We first met Layla the Ladybug in Our Whimsical World: Illustrated Stories, a cute little bug who unfortunately suffers from “Bugxiety” and receives relief from her condition by hugging trees. Nothing could quell her nerves faster than embracing a comforting trunk; it made her relaxed, less jittery, and allowed her to become herself at last.
Here she returns for a little fanciful flight, beneath the Christmas tree.
Layla the Ladybug was a cheery bug, she loved socialising and mixing with insects even wild hungry birds.
They did not snap her up with their beaks because she was their close friend, they looked upon her with respect, a wondrous familiar, their confidant.
But one day a nasty crow had had enough of her brightened mood, he chased her and gnashed his beak at her it frightened her betrayed heart!
She was lucky to have escaped in one piece, her immediate reaction had been to fly away, once safe, she pondered how to save herself from this horrid “bugxiety” day.
Now Layla the Ladybug trembled with displeasure, how could she rid herself of this nasty feeling? This apparent irreversible measure?
There was nowhere she could see that offered a great oaky tree something to wrap her arms around and grow a mighty inner power.
Because when she clutched a tree’s trunk she felt stronger, bolder, lighter, her condition would ease with great speed, and suddenly in the corner of her eye she spots a glistening Christmas tree!
The anxiety at needing to reach the pine in time caused further palpitations in her chest her heart it beat irregularly, she could make it, if she dared!
And finally, with breath escaping her mouth, winded, with a stitch on the right, she landed before the mighty Christmas tree and gleefully hugged it with all her might.
Why not order a copy or two of Our Whimsical World as Christmas gifts for your loved and cherished ones? It is filled with colourful illustrated stories laced with inner meanings and morals that will keep your family intrigued and discussing them long after.
Join Layla and other whimsical, fantastical and wholesome characters and their tales, appropriate for all ages, sectioned for younger, to slightly older, and older readers.
A charming little scene, a still life in my mind, an aubergine, an orange, a laughing apple with squinting eyes.
The contended little aubergine is centred in our sight, while the mischievous orange directly to the side seems to know something, we can tell this from his grin and laughingly delighted eyes.
And what of this delicious apple, so crunchy and so crisp? Don’t dive into him with your gnashing teeth because there will be something precious in your midst!
All three work together in the still frame in my mind, an entertaining trio, of fructose and vitamins, a feast for my hungry eyes.
Their colours burst, They flourish before me, can you appreciate them too? My clever trio of minds-eye fruit and veg, sent directly from my mind, From me to a hungering you.
(Apologies for the poor image quality. My house had a power outage and I drew this in terribly dim natural lighting.)
You have stolen my heart you dastardly pirate, you have taken me on board with your charming antics. The times you put on a show for me, was that you? Or was that something entirely affected?
Still, I am intrigued by the choreography that you have interpreted as your own, you dance, slide, shimmy from right to left, taking on board this smooth sailor’s wave, my emitting heart-zone.
All I feel in my chest is a thump, thump, thumping and a thump, because it is you who has wholly taken me it is you who holds the capacity to cherish or break my precious willing heart.
And though I beg and beseech you to chase me further, to take me under your wing, to teach me everything sweet, kind and loving, I know that you are a pirate through and through and that your merrymaking is simply to thieve from anyone, even me, I already know this of you.
But, be still, be loving, hold me in your arms, our bodies wrapped together, arms closing, don’t break me ever.
My powerful pirate, let us sail the high seas with my heart trapped in my throat as well as in your gentle cupped hands.
Sometime he’s like a child, he can sit there with device in hand, smile across his face, technology doing anything but going to waste.
I casually read to him my words, of the former verse he approves, not that I was hoping to continue, but with this sporadic melody, I will proceed, openly and vocally, I will allow the awaiting audience an open view.
He sits now in contemplative silence, touching the screen here and there, searching for something to amuse him, or educate him, without a concern, without a sense of care.
Because he is like a thoughtful, learning child, growing with his device he becomes brighter and wiser, using today’s opportunities to progress, not falter, and here is the sense of knowledge shown: it will be used, inserted, among his thoughtful, intellectual banter.
But, like a child, sometimes his words will be cast aside, by adults who feel they know more than him; there is such a great divide.
Their understanding does not encompass their understanding of him, and where he lies in reference to his former knowledge and where the new technology and understandings are taking him.
Perhaps someday soon he’ll release something of great use, something accessible and necessary for a large majority of the world to view,
an invention, a contraption, with his initials emblazoned on the back:- congratulatory words all around, these will be all the world will have to say at that.
I love it when you make your bed around me, as though I’m a mini human burrito.
I adore being so silly in the kitchen for you as I wriggle and wiggle,
showing my happy dance, a humorous movement, slight grooves,
more laughter, if you please, just a little, if you will.
I appreciate when you bring me cups of coffee and tea and become slightly angered when you forget about me and don’t,
But all’s fair in our little tiffs and wars, Our hearts meld, that’s what matters most.
Allow us to go from strength to strength, Taking on the challenges of the world.
Us two against whom? None, there are none standing in our way,
Because we control our life’s climate, Our weather, Our potentials, we decide them.
We are but two constellations in the sky known as the fabric Of human life,
We burn brightly together and linked in arms we are forever, Our names will be written in our version of the skies.
Our adoration for one another, while playful, Raucous, Can be seen in the quiet moments where we say nothing at all, There is no need to talk or touch.
A simple understanding that you are there for me, And I for you,
And even in the most trying of times, We will remain as tightly linked Firmly held together with permanent glue.
A mellow yellow lemon liked to watch their faces as they ate. His juice made their eyes wince and squeeze, how mighty pleased this made him feel.
Because he enjoyed absorbing other beings’ emotions, taking the negatives away that they felt, and altering them into something fabulous which he could later use for himself.
For example, there was a girl sobbing with great sorrow, at the loss of her baby teddy bear which from a friend she’d been allowed to borrow, the mellow yellow lemon winked at her and absorbed her pained emotion; suddenly her head was wiped of any sense of feeling that hadn’t needed to be awoken.
He transformed her sorrow into something great! A state of trance, a fabulous world of emotion that could be taken later to further complicate —
a mess within the ears a cacophony of sound the ultimate in lucid dreaming this was what the mellow yellow lemon was all about.
In his altered state of being, the lemon danced himself into a frenzy, so much so he removed part of his peeling, zesting himself into an utter state of heightened feeling.
He was made useful now for others, leaving his zesty pieces behind, a chef nearby picked up each piece, added it to his cheesecake recipe.
And wasn’t the world glad that not only could he take but could also give back, the mellow yellow lemon always there to alter the human’s negative feelings and facts.
So ends the tale of the lemon who could change the world, with a little zest here, a little squeeze there, he could make others smile as he absorbed from them what he could change and what he could share with them from himself.
Bouncing here and bouncing there, With no degree or level of concern or care.
Flying high into a welcoming sky, Falling to a potentially grim reality below. The creaking trampoline springs could catch him, end his life as it is known.
But how does he do it? Land completely on the ‘X’? The perfect bouncing area his aim is nothing amiss; No disappointed ‘Oh’s’, nothing more or less.
Because this six-legged creature is just so nimble and quick, If he ever became stuck in the springs, he’d wriggle his way out – For that was just the way he is.
One particular bouncy evening, this creature had been at it for hours, He bounced and dived and flew and glided His limbs guiding his particularly hairy and colourful form: This rising and falling allowed him to feel completely empowered.
Because when he was a wee spider in the web, barely breathing, unable to spin a thread, He felt lost inside, in a tiny world that seemed to suck him up.
His presence was unwanted by his abysmal excuse for a mother, He felt her unfeeling eyes were bone-dry, with a heart full of ice.
She seemed intent on catching and wrapping her prey, she spent no time with her children, She forsook them due to her obsession with delectable food, abandoning her kin's cries, Their desire for attention.
So instead of hanging about, in a stringent web that kept him in, and the interesting world out, He simply jumped over the edge and bounced: There was nothing left to lose.
He thankfully landed on a children’s trampoline, Perfectly positioned below him, Below the web of unwanted nightmarish dreams.
This was his escape, his adrenaline rush, And he made certain never to see his viper of a life-giver again.
Bounce, bounce, bounce, It cleared his head, Made him smile,
Hitting the ‘X’ at every turn, he would never be treated ill by another again. This he would make certain of; this would be his happy ending.
“Why, would you look at this??” I bellowed to no one in particular. For me, a curiously hungry Snuffleupa-Gulla-Pallum, Had happened upon a most delightful scene.
A plentiful shrub, spotted with desirous berries, Seemingly here only for me, Was begging, aching to be taken.
I shoved those berries into my wanting mouth, An eager pawful at a time, Dripping streams of sticky, sickly berry-wine.
But how the juice became thickened, Tacky, firmer to the touch, Until my mouth was simply tightly fused together, The jaw held firmly, unbreakable with any well-intended touch.
How I wailed internally at my situation, These deathly berries had betrayed me, Lured me in with their filthy lies and deceit!
“It’s time for punishment,” I thought to myself, As I hacked, hacked, swiped and slashed, At the discourteous ill meaning shrub.
Lying in pieces, Branches aside, flung forward and back, I grinned at my great decisiveness.
Now onto fixing myself, I ran home, opened my medicine cabinet, And generously applied acetone to my mouth tight as a vice.
Freedom was nice, But the knowledge I’d destroyed the evil bush was even better, It would never cause any other an ill time, And for this we can rejoice all together.
Squid on a stick? Urgh, it makes me sick! Who thought it wise this appalling culinary treat should be presented to me?
I cannot fathom how he is still living, breathing and smiling, Snackery with a pleasant, calm expression, Projected toward me.
What will I do? How will the host comprehend? That the meal she is serving is better off without its sublimely grotesquely living head?
Boy, it creeps me out, Ever-so-much, that I’d best throw this treat in the dust of the street, From the street food vendor who sometimes we cannot trust completely.
Now Squid wriggles from his stick, Freedom to him! With a sly glance over his shoulder, I know he’s thanking me.
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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