When he was small,
he burrowed
to the bottom
of a sleeping bag,
at the foot of his bed,
under piles of clothes,
searching the beneath of things
for quiet answers
to questions he
could not ask.
They worried, but discovered
one day
his eyes peering out
from sofa cushions
and gradually
he emerged
into the world above
with squinting eyes
and questions flowing
from his tongue.
He became
a golden youth
arms wide, embracing
the wind,
as he ran for the
pure love of running
sucking air
in great gulps,
singing, in
bassoonic voice,
quavering ballads and
booming hymns,
and mole became man
dancing with friends,
in a circle
of perpetual surprise.
Bluster & Absurdity 
Hi Eric,
I like this poem because you are celebrating this âgolden youthâ who dances with friends in a âcircle of perpetual surprise.â
Great images. Keep the poems coming. Publish your poems along side the âChildâsâ poems. Make books.
Troll
>
searching the beneath of things for contra-fagotto flatulence
Picture perfect hemorrhoids. Suck air, golden mole. Graphic and poem in opposition. Clean or soiled laundry ? Did you mean baboonic? Google “baboonic voice.” YouTube has great similarity. I know you went to thesaurus for “bassoonic” but I won’t tell. ( Even I had to make sure of fagotto spelling to not be offensive.) Italian it is one or two g’s for the record. Acquiescence easier than unsubscribing. Not your best attempt.
Bravo!
HI dad I love that poem about the mole kid. It sounds like the kind of warped dream I would have.
Love Aelric