Poem #1: Love Letters from a Paper Moon

You sent a kiss in a thimble shell

Wrapped in the scent of caramel,

It flew on wings of dragon sighs

And tangled stars in velvet skies.

You whispered words in bubble ink,

They popped before I dared to blink—

Yet somehow, still, they warmed my cheek

And made my shadow blush all week.

You gifted me a cloud bouquet

With petals made of cabernet,

And tied it with a comet’s tail—

My heart became a paper sail.

So meet me where the willows nap,

We'll map our dreams on ginger snaps,

And write our names in lunar lace—

Two silly hearts in endless chase.

Poem #2: The Polka-Dot Phantom Parade

At midnight sharp on Spindle Street,

The ghosts go marching two-left-feet,

In top hats tall and tattered lace

With glow-worm buttons on their face.

They don’t go boo! —they softly giggle,

And through old tombstones do a wiggle.

One plays kazoo with phantom flair,

Another braids her cobweb hair.

Their shoes go *squish* with pumpkin pie,

Their socks are stitched with spider-eye,

They tip their hats to passersby—

Then vanish with a jellybean sigh.

So, if you hear a flute that wheezes,

Or smell a breeze of haunted cheeses,

Just smile, and wave your candy cane—

The spooky sillies roam again!

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Poem #3: The Acorn Orchestra

The squirrels have formed a chamber band—

They practice daily near the sand.

With twigs for bows and leaves for notes,

They trill through songs in mossy coats.

The pumpkins hum in baritone,

While breezes strum a pine-cone tone,

The mushrooms play their tiny flutes,

In scarves of plaid and root-boot suits.

The apples clap from orchard rows,

As geese conduct in feathered shows,

And all the trees, in chorus deep,

Applaud before they fall asleep.

So, if you see a toad in tweed

Tapping time with rhythmic seed,

Sit a spell and lend an ear—

Fall’s orchestra is playing near.

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Poem#4: The Teacup’s Thought on Infinity

A teacup on a windowsill

Declared the world a shape to fill—

“It curves like spoons, yet breaks like plates,

It holds both sugar cubes and fates.”

She pondered stars in sleepy stew,

And asked the moth, “What’s truly true?”

He flapped once slow, then said with grace,

“The truth is shaped like empty space.”

The napkin chimed, “We’re all just threads—

In patchwork dreams and feather beds.”

The fork cried out, “But I make rules!”

(The spoon just twirled in marmalade pools.)

So, if you think too long or wide,

Go talk to things the world denied—

A cup, a moth, a silent plate—

They ponder more than we debate.