for Jiy -
or perhaps maybe not.
This log Ginger stands on is not really a log - but a giant alligator
asleep in the bog.
With all the commotion he awakes with a yawn - Ginger loses her balance
and then she is gone.
She falls into the mouth of the humongous 'gator
and will never be seen again - now or not later.
This turn of events defies all belief -
can Jiy and Jice breathe a sigh of relief?
What if the gator hungers for more?
Will this poem ever end? - I know you want more!!
Low and behold the gator turns 'round
and spies Jiy and Jice laying there on the ground.
The bog is now dark and its hard to see clear
but like magic, a small, floating light does appear!
Why, its the creature that lives in the shack by the bog -
you know, the one made of pertified log.
Well, what kind of creature carries a light?
A firefly, of course, and his name is Dwight.
Now Dwight may be small and fly somewhat slow
but his lamp can illuminate all behind and below.
Sometimes he flies as if stuck in a rut.....
well then, you try to fly with a light on your butt!
The gator, it seems, is transfixed by the light........
His eyes closely follow Dwight in his flight.
The back & forth motion hypnotizes the beast
and he slowly falls into a deep, deep, deep sleep.
Our boys are now saved but their hunger is great - 'follow me' says Dwight to a big hollow log.
'Ginger stored hot dogs there right in the bog'.
Oh my, such a feast our boys did devour, now too full to move - they slept soundly this hour.
No longer feeling the need to cower, they dreamt of chocolate under the bower.
Sweet 'dreams of chocolate' did I hear you say?
Why tomorrow is Sunday and on that special day
they can celebrate life with a chocolate sundae!
Hmmm - a sundae on Sunday (a homophone, if you will)
and its better than eating a bowl of cold swill.
But swill can be swell if prepared just right.
And guess who can do this----------------- yep, it is Dwight.
Now Dwight might be tiny, scarcely larger than a pea
but his swill dish comes from an old recipe.
Made from milk that is sour and over-ripened kumquats
he adds chili powder to kick it up a notch!
And then - a secret ingredient known only to a few -
so secret, in fact, that I cannot tell you!