I’m indie writer Teague de La Plaine, author of the bestselling Sea at Sunrise and other stories. This is my weekly newsletter, where I talk about writing and self-publishing in addition to my own life. I keep the newsletter free, because I prefer you spend your money on my books.
To be honest, I had so much fun writing in Dr. Seuss’s rhyme and meter that I decided to try one more. My trusty AI assistant did the art—and it has some interesting anomalies. But, the whole thing is generally a hoot and I hope you enjoy the little adventure!
In the snug little nook of the Harbor of Plink,
Lived Zibber Zobb, a pinky-patched Flink.
She’d dream every night of the whoosh and the whir,
Of the windy wide world that was waiting for her.
“Stay home!” cried her Ganny. “Stay here!” yipped her Ma,
“The world is too wide! It’s too windy! Too raw!”
But Zibber just grinned as she ran down the dock,
And POW! went the boat with a snap and a rock.
First stop was an isle that went bob, wig, and sway—
Where Rafty-Craft Raggles were bouncing all day.
They painted on planks and they giggled in crews,
They played in a sea of the most dazzly blues.
“We’re happy,” they hummed, “just to sit where we be.
To play in the tide, and to swim in the sea.”
But Zibber felt zippy for more than an idle,
So, she loosened the grip on her saily’s rope bridle.
Next came a jungle where vines looped and slung,
Where the Boom-Bangy Bogs and the Chitters all clung.
They snuffled her tiller, they snapped at her gear,
“A Flink in a boat? Bring her right over here!”
But ZIP-SNAP she spun in a triple-flip tack,
Her boom gave a WHAM! and she never looked back.
The wind in her whiskers, her paws on the till,
She felt in her belly the fear and the thrill.
She came to a sand spot so dry it went “crick,”
No puddle to slurp, not a dribble to lick.
She sipped at the dew, she stared at the sky,
And thought of her harbor as time flew right by.
Then morning burst open with a splatter and pour,
So, she filled up her Glug-Tubs and shoved off once more.
Then the storm came—oh whammy, oh slammy, oh swish,
The sea flopped and flipped like a snippery fish!
She reefed down her flip-flap and tightened the sheets,
While her saily went ZOUNK! under flash thunderbeats!
The clouds huffed and puffed, the waves roared and they rolled,
But Zibber grew steady, grew skillful, grew bold.
At last, in a hush, came a sight kind of queer:
A tumbledown sailor in a leaky old sphere.
His home port sat right there—just a hop, skip, and roam—
Yet he stared at the sea, with no thought to go home.
“I’ve been gone so long,” said the sailor and sighed,
“I’ve forgot the way in, whether low or high tide.”
But they talked through the dark ‘til the morning light grew,
Then Zibber said softly, “I’ll sail home with you.”
They glided together through gull-freckled foam,
Past the lighthouse that winked them a “welcome back home.”
Her friends all came running, her Gan gave a cheer,
And Zibber knew something she’d not known last year:
That home isn’t just where you tie up your boat—
It’s the folks whose warm love helps to keep you afloat.
The sea still would call, and she’d answer it too—
But she’d always sail home in her saily so blue.
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