Billy wants

to learn how to

go with the flow, but

I still haven't figured out

how to shift my no go attitude

into row, row, row your boat latitude.

Whoa!
Incoming pheromones.
Which one of us is going to handle this?

I flow.

I blow.

And now this fruity glow.

Ah, to breath in the scent of this

fleetingly wonderful world,

this is enough for me.

I just wanna know why your hindsight

is so clear and mine's so exhausting.

Hey! Are you paying attention to me?

Or is that just another selfie?

Suspecting an evening of family self-importensions,

Robert flapped his comb over forward

and disappeared from plain sight.

Rose was pleased to discover

she had the flightiest type of butter fingers.

With the box of chocolates in hand,

Sue sent her sorrows aloft,

Seeding the clouds with sustenance

for newborn thoughts so soft.

The secret to happiness, BJoe,

is to make every moment

a swished-around-giggling-puppet moment.

Of course, you will look like an idiot to society,

but what happy puppet doesn't.

WAKE UP!

GET SILLY!

NOW!

              

I know!

I'll ...!... uh... thup ... thup ... thup...

...

Darn, there I go again,

plugging a stopper

into another

brilliant new

thought.

The best part of going with the flow

is the voluptuously seductive thought curves.

Hmmph.

Where the waters do drop

the pearls can pop.

Hmmph.

Oh, you grumpy old sugar beet!

Hmmph.

After seven years at the top of the ladder,

and a full count, atomized cell exchange,

a modern Mohammed was delighted to find

he had become the mountain.

Peter loved climbing pedestals

all the way to the top,

never seeing his heartbeat

could match with the

desire to stop.

Within every strong climber

there fumbles a cute, little, furry critter.

Why, you smug little cheep eater.

I don't know why

but I feel all aflutter

aflooter

aflowering

twitter-twatter!

Oh, Ma'am,

Please don't mind me...

Meower!

(Twitter-twatter-swatter.)

I won't give you no bunny lip

if you keep your wolfish looks to yourself.

Merry Momo on the ready to go-go,

waiting for Floozy Flora's

hot flash-cold flash,
galloping yo-yo.

Hey!

Quit with the attitude.

I can look sly, too!

Really I can.

No problem.

If I wanted.

Yep.

Yep.

Yep.

When I grow up I want to be a happy birdbrain.

I think, therefore I'm quack'd?

Who-done-it whirling wonderment.

Climb every ladder....

Ford every stream....

Oh, stop!

(H'yuck yuck.)

Shoot. Not again...

Quack'd Envy

That lucky ducky.

She may look a bit over greased,

but you know what? She has her own

personal lifetime supply of Oil of O'lay.

New Age Bird Wisdom

Krissy, how many times have I told you

not to put all your eggs in one basket!

Hairless Harold spent a lifetime cultivating

his inner baby bounce, reveling in the twinkles

he generated when he patted in a high five

instead of punching out a low gibe.

The pruning master

strives to balance fear of change

with the thrill of artful affect.