Here is a poem I wrote many years ago when my children were small and I didn’t get out much. I was looking out the upstairs window one breezy sunny day and a spider went sailing by, its silky thread stretching up into the blue. I sighed as I watched and then these lines flew through my head and I wrote them down. Perhaps others who have also experienced this feeling will enjoy it as well.
in the air
Hanging from a cloud
filled with light
A fallen moonbeam
stolen from the night
Please stop, cried I
but she can’t stay
I’ve diamonds to gather
fore morning. Good day
With sails set
and breezes blowing—
Oh, I wish that
I were going
I was walking along through a field one day and there was this cat crouching low looking for mice. I said “hello Joe Cat,” but when I walks over to him, he stiffly walks off with a look of, ‘what’s eating you?’ I stood there for a moment thinking, why do we call him Joe cat? It took me a while but I think I figured it out.
A long time ago, everyone was called Joe, but this wasn’t very satisfactory, no-one knew who was who. As times were getting more civilized a meeting was called and it was decided to give everything a different name. A committee of one was formed, headed by Joseph J. Cat. He put a bunch of names in a bag and then he would pull a name from the bag and eventually gave everything a different name, until he had only one animal and one name left. Now this animal loved to hunt mice. He also liked to eat grasshoppers and even crickets and spiders. But the only name left in the bag was Owatta Punk and that’s the name he got.
As time went on everybody found mice all over the place; cheese shops were folding up as all the cheese was disappearing and everyone who loved cheese would hang around mouse holes looking for a few leftover crumbs. There were so many grasshoppers they ate every leaf of grass and even covered the ground. Trains going into towns would skid past them into cities and trains coming from cities would skid into the ocean. Spiders would run up ladies’ legs and build webs in their hair. This made the ladies scream. What had happened to the animal who ate mice and grasshoppers and spiders, they wanted to know? Things got so bad they called in Mr. Joseph J. Cat to find out what was wrong. Where was their mousegrasshopperspider catcher? What did he say to him?
“Well,” said Mr. Joseph J. Cat, “since I only had one name— ‘Owatta Punk’—left, I gave the name to him.”
Now it turns out this animal couldn’t stand being called ‘Owatta Punk, so he just went away and hid. But the rest of the animals said, “This cant go on! You will just have to give him your name and you will have to take his!”
So that is how my litle friend in the field came to be known as Joseph J. Cat, or Joe for short. (The J. stands for Josephine in case he’s a girl). And the animal he traded names with was Man, or otherwise now known as Mr. Owatta Punk.
And I think that is the nuttiest story you ever heard—Love Grandpa
Some years ago I wrote a pantomime for The Maple Ridge Players and in due time they produced it. I took the play from Hans Christian Anderson’ story of ‘The Tinder Box’. It is quite a silly play, written for both adults and young people, with lots of silly songs and some romantic ones. Those who saw it told me they enjoyed it very much. The Ladysmith players also produced it here on the island about five years ago. but as I have been busy on my books I haven’t had time to find other
companies who might like to put it on.If anyone out there is interested, please contact me.
I’m the wickedest wickedest wickedest witch in the west
I guarantee I’ll give you my personal best
I’m wicked right down to the end of my nose
From the top of my head, to the tip of my toes
‘Cause I’m the wickedest wickedest wickedest witch in the west
I’m the beautifulest, charmingest, daintiest witch in the west
Sinderellas my name an’ sinnin’s what I do best
I jumps on children’s toys an’ then
I jumps on ’em all over again
So the Queen had me dumped in the pond an’ called me a pest
I’m the nastiest, awfullest spitefullest (but still charming) witch in the west
I put a hex on the queen and her daughter an’ all she loves best (her money).
Now the princess can only sing or hum
An’ I’ve predicted she’d marry a wandering bum
Just to think of the things I can do makes me feel blest
I’m the connivingest, cleverest, schemingest witch in B.C.
An’ I’m after a box of delights down in that tree
This tale’ll send you home in tears
‘Cause it’s my way or the highway, dears
Oh the scams on the railway’s got nothin’ on me
’cause I’m the wickedest wickedest wickedest wickedest
Wickedest witch in B.C.
You can see this is a really silly song, but the witch is lots of fun
‘Pulled through the Rainbow’s arc until they felt like rubber bands ready to snap at any moment, their heads entered Lolibran while their feet were still away out over the sea. This, for these Earthlings, was a frightening and at the same time, exhilarating experience. Yet the whole journey was so swift that what had seemed to them like hours was over in an instant. Time had s..t…r….e…..t……c…….h………e………d along with their bodies.’
Travel with twins Lynn and Lyle, their mentor Mr. Peter, their three animal companions and Rob, the children’s bullying nemesis, as the Faerie attempt to overthrow the cannibal witch Solvieg and set their devastated land free. But Rob sets out to betray them all, only to find he must make a choice between life or death, his own.