Topic: Imaginary

Imaginative poems about imaginary things.

Lorenzo Liszt, Non-Scientist

lorenzo-liszt-non-scientist

Lorenzo Liszt, non-scientist,
researches things that don’t exist.
He looks for fur from fish and frogs
and scales that came from cats and dogs.

He hunts for things like hamster wings
and walruses with wedding rings.
He analyzes famous flies
and speculates on oysters’ eyes.

He contemplates the common traits
of rattlesnakes on roller skates,
and then explores for dinosaurs
who shop in corner grocery stores.

He thinks about the desert trout.
He studies underwater drought.
He ponders how the purple cow
remained unnoticed up till now.

He scans the skies for flying pies
and tests for turtles wearing ties
and bears who buzz and beep because…
well, this is what Lorenzo does.

Although we feel that he should deal
with something that’s a bit more real,
Lorenzo Liszt just can’t resist
researching things that don’t exist.

What a Trip!

what-a-trip

I tripped on the sheets when I got out of bed.
I tripped on my pants when I tried to get dressed.
I tripped on the stairs and I fell on my head.
I tripped on my shoelace and injured my chest.

I tripped on a crack in the sidewalk this morning.
I tripped on a curbstone while walking to school.
I tripped on a tree root without any warning.
I tripped at the park and I fell in the pool.

I tripped on my backpack. I tripped on my bike.
I tripped on my camera. I tripped on my cat.
I tripped on my train set. I tripped on my trike.
I tripped on my baseball. I tripped on my bat.

I haven’t got money to go on vacations.
If I didn’t trip I’d go nowhere at all.
I may never see other cities or nations,
but this way, at least, I take trips every fall.

It’s Raining in My Bedroom

its-raining-in-my-bedroom

It’s raining in my bedroom.
It’s been this way all week.
I think the upstairs neighbor’s plumbing
might have sprung a leak.
They may be on vacation.
They must be out of town.
And, all the while, my bedroom rain
continues pouring down.
My shoes have gotten soggy.
My bed is growing mold.
A pond is forming on my floor.
It’s all so wet and cold,
that frogs have started spawning.
An otter wandered through
with salmon splashing upstream,
and some guy in a canoe.
Now waves are growing larger.
The weather’s turning grim.
A tide is rising rapidly.
I’m glad that I can swim.
My parents called the plumber.
He’s nowhere to be seen.
Does anybody know where I
can buy a submarine?

I Lost My Head

i-lost-my-head

Before I go to sleep each night
I first remove my head,
and set it gently down upon
the nightstand by my bed.
And every morning when I wake,
I stretch my arms and yawn,
then pick my head up carefully
and put it right back on.

I put my head on backward
when I woke up yesterday,
and, every time I turned my head,
I looked the other way.
I started walking into walls
and falling down the stairs.
I stumbled into tables
and I tumbled over chairs.

Today is looking even worse;
I woke up in my bed
and felt around my nightstand
but I couldn’t find my head.
I hope I find it shortly.
I’d be sad if it were gone.
From now on when I go to bed
I think I’ll leave it on.

When Flowers Wake Each Morning

when-flowers-wake

When flowers wake each morning
they don’t have to make their beds.
And lettuce leaves aren’t told to comb
the hair upon their heads.

You’d never tell asparagus
it shouldn’t play with spears.
You’d never ask a stalk of corn
to wash behind its ears.

A mushroom doesn’t have to
clean its room, and you’ll agree
a tree won’t have to study hard
to learn geometry.

I guess it should be obvious
from listening to my rant.
I’m tired of being a person;
I would rather be a plant.

My Invisible Dragon

my-invisible-dragon

I have an invisible dragon.
She’s such a remarkable flyer.
She soars through the sky on invisible wings
exhaling invisible fire.

My dragon is utterly silent.
She soundlessly swoops through the air.
Why, she could be flying beside you right now,
and you’d never know she was there.

And if you should reach out to pet her,
I don’t think you’d notice too much.
Her body is simply too airy and light
to sense her by means of a touch.

And just as you don’t see or hear her,
and just as she cannot be felt,
my dragon does not have an odor at all,
which means that she’ll never be smelt.

Although you may find this outlandish,
you just have to trust me, it’s true.
And, oh, by the way, did I mention I have
an invisible unicorn too?

Learning to Fly

I’m soaring.
I’m sailing.
I’m learning to fly.
I’m leaping.
I’m bouncing.
I’m high in the sky.

I’m jumping.
I’m hopping.
I’m up in the air.
I’m dashing.
I’m diving,
the wind in my hair.

I’m swooping.
I’m whooshing.
I’m light as a kite.
I’m flittering,
fluttering,
floating in flight.

I’m toppling.
I’m tumbling.
I’m falling. I crashed.
And, whoopsie,
my parents
new mattress is trashed.

Riding a Rainbow

riding-a-rainbow

I’ll ride on a rainbow
to soar through the sky.
I’ll ride on a kite
as it flies way up high.

I’ll ride on a dragon.
I’ll ride a balloon.
I’ll ride on a rocket
and ride on the moon.

I’ll ride on the wind
and the sun and the stars,
on floating bananas
and flying guitars.

I’ll ride on a cloud
and a unicorn too.
I’ll ride in the seat
of a magical shoe.

But why would I ride
on the sun and the stars?
It’s so much more fun
than just riding in cars.

How Not to Make a Cardboard Fort

I found an empty cardboard box.
I made myself a fort.
I had to squeeze and twist and turn
and crumple and contort
to climb inside, but now I’m quite
embarrassed to report
I’m stuck inside this cardboard box
that’s clearly much too short.
Has anybody got a box
that’s bigger than a quart?

The Bagel Bird

the-bagel-bird

The Bagel Bird, by all accounts,
is said to lunch on large amounts
of sticks and twigs and sand and stones
and plastic parts from broken phones.
He’ll nibble bits of copper wires
and rubber from discarded tires.
He’ll chomp on tops of cuckoo clocks
and swallow shorts and stinky socks.

He’ll chew your shoes and eat your hat.
He’ll bite your books and baseball bat.
He’ll stuff his lips with poker chips
and snack on sails from sailing ships
and gobble poles and bowling balls
and pick at bricks from fallen walls
and graze on grass and feed on weeds
and dine on twine and strings of beads.

But bagels… whether white or wheat,
or salted, savory, or sweet,
or topped with lox or luncheon meat,
are something he will never eat.
At least that’s what I’ve always heard
about the crazy Bagel Bird.
But I don’t mind because, you see,
that leaves more bagels just for me.