Do you like the Orkeldor,
Or the poems I write about him?
You know he’s not the best of friends,
For he very few friends doth win.
* * *
The Orkeldor’s not ugly
(unless you think he is).
No human’s ever seen him
(and lived to tell, that is).
He looks a bit like bison,
And his intent in life
Is to eat up all of us.
* * *
The Orkeldor is swift and mean,
And always hungry too.
His sense of smell is very keen
In seeking food to chew.
Some day the Orkeldor will come
A-lurking ’round your door,
And when he does you’d better run
Or you will run no more.
No one has ever seen this beast,
I mean seen, and lived to tell,
For Orkeldor has seen them first
And he does that quite well.
The Orkeldor, the Orkeldor,
An evil beast is he.
He pays no heed to whimpers,
Or prayers on bended knee;
But wades in slimy places
And beneath the sha-sha trees
Waiting for his supper,
Be it you or be it me.
Perhaps he is a creature
From far in outer space,
Or maybe he’s an ancestor
To our own human race.
At any rate, he’s hungry,
And good at catching food;
For none hath e’er escaped from him
No matter what his mood.
Though sha-sha trees are lovely,
And grow with lots of flowers,
The Orkeldor among those trees
Is hungry every hour.
He never stops to brush his teeth,
For that takes too much time.
Instead, he searches through the glade
For food amongst the grime.
Sometimes Orkeldor doth sleep,
But he’s quick to wake for food.
From slumber he easily awakes,
And in a hungry mood.
I hope I never meet him
For dinner or for lunch;
And, though I love the sha-sha trees,
I’ll not wander near them much.
For Orkeldor is lurking,
A foolish one to find,
And if I ever see him
I’m sure I’ll lose my mind.
Beneath the silken sha-sha trees
The Orkeldor doth wade,
And wanders ever searching
For prey within the glade.
Stay far away, oh, pilgrim,
If you your life will keep,
For Orkeldor is hungry,
He’d rather eat than sleep.
* * *
The Orkeldor is hideous, at least I think he is.
Though I have never seen him, I know he brings no bliss.
He hides among the sha-sha trees, and catches ignorant prey.
He eats them for his dinner. He’s known to eat all day.
* * *
Along the winding country roads
You seldom chance to see
The oh, so lovely, ching-ching bird,
As tiny as a bee.
Its song is simply marvelous,
Its color quite unique;
But once you’ve seen one, you will know
It doesn’t have a beak.
Instead it has a little mouth,
A mouth like you or me,
And with that mouth it sings its song,
The song that’s so lovely.
’Tis said the song is magic,
And possesses many powers
From making maidens fall in love
To toppling mighty towers.
The ching-ching bird is magic, true,
But you may never find it;
For while he’s being sought by you,
He’s working his own magic.
You stumble ’cross him,
If you are lucky, great;
But you will never catch one,
You’ll always be too late.
So, while along the country roads
You do chance to wander,
If you chance to hear his song,
Just take a tape recorder.
If he doesn’t know you’re taping him
Perhaps you’ll catch some magic;
But beware of the performance rights,
Or, legally, you’ve had it.
* * *
A sweet little animal came up to me one day.
I didn’t know just what it was, or how it came to be.
It wandered up as I did sit, I was certainly surprised,
And then it climbed into my lap and calmly closed its eyes.
I sat a while a-wondering just what this thing could be,
It was furry, small, and beautiful; lovely as could be.
I sat there, still and wondering, just what was I to do?
This furry little animal had pottied on my shoe.
I never learned what it could be, nor do I know today,
For when that animal awoke, it got up and walked away.