Yogabets: An Acrobatic Alphabet

Hello, Friends, Readers, Writers!  It’s been a long winter and I for one am ready to come out of hibernation!  Please join me this weekend in downloading one of my newest children’s picture books, YOGABETS: An Acrobatic Alphabet.  It’s a short, sweet, and rhyming story/poem that introduces the alphabet in an unusual (I hope) way.  Here are the first few lines . . .

a . . . earring for a tiny lobe, or

a teacup resting one its side.

b . . . Mama with a baby bump,

baby bumpkin tucked inside.

The digital version is free for download from Amazon this week (Saturday, March 12 – Wednesday, March 16th).  The illustrations are by yours truly as well.

Here’s the link:

http://www.amazon.com/Yogabets-Acrobatic-Alphabet-Julie-Krantz-ebook/dp/B016DSTJCC

Happy Spring, everyone!

Cover 1200 dpi YOGA single pp for CS - 9 22 15_Page_01

Poem for Thanksgiving

Mr. Owl’s Apology
 
High above
the woodland din,
perched on a
listing redwood
limb,
I spy
the hollow
far below
where humble
creeks
and rivers
flow,
where songbirds
flit and
beauty lies,
where greening
trees and
bluing skies
hide forest
creatures
shivering,
their flittering
and fluttering
their wintering
and summering,
set my heart
a spin-owing.

Loose-y Toothy

Dear Readers,

Two recent trips to the dentist have reminded me of a common childhood experience–losing teeth.

So, in tribute to my dentist, and to children—everywhere—who’ve ever lost a tooth (or will lose one soon), I give you . . .

Loose-y Toothy

My tooth is loose,
my gum is sore.
I just can’t take it
anymore.

A wiggle left,
a jiggle right,
I’ll get it out
in one more bite—

But . . . suddenly . . .
I’M  FULL OF DREAD:
my wiggle-finger’s
turning red!

I think it’s blood,
but I’m not sure—
until I see it
on the floor.

My gore has turned
the carpet brown.
I grab a towel
and swab it round.

But what a mess
is on that rug—
morsels, crumbs,
a million bugs!

That’s when I find—
to my surprise—
MY BABY TOOTH
among the fries.

Goodbye, Summer!

Dear Readers,

Sorry I’ve been away. This has been a busy summer, and I’ve been devoting my energy to One Charming Cat (January 2016).

But here’s my question for the day . . . what is the value of light verse?

In the meantime, here’s one last nod to summer . . .

Swimmin’ Pool

Swimmin’ pool, swimmin’ pool
I’m your local swimmin’ fool.
See your sparkle, see your blue
ain’t nothing comin’ ’tween me ’n you.

Swimmin’ pool, swimmin’ pool,
hot dogs, June bugs, summer school.
Feel your water, feel your ice—
Ooooooh—don’t that feel nice!

Summertime: Beachballs, Bathing Suits & Frilly Nails

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Fergus

A fungus lives
inside my
foot–
he says
his name
is Fergus.

He’s rude
he’s crude—
I hate this dude!
But, worst of all,
he will not move!
And when I
try to rout
him out,
he rears
his itchy head
and says:
“I’d vacate
in a minute,
Sir,
if I could
find
new shelter.
But I’ve
no other
place to
hide.
So stay
I must,
and swelter!”

My voice
grows shrill,
my tone is
short,
I cannot
keep
from screaming:
“My toe shack’s
packed,
my nooks
are booked,
my feet
are raw
and blistery.
So please
get out—
don’t make me shout—
I’m sick
of all your
witchery!”

“Don’t kid
yourself,”
he answers,
“your foot’s
no Grand Hotel—
it’s pink,
it stinks,
it sweats
and swells.
In summertime
it’s hot as h_ll.”

Oh, how I hate
this loathsome
lout.
How much
I want
to
oust him!
But nothing
works—
not soap
or steam
or gel
or cream.
A knife would
do the trick,
of course,
but at
too great
a cost:
because without
my dear, sweet feet
(no matter how infected),
I would not know
which way to turn—
and I would be
forever lost.

Counting Sheep for Book Expo America 2015

Dear Readers,

With Books Expo America in full swing, I haven’t been having the best nights’ sleep. (I’m not there but my books are, so lots of adrenaline is flowing!)

I thank Kait Neese for representing me–and wish all indie writers good luck at this amazing event!
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Counting Sheep

Where do they keep the leaping sheep,
the ones who put us fast asleep?
Wild and wooly, musky and grey—
things we count at end of day—
are they coming to chase the night away?

Ode to Feet

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Flipping
flopping
on the floor
are two sweet feet
that I adore.
They run me here
they run me there
they run me
almost everywhere.
And though
they’re mostly
’neath my chair—
I thank you, feet,
for being there!