My readers and dreamers

Mostly my readers are in some other country
Where rabbits roam freely across the pages of books,
And bed bugs are known only to a few miscreants.
I have no readers because they already know what I know,
Though how do they know they know?
I have no readers because I’m too fat or too thin,
My handwriting is illegible,and my typing is worse.
They are dreaming now of dentists,bluebirds and Easter Eggs,
Of their psychoanalysts hand laundering their cashmere sweaters.
And whirling them a sweet story in the old hoover spindryer.
Why don’t psycho -analysts use Washing Machines..
We have a new one,but it must all be done by hand.
You admire, in your reverie,my talent for creation,
And also you hate me,so you keep washing.
The love is the warp and the hate is the weft.
Together they make a garment.
My readers are all sitting in the garden watching birds.
Do you know that you know what I know?

Alphabeta

Art is the literature of the eye.
Blood is the food of the brain.
Cunning is the wisdom of the serpent
Diagrams are the heart of the engineer.
Excuses are the politeness of strangers.
Flying is the joy of dreamers.
Green is the colour of woods in summertime.
Habits are the railroads of the mind.
Ink is the blood of writers.
Jams are the icing on the Motorway.
Kleenex is the friend of teardrops.
Limits are the edges of the friendship.
Music is the soother of souls.
Noise is the enemy of peace.
Obligations are the joys of friendship.
Queues are the neat Brit way of waiting.
Ruin is the risk of gamblers.
Splendour is the duty of monarchs.
Time is not waiting.
Unanimity is a very rare state in any group.
Value is a matter of judgment.
War is not a good way to bring peace.
Xylophones are rarely heard in my home.
Youth is full of beauty.
Zebras are officially striped and appreciated.

Who do you think you are?

I think I’m a bird today.
I want to fly like a jay.
but my fantasy fell flat
As I flew int a bat.
Tra lala lala la lay.

I think I’m an owl in the morning
When I get up but I hear myself yawning.
But my eyes are so weak
I tried to chase my own beak.
And I got caught in the news agent’s awning.

Maybe I should be a sparrow
And I could look for worms in a furrow.
But as I don’t eat meat
And have very large feet
I’d do better to hide in my burrow.

Yes,it seems I’m a rabbit
Who would ever have believed it!
I live near Lyme Regis,
Just above where the beach is.
And we rabbits have multitudinous habits.