The Duffling Collection

with audio by Jordon Hodges

Mr. Thurston Smith-Schuster McMumMum the Third

Collector of all of which you’ve ever heard

 

Forget baseball cards, stamps, and the Liberty Dime

He’d collected them all by the time he turned nine

 

He collects spiderwebs across old wooden rakes

(no two are the same, they’re just like snowflakes)

 

He collects signatures that look like chicken scratch

He collects old tube-socks…. but only if they don’t match

 

He collects Clydesdale horses that are named Buttercup

And spotlights from stages, he sweeps them right up

 

Horoscopes, but only Taurus and Aries

Hole-in-one golf balls and football Hail Marys

 

Peach pits and the shell part from your edamame

(They have value to him so don’t throw them away)

 

Ceiling tiles and various types of pond scum

Even threads off of sweaters and… eww… chewed up gum.

 

He collects collections, his total’s yet to be seen!

And pronouns from this story, he’s up to nineteen!

 

But poor Thurston’s been running low on ideas as of late

And if you could help him out that would really be great!

 

Come up with something brand new for the ol’ chap to collect

(Though he may already have it, I myself haven’t checked)

 

He has a shelf full of bowling balls and every single type of rimmed hat

He already collects snowman noses, so don’t suggest that

 

Whatever you pick, write it down then make a copy

Sign your name at the bottom (but make it kind of sloppy)

 

Somebody you know should have an idea where he can be found

So put the note in an envelope, then just ask around

 

Something to collect that he hasn’t yet, but should

And I can’t stress this enough… make sure that it’s good

 

Not simply postcards or flags that are unfurled

But perhaps rings off of Saturn or wonders of the world.

 

with audio by Jordon Hodges

A two headed wolf-dog with razor sharp fangs

A scary Medusa with poisonous bangs

 

A block-beetle monster with twin pointy horn

A vampire bat that’s already airborne

 

A giant evil count with his cloak wrapped up tight

Now walk back again, but first flip on the light

 

A roll of old carpet propped against the wall

A sled-kite suspended on a disco ball

 

The beetle with horns? Just a TV set

The Medusa? A mop: not much of a threat

 

The two headed wolf dog with razor sharp teeth?

A plastic jack-o-lantern and holiday wreath

 

Before we wrap up I have one final tip

To save you some frights on your next nighttime trip

 

If you see something moving that causes great fear,

Relax and breathe easy, it’s always a mirror.

 

with audio by Jordon Hodges

There once lived a king with a fortune so grand

His vaults had more coins than the beaches had sand

 

He loved only large castles; he built them up high

They blocked out the sun and they pierced through the sky

 

With high pillars and archways, balconies so absurd

His words they would echo through hallways unheard

 

He kept building castles, and lost track of time

He spent all his wealth; soon he was ninety-nine

 

Some years later still, those castles stood taking up space

The realm needed material for a new marketplace

 

They tore every stone down over the course of four long Decembers,

I’d tell you the king’s name but honestly no one remembers

with audio by Jordon Hodges

 

Strik was the baddest fish ever to swim,

Barracudas and sharks steered well clear of him.

 

If ever you face the monster of Loch Ness,

Mention Strik and he’ll flee with no second guess.

 

Tahr –greatest fisherman ever to cast,

Hooked every whopper from here to Belfast.

 

Ask whomever you’d like, back on dry land,

Tahr he was born fishing rod in his hand.

 

Trust when I tell you the whole ocean knew it,

When Strik found Tahr’s hook and bit down into it.

 

Tahr, he fought harder than Achilles at Troy,

His anchor and boat dragged around like a toy.

 

If Strik could speak, he’d have but one vow to quote,

That no man would hoist his fins into a boat.

 

Tidal waves covered islands up past their trees,

As Tahr struggled to bring mighty Strik to his knees.

 

How that battle ended I wish I could say,

But Tahr is still fighting ol’ Strik to this day.

 

Some they will tell you, that it’s not a lie,

Strik lifted Tahr’s boat up into the sky.

 

Others will swear, commoners, even czars,

That Tahr and Strik lifted up into the stars.

 

with audio by Jordon Hodges

Sleuthing around Antwerp Central train station

Private detective Gregg Antony Holmes (no relation)

 

Constable Maes had been the first on the scene

At the cargo case, derailed at track number thirteen

 

“You’re too late Holmes, you’re wasting your time on this call

It’s this dust on the tracks here that explains it all

 

“Chimney Sweeps often empty their bags here before catching their trains

This mess on the tracks caused the case to jostle out of its reins

 

“My fine-tuned smarts tell me, and it’s more than just a hunch,

There’s no crime here at all –false alarm –let’s break for lunch”

 

Putting on his hat, Holmes took a step back

He then turned to the Constable to give his feedback

 

“Chimney sweeping’s a profession that’s just not in season

besides, you’ve confused the cause with the reason

 

“The symbol on this case is of the West Charleroi labs

Top five additive producer, for those who keep tabs

 

“If you look a bit closer using your self-proclaimed ’smarts’

You’ll see part one of a crime that requires two parts

 

“This dust has a tint of blue resembling ammonium nitrate

A binary explosive when combined with oxyliquate

 

The kind that could blast the door off the bank vault at Leopold and State

There’s only two people with access to the latter as of late…

 

“One’s the head engineer at the Transportation Bureau

The other happens to be VanMortimer, the greatest criminal I know

 

He boards the express every Friday at Chantiers Château

That train arrives in twelve minutes, so get that lunch to go”

 

Hello and welcome! I’m so glad you found your way to this whimsical world, and I hope you enjoy reading the poems as much as I enjoy writing them. Be sure to come back regularly to see the latest entry, and let me know what you think via the “connect with the author,” page.

 

Below you’ll find each poem in the collection in reverse chronological order from when they were posted (come back often to see the newest addition!), and some of the poems have a special new feature. Actor Jordon Hodges provides audio for many of the poems. Keep checking back for more from this partnership with Jordon; I’m so grateful for his support on this project!

 

Feel free to subscribe and share with your friends either on social media via the buttons on each post or in real life. Happy reading!

 

 

Loud cheering erupted, and camera flashes did glow
At a youth chess tournament, ages twelve and below

Looking to the door young Michael did see
Grandmaster Kozlov, the one and only

He sat across from young Michael, at a table up front
That retired grandmaster publicity stunt

Fifty-five years old and nine championships won
With a peak tournament rating of twenty-seven eighty-one

As the game began Kozlov kept right on talking
Signing autographs of fans who were huddled around gawking

With reporters all around, hanging on every word
Kozlov’s question to Michael was universally heard

“What’s it like sitting across from a chessmaster so great?”
Little Michael moved his queen before replying, “Checkmate.”

Captain John, the royal navy; dreaded Brig the buccaneer

Faced off near a desert island, neither man planning to veer

 

A message to the Captain scratched by Brig’s black fingernail

Written in the darkest pitch on a hoisted mizzen sail

 

“A sabre at your feet and a white flag unimpaired

Surrender the chest of gold and your ship will be spared”

 

John, forty years a sailor, who was called by no man frail

Soon replied in matching fashion with his own black pitch and sail

 

“A mounted broadside cannon and three hundred rounds that fit it

This gold belongs to the kingdom, if you want it come and get it”

 

Brig, smirking at the reply, his teeth gold or rotted out

Wrote out his second message and then spun his ship about

 

“Not my first stolen chest, galleys sunk off many shores

My pirate ship’s equipped with FOUR broad cannons such as yours”

 

Sensing the battle coming, John saw fit to fire first

Soon the ocean waves were drowned out by the sound of cannon burst

 

With splashes in the water John raised up his telescope

And saw Brig’s latest message hanging from the main mast rope

 

“A backwards facing captain, a gunner without a clue

Your cannon balls all missed me so nah-nah nah-nah boo”

 

Soon Brig returned the favor and the cannonballs did fly

With four times as many cannons, the white smoke filled up the sky

 

A blast rocking the hull, took John for a moment off his feet

When he rose a fourth Brig message, written on a plain white sheet

 

“An arrow into a bullseye, a popup to a mitt

You’re taking on water fast, that was a direct hit”

 

Seizing his moment, Brig brought his ship within reach

No help for John on the horizon, just that one lone island beach

 

Swinging over the gap on John’s ship Brig did land

But no one was on board; this had not gone as he’d planned

 

He found the chest of gold, but still no sign of Captain John

But back on his own ship a brand new message had been drawn

 

“A kamikaze breech blast, a firework indoors

While you’re looting my ship I’ll be sinking yours”

 

Seizing up the chest in the shipwreck soon to be

Brig grabbed the mainsail mast line and prepared to cut it free

 

Gritting his rotten teeth with a burning sense of loss

He scribbled one last message before swinging back across

 

“From my first dawn to my last, this pirate life I choose it!

There’s a sabre at your side, I hope you’re trained to use it!”

 

Fighting on the deck, Captain John sure held his own

But their time was running out, the whole bilge it had been blown

 

With water to their ankles, each watched the others’ choice unfold

Captain John ran to the row boat, dreaded Brig ran to the gold

 

With John rowing away, Brig dragged his stolen chest to shore

Soon finding under the lid, John had prepared one message more

 

“A peacock to a blind man, a bullhorn to a mute

There’s nowhere on this island to spend your pirate loot”

with audio by Jordon Hodges and Brittany Risner

Jenny wanted a treehouse, so her mom built her one

She played day and night and had oh so much fun

 

So much so, in fact, she didn’t want to come down

Or return to her boring non-treehouse and town

 

Her mom called up to her, one late fall weekend

She wouldn’t force her daughter to stop playing pretend

 

“You can keep playing up there your whole life, but if you do

you’ll need a tree doctor, and a tree dentist too

 

“We’ll build a tree school and fill it with tree books

You can eat at tree restaurants that employ tree cooks

 

“When you’re older you’ll get a tree job and a tree car to drive

With tree banks and tree markets your tree town will thrive”

 

When Jenny agreed, her mom kept her word

And for years the sound of her hammer was heard

 

She built a tree office and tree parking space

And a tree fire station, just in case

 

Tree roads, tree fences, and tree parks were made

In suspended tree yards, they planted tree trees for shade

 

Jenny had a small son, and when he was grown

He asked for a tree treehouse of his own

Captain Leeward took the deck –her hair fiery red.
Gnarl the Pirate’s last words echoing in her head:

“You can search the Citrus Isles for a lifetime at your leisure,
sail for a hundred years, and still never find my treasure.”

No jokes as they sailed toward the Isle of Plum.
Those Citrus Island seas –treacherous as they come.

To avoid jagged rocks Leeward turned her ship fast!
Each island she sailed to might be her last.

For such a harrowing journey it was hard to prepare,
Ol’ Gnarl’s chest of treasure could be buried anywhere.

Perhaps on the East Isles: Kiwi, Banana, Plum, or Cherry,
Not to mention Apricot, Lemon, Lime, or Strawberry.

Or on the West Isles: Mango, Grape, Pear, Pineapple,
Nectarine, or Blueberry, even Orange, or Apple.

On the shore of Plum Island, no gold to be found,
Just one taunting letter stuck into the ground:

“You’ve guessed incorrectly you accursed sea-snake
Purple’s not the color of the Island’s namesake.”

Undeterred captain Leeward once again set her sail,
Toward Banana Island through a freak storm of thick hail.

Arriving there safely with a bit of good luck,
Once again in the sand, there a letter was stuck:

“You’re wasting your time if yellow fruits you do chase,
but primary colors are not at all that off base.”

Leeward aimed her ship back toward those dark perilous seas,
East toward Cherry Island, against a strong ocean breeze.

Past a whirlpool she sailed, a narrow escape,
As she reached Cherry Island’s eastern most cape.

To her great dismay for the third time she did view,
Not a chest, but another insulting Gnarl clue.

“With treasure hunters like you there was hardly any need to hide it,
The correct isle’s fruit has no seeds inside it.”

Not sure what to do, somewhat tired, but not very,
She aimed her ship west, toward the isle of Blueberry.

To make matters even worse as she started on her way,
Was the bit of bad news her first mate did convey:

“Odds that our ship holds up much longer are poor,
We can only safely sail… to one island more.”

On the outskirts of those east Island seas,
The captain rethought her analyses.

Suddenly with an “Ah Ha!” the entire crew heard her shout,
At the very last moment she turned the whole ship about.

“Old Gnarl was misleading but never actually lied,
A strawberry’s seeds are on the OUTSIDE.”

Past the jagged coral reef of the Strawberry Isle,
The crew came ashore walking out single file.

With no note to be found Leeward’s crew started to dig,
Soon reaching a chest that was shockingly big.

Her crew hoisted the chest and then cleared her a space,
Enough gold for ten lifetimes shined up in her face.