If I were a frog...

On my profile, I answered the question, "How would you live your life as a frog?" Below is the full length version of the poem I wrote in reply:

If I were a frog...
If I were a frog,
Of a humid bog,
I'd have orange toes,
And scale the boughs,
And with bright red eyes,
I'd search the skies,
As skin vibrant green,
Would shimmer its sheen,
As it shined in the light,
With the moon in the night.
I'd have friends like me,
From tree one to tree three,
Who would join in hopping,
And there'd be no stopping,
We would jump all day,
Without fight or fray,
Until night would wake,
And we'd rest by the lake,
With sleep to pursue,
As the night brought the dew.
I'd climb very high,
As the moon drew nigh,
And I'd croak with the crickets,
In the thick green thickets,
And they'd chirp their tune,
"Do you dance with the moon?"
"Quite so," I'd reply,
And I'd leap to the sky,
And the moon and I,
would be blissfully tied—
Unless I got eaten.

The Otis-Spunkmeyer Experience

It had been a rather long and tiring week, and I woke up Friday morning slowly and sleepily: "I would say 'hello', Day, but I don't really feel too inclined towards salutations at the moment." (That was me almost greeting the morning). I felt it was going to be an uneventful day.
Breakfast changed my mind.
I dropped by a food place and picked up a wild blueberry Otis-Spunkmeyer muffin. Sitting myself down, I embarked on munching the pleasant, mushy breading of the meager meal. After a few bites, I noticed something rather hard (and not entirely chewable) between my teeth. I thought perhaps it was one of those yucky nut-pieces or hard-breading that they sometimes throw into the mix (often to my chagrin...I like that word..."chagrin"...good word). Though I was trying to swallow it, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. In chewing the piece of whatever-it-was, it wasn't getting any smaller. So I spit it out. I then examined my muffin to see what they had put inside. There, in the center, was a large, brown spot from which had come that ugly texture I had tried to chew. I pulled the spot out of the heart of my muffin and looked closely at it. I picked at its surface, and it peeled apart in two layers. Where it had been joined in the middle, its ridges looked to me a great deal like those found in cardboard. "It couldn't be," I mused.
I turned it over and examined the blueberry stains on one side. Wait. Those weren't blueberry stains. I scraped off the muffin residue which clung to the surface, and there the letters "of Jun" met my eyes.
There was a piece of cardboard in my muffin.
I chuckled to myself at the incident, set the muffin aside (naturally, I was finished), and wrote this poem with a better, more humorous outlook on the day's new potential.

The Otis-Spunkmeyer Experience

The week had worn me winded, puffin';
With waking I bought a simple muffin:
Otis-Spunkmeyer wild blueberry,
While I spent the mornin' a-sluffin'.

Made of bread and fruit and dairy,
I took three bites, and quite contrarily,
There my mouth found something horrid:
A piece of cardboard hard: scary!

Though it was something I had afforded,
It left me dazed from its texture sordid.
What could steal a muffin's pride?
A nasty piece of cardboard did.

It had the words "of Jun" inscribed
Upon is tasteless, chewless side,
And my breakfast then had found its end--
Eating cardboard, I can't abide.

Magnetic Poetry #5: To Life

My blood is red,
soft rain falls blue;
Water me long
in colors from you.
Every sound:
beneath,
above,
through.
I can be more
than how, which or who.
Eye full of sun,
this would it do:
I could leave all
and life must come too.

But only if you wanted to.