Langley Fairchild

Shadowed wings, a fleeting dread—  

Murmur of dark skies.

In a garden of gold, shadows bloom,  

Woven in whispers, the bamboo’s loom.  

A figure draped in midnight’s thread,  

With a gaze that lingers, but cannot tread.

Orange leaves paint the air with fire,  

A dance of quiet grace, pulling her higher.  

In this world of silence, her thoughts unfurl,  

As if the earth itself were in a swirl.

Her hands, soft as dusk, caress the light,  

Between the brush and the faded night.  

A silent pause in the grasp of time,  

Where nature and heart both intertwine.

Three little burgers hang from the sky, Wide-eyed and wondering, swinging up high. Chains hold them steady, though dreams make them dance, Caught in a sweet, silly hamburger trance.

Their buns are of gold, their eyes full of cheer, Gazing at worlds that they’ll never near. With patties of midnight and sesame crowns, They light up the room without making a sound.

Not quite for eating, yet tasty to see, A quirky delight from some old fantasy. Oh, burger lamps, with your innocent glow, You make even ceilings a place dreams can grow.

The Pink Clanky Clatterbot

In a corner of a workshop, not too far, Lived a pinky robot shaped like a star. With pipes and cones and zigzag crown, It spun and beeped and danced around!

Clanky Clatterbot, that was its name, Building tall towers was its favorite game. With a swoosh of its scoop and a twist of its hat, It balanced a pancake on a paper-thin spat!

"Beep beep bloop!" it loved to sing, Pretending its arm was a bird on a swing. Made of metal but full of cheer, It whispered, "Come play, there's magic here!"

So if you see a pink bot shaped quite odd, Don't be shy—just give it a nod. It might just clank and blink at you, And build a dream from bolts and glue!

Neon hum melts into dusk— VACANCY blinks like a lazy eye, air-cooled whispers brushing against the night.

A candy-sweet scent lingers— saccharine promises, cheap and fleeting. The king bed sprawls, wide as a desert dream, crisp sheets crinkling—paper-thin secrets folded within.

The phone waits, silent and yellowed with forgotten conversations— a lifeline to nowhere.

On the color TV, static snow and late-night reruns blur into lullabies for the lonely.

Here, between peppermint walls and a cardboard moon, you can almost believe— that sweetness stays.