Poems of Lighthouse Bob

The Artist and the Porcupine #465



The Artist and the Porcupine

The desert sun was beaming down,
Was beaming its demise:
He did so for he loved to see
His face within the skies-
And this was odd, because, you know,
The sun can burn your eyes.

Well, Mother Earth was quite upset
With sun's impudent state
And took it on herself to cause
His ego to deflate-
"Your very rude!" she said with dread
And made moon his soul mate.

The moon did spoon the sunny dunes
With her amazing glow
While sun just shunned embarrassment
To show his moon, you know,
And Mother Earth, well, laughed with glee
When stars all winked, "Hello!"

The Artist and the Porcupine
Shot hoops upon the shore
Of barren lake of which its wakes
Poured out what once in poured
And, though they both grew weary,
Their score was two to four.

Now, they surmised it a surprise
They'd even scored at all,
Because they had no hoop to loop
And had no basket ball,
But, yet, it seemed the normal thing
That well shots, well, should fall.

"Say, can I shoot some hoops with you?"
The hissing Rattler hissed,
"I've played B-ball for many years,
And, yet, I've scarcely missed:
I promise you some wicked shots!
Come, now, you can't resist!"

The Artist thought, "How can it be?
How can this serpent play?"
The Artist figured it must be
Some trick, some slick display-
And, so, he quickly picked it up
And threw the ball his way.

The Rattler grabbed the ball at once
And swiftly pose did choose,
Once scrambled down the court with ease
And scoring threes and twos-
And this was odd, because, you know,
The serpent wore no shoes.

"It seems to me," the Rattler said,
"You've really got this down,
So let's play now, right now, today
To see who owns this town!
And, then, my friends, we'll, in the end,
We'll know who wears the crown!"

The Artist and the Porcupine
Agreed to take him on-
"But, Wait!' the Rattler, then, replied
With lisp and with a yawn,
"This is not fair! There's two of you!
…For this I am withdrawn."

"OK," the Artist said, "I see,
We want this to be fair,
So, let's talk rules-Like artist's tools;
What size? What brush? What hairs?
And, if, on palettes, colors bleed,
Can those to prose compare?"

"I don't know what you're saying, Dude,"
The eager Rattler said,
"But, if you want to play B-ball,
It best you check your head
And concentrate on playing straight
And worry less instead."

"I choose the Devil," said the snake
"He is my coach, my friend
And he will never let me down,
On him I can depend-
Now, if you're ready, Wannabes,
Let's let the games begin!"

"Just wait a few, Without-a-clues,
This desert must be done,
But, since, it's this, that you insist,
We'll stop and have some fun-

… I think you'd best be on your ways,
You've got the ball! Now, Run!"

The Artist stomped the Devil's head
And grabbed the Rattler's tail-
And, slung out on the desert sand,
The serpent squirmed and flailed
Until, at last, its life had passed
And, there, became the trail.

The Porcupine just shrugged his spine,
"I thought there'd be more fight?"
"Of course not, my dear prickly friend,
Their barks were worse than bites!
Now, if you will, please, one more quill
That I might paint this right."




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The Artist and the Porcupine #465

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