To say thank you for visiting, here is a ballad:

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I would say, tween grin and grin,

And what I’d say be true:

That if I were the mountain grass,

Then wouldn’t you be dew?

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And if I were that valley’s stream,

I’d run from cheek to cheek.

And if you were a heron—then

I’d let you run your beak.

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Tween smirk and smile—I’ll keep this pace

And ask you—if I could—

To think of what you’d say to me

If I were made of wood.

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If you were made of wood, my dear,

I’d lose you to love’s flame.

Put ashes in a golden urn

And think of you the same.

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If I were in an urn, Yvette,

In anger, I would rust.

If on that gilded-glowing box

You would neglect to dust.

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If so, I’d say my love was vain:

If specks of dust could bug.

For here you lie in dirt and grass,

Yet still you bear my hug.

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Keep singing me this song of rhyme,

This song of times yet wrote.

And let me be a violin,

I’ll hold the stringy note.

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Some ends are best unwrote, my dear,

Let’s lie in days gone long.

Sing me those tales of Solomon:

I’ll hear a mirthful song.

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Such songs are other’s ends, dear Vette,

And to such ends we’re lured.

So lay between this tree and I

And just hear that there bird.

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We would say tween grin and grin

And what we’d say be true:

That if I were I and you, you,

We’d lay till night was new.

Thank you for reading this ballad.

The hamster wheel’s good exercise

For hamsters wanting stronger thighs!

With stronger thighs, away they steal

No further, though faster, on the wheel.

It’s the damn hamster human condition.

And this reminds me of another ballad. You can read it here:

A second’s all I got—you bird.

So let your song be slim.

It takes too long to smell you—rose.

Your scent is far too dim.

By morning, I go west—dear sun.

I’d see you if I could.

So meet me in the east at dusk?

Catch up then, we should!

And brunch would waste two sides of morn.

Mimosas ain’t my bag.

That café is some rocks at sea.

Forgive me—I can’t lag.

And if I met that girl I like

in serendipity.

I’d snatch my groceries from the clerk,

Then home for Jeopardy.

Just tell me how it ends, my friend.

I haven’t time to watch.

And while you’re at it, here’s your hat!

My schedule you’ll botch.

I wear my god upon my wrist.

It ticks on like a whip.

So long it shines upon my face

It guides me not to slip.

And if I would recall a day—

In poesy or in prose.

I’d smash the glass upon my wrist

And wonder of the rose.

You like ballads, eh?

Here’s one about the Garden of Eden (this is where human beings came from if you take the story literally):

I ate a plum from that there tree.

They’ve asked me since to leave.

If every soul just took a plum

There’d be no plumb for Eve.

I’m early to the garden, then.

I’ve still a rib to spare.

There hops a silly animal—

I think I’ll call her Hare.

There flies by one I gave a name…

That name I can’t recall.

I’ll have to give another name,

For now, I’ll call it Gall.

But no, the first that I forgot

Was better, twice as grand.

What was that name I gave that bird

That squawks and flaps and lands?

That name, it flies right back to me

As bare feet rub the moss.

That was the name I gave to it!

It was the Albatross.

And if you hate ballads (and poets in general)… you’ll get a kick from this one:

“I am the Bard of Leigh,” said he.

“For iambs are my drum.

And if you said my meter’s off,

I’d say go shove your thumb!”

“I bear the voice of God,” said he.

“My words appreciate.

And those who take the chair you warm

Will call me Laureate.”

“You give us sins we lack,” said Leigh,

“For prophets we all love.

But if you are an asshole, then

We’ll show you what to shove.”

And if you don’t love nor hate ballads… here’s one about indecision:

My stickers lie inside the drawer,

The film I’m yet to peel.

For in every spot I chose to stick

Uncertainty I feel.

I hold the sticker in my hand:

To be or not to be

A flair upon my notebook, or

In drawer to shuffle free.

Suppose that once I chose to stick

I’d find a better place.

Then wasted would that sticker be.

I’m taunted by its face.

I hold my sticker down and ask

“What is it then you want?”

“For you to rip this back off me

It’s you who is the taunt.”

That one’s titled “to stick a pearl on swine”

And this next one is called “Dad, can I rob the bank?”

There is a bag of gold in there

That nobody would miss.

It hides there like a drop of dew

In the dumb field of bliss.

The father replies:

This is true of that old vault—

Yet one thing I implore:

There may be too much gold to count

but still, there is one door!

The son schemes:

Suppose I’d meet the guard at night

And cut him to my ruse?

For he has few to feed his kin

And what would he to lose?

The father rubs his eyes:

No silver tongue have you, dear son,

And what then if you’d fail?

For if he were to shake your bribe

Would pistols then avail?

The son thinks for a moment, then:

If such a deal fell to the floor—

I couldn’t tell you why—

I’d fear that man a fool would be

And fools are known to die.

The father can’t even look him in the eye:

Then woe would prey on me, dear son,

And age would trouble more.

For if you brought me gold turned red

I would then still be poor.

The son shakes his old man:

Dear Father, you have tilled this land,

Yet only you would know.

The seeds drink only from your sweat.

The sun has failed to show.

For he who meets the gold in dirt

Knows nothing of the vault.

And if he knew that he had lack

Then would he be at fault?

Now, the father looks him in the eye:

Don’t tell me of this world, dear son,

Don’t think on what is just!

You’ll find the lust of what is fair

Will spread you like the dust.

There will be no end to running

And it will be in vain.

In every town you dare to step

You’ll bear the mark of Cain.

That’s all for today.

Send me an email: writing@chrishughes.ca because I sometimes get lonely.

God bless & be well.