Our Brownies ABC together with Queerie Queers (Alphabet Rhymes for Children)

His most recent books are A Grammar of Hadoti Lincom: Munich, , A Grammar of Bhadarwahi Lincom: Munich, , and a poetry collection titled Chinaar-kaa-Sukhaa-Pattaa in Hindi. As a poet, he has published more than poems in different anthologies, journals and magazines worldwide. His poetry collection titled Something Lurks It Seems is forthcoming U carried oxygen thru my capillaries. I saw an old pathway I thought was covered in forestfoliage. There were freshfootprints my dear! He is currently working on his first novel and a chapbook of experimental poetry. Stalk him at philipelliottfiction.

From underneath my thermal socks, hairs rise. From inside my knee pits, sweat builds. From under the zipper of my blue jeans, penis throbs. From within my underwear, testicles tingle. From under the logo of my jeans, cheeks tremble. From within my stomach, butterflies flutter. From above my stomach, navel widens. From underneath my yellow button-down shirt, nipples harden. From underneath my chest, heartbeat quickens. From within my throat, lump builds. From between my eyes, intuition heightens. From within my teeth, smile brightens.

From under my head, pillow comforts. From around my wrists and ankles, ropes bind. From above the bed, you climb. From on top of my groin, you mount. From under your behind, you straddle. From under your fingertips, you stroke. From under my black sweater vest, fingers tickle. From under the laughter, lungs expand. From under the palms of your moving hands, I melt. From under your entire body, trust forms. From between our chests, tightness ensues. From within your embrace, I surrender. From kissing your lips, eyes dilate. From lying spread eagle on the bed, senses intensify. From you loving me, I reciprocate.

From you laying on top of me, I rest. Freedman is a poet and spoken word artist from Staten Island, NY. He is the author of a book of poetry titled Serotonin Seas. His most recent creation are the chapbooks, Never Lick the Spoon and Tobias. In his spare time, Jack likes to garden, sketch, cook, and attend open mic poetry events throughout the five boroughs of New York City.

Like I was there and not at once. A thread of glitter. I tricked you into thinking I fuck the way I live. When you pulled back the seat, I think of the summer of You were just like that, wet and mine and ghost whisper cling on the neck. I could say I did not mean to go or that I did not think I would go. You are too beautiful to lie to.

It would be like lying to a sunset. So yes I mean to leave. I also mean to stay summer memory hazy, the one story, maybe a faint scar you never tire of explaining. I plan to live like this always here and not here. Dying but not dead. Fucking but not fucked. Just gets up and goes. Old fries and loose coins attach to the underwear, shifting from garbage to ornament in one motion.

The moment we sized each other up on the dancefloor — Two vultures mistaking the other for dead. And what does it mean to love him? And what becomes of the skin, once the snake has shed it? And if it is, is it so hard to imagine it loving itself? And in that desert you are water. She opens her mouth and out sputters a song, few live to hum later. A tune passed on from a gut instinct gone wrong. An old affection that has aged into cruelty. A young desire rotted into adult demands. A disgrace only the mother could love. She is for sure a friendly neighborhood hope dealer.

She is a touring artist and has been published a few times. She likes to eat. Up the Staircase Quarterly nominated one of her poems for best new poet I can picture the resulting tangle of our legs, ritual, no real meaning, the same way headphone wires find each other inside of a jacket pocket. You walk around back and catch a frame of me undressing it in the second floor window, bathed in shitty, flickering light.

I pretend not to see you. You pull everything out, so innocent. Each layer of stale gauze is soaked through and rancid, reeking of egg rolls and flat beer, sweat and crusted over coffee-mug bottoms. And then, you reveal it: For a moment you just squint into the blood-caked border of the thing, consumed by some kind of sick awe. This is the worst part, the being exposed. Slice by slice you slough off the layers of yourself.

I shut my eyes but still hear each piece slopping onto the floor, onto the other pieces. I can tell the cuts are clean. You plug the cracks with the stringy excess, wasting nothing. I only hear you struggle once, when you tear the gauze wrapping from the roll before winding it around my trembling body, using the extra on yourself. I wake up in a half-empty bed, but while making my breakfast I notice the tiny paring knife has already been washed and left drying in the rack. Claire crumples foil, watches neighbors bend and sag over so much care—well-cooked meals, clean floors, sex twice a month.

The woman next door watches Claire spread her selves across the yard. A black lace bra, ripped below the nipple; a red thong blooming; a pastel floral push-up; a pair of thin, cotton panties. The microphone swells towards her mouth like the men she brings home from work. No more drinking kamikazes or smoking on the sly. She dreams of crystal catching the rose of her spotlight, the smell of gardenias, a three-piece band, and the soft ache of hand against hand. She smells the raw salt decay. She cries on the way home, stops to buy flowers.

They buy her Appletinis and cheap wine. Lori Gravley grew up in Niceville, a small town in the panhandle of Florida. These poems are from an unpublished chapbook titled Interior Designs. She is still recovering from the madness engendered by what she saw as she watched Southern women live their loves. Justin Hyde lives in Iowa. Kamryn Kurtzner is a poet residing in Palo Alto, California. Later, when at lesbian U-Haul speed, I packed my things, called my friends, collected my cats, and moved out after committing a moving in violation: Twelve years later, when I was sitting off the side of Ormond Road, Michigan blue lights flashing in my rearview mirror.

I smiled at the implication. I was traveling too fast on my way to see Kathy — maybe this ticket is worth the price knowing that speeding to see her is a much better omen than speeding away. I try to peddle slow with you into this new territory: Then you call me honey or darling and I feel like letting go of the handle bars trusting this new balance will carry me safely onward.

Lylanne Musselman is an award winning poet, playwright, and artist. In addition, Musselman has twice been a Pushcart Nominee. Musselman is the author of three chapbooks, with a fourth forthcoming, Weathering Under the Cat , from Finishing Line Press. She also co-authored Company of Women: I want to tell you that he ended up paying for my time. I want to tell you about a time outside that motel room.

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I want to tell you that I know I would have taken it. Sarah Nichols is a co-editor for Thank You for Swallowing , an online journal of feminist protest poetry. She was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in Originally from Jonesville, Va. Lydia paints on a charming smile; she knows Real Lydia is limp. Lydia is shocked to hear the familiar voice. Real Lydia shouts now, I want to hold him, I want to know him. She screams at Lydia, Stop pretending to be Real Lydia. Help me come out. So long, best wishes. He loves books and Anime in that order.

He has had some of his muddled thoughts published in a few e-magazines. But I want you as if these thousand yesterdays were simply seconds, as if I can feel your fingers from only last night. Virginia Archer is the pen name of a very busy lady who has a BEng. She was born in the UK, but has lived most of her life on the tropical island paradise of Saint Lucia, where she currently resides with her tween daughter. You can find more of her poetry at https: I got it the day we went swimming, the last swim of the summer. You had me hold your wet boxers like a flag on the back of your bike, flowing in the wind as we drove home.

But my knee scraped across the rocks and now I have this mark, I have this scar. It was the day you told me you loved me, the only time you voiced it. And the two weeks that it lingered with me before you took it back, before you made it seem like less than, it washed over me, through me, and I finally felt at ease.

The way I thought you felt for months, possibly more than a year, had finally been confirmed. At least for those two weeks, until you were too scared to let it be. Until you had to go back on what you said. Because, that, being out in the open, is earth shattering. So now I look at this scar, and I fear that it will fade. It was just a light scratch. I want it there. I want it forever. To remember the day you told me you loved me. You already took it back, but the scar is my reminder.

I need that reminder. Or is what I feel for you a special breed?

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Because one second I feel my heart swell when I see you, and the next I feel crushed beneath your words. Does all love make you feel insane? Or are you just great at driving me that way? Does all love make you cry? Or am I just prone to tears? Does all love come with fear? Or are we just cowards?

Katie Blanchette is a staff reader for the literary journal Spark Anthology and has worked in copywriting for four years. We pick at tobacco threads between teeth and cradle cold gun metal, etched with fingernails. We take comfort in the familiar and the familial; the last of the scent soaked into the last letter she sent. Simon Cockle is a poet and writer from Hertfordshire, England.

He was invited to read at the Ledbury Poetry Festival in England this year. He teaches English in a local secondary school where he edits their literary magazine, The Thinkery. He is also a musician and songwriter; and clearly now, in light of recent events, is on the more direct path to a Nobel Prize for Literature. Not with trees to walk under, their fragrant sap wanting only to drip drunkenly from above.

Seventeen, and foolish, your mouth is open yelling poems at whoever walks by. Only trees and the shy woman who says she will never love you but does anyway— until you fall under the spell of more sappy trees and call yourself lover once again to leaves, branches, mirrors, and poems and novels that never call you by your right name.

If a lover like you, met a lover like me, wounded and out of breath — out of words, out of steam, out of excuses — imagine the infinite possibilities of sadness. Some hearts are not meant to be homes. But you, you were the hardest to get over. You made a space for yourself in my head. By nightfall, the putrefaction was complete. These long periods of waiting and wanting are a waste of my resources. Cooters need to be coddled. Pussy cats need to hiss and spit and purr and mew. I come to you riding tidal waves. I come promising to make the stone walls in your body, sing. I come bearing spices in the abyss between my legs.

I come flying on fallen wings as they cruise the sky collecting moondust on the way. I am a flower, over-ripe and pungent. My orchid is ripe for plucking. You are the key. This waiting will ruin me. I have spare keys. I am good enough myself, to go downtown and get me going. Elvis may have left the building, but Edith is coming home tonight. This kitty, will roar. One could hear it move in a silence that was overpowered only by the noise of our tongues as flesh met flesh. We watched each other suck the flesh off the seed, slurpingly, hungrily, and riveted.

We continue to eat. An invitation is extended. Can they see the naked lust that runs in circles behind my breasts? Can they see the lonely love that sits crying in my bones? Can they see the utter shame that burns behind my eyes? But regardless, I still do. Her other passion is theatre. Not enough of us live here for it. I simply sprinkle the soiled pads and things into their bin, half-exposed. I learned this recently and from myself alone.

Since she could read, Mackenzie Dwyer has known a longing to make a mark on literature. But another landmark decision of hers was to drop out of marksmanship Junior Olympics qualifying rounds to go earn her black belt and a concussion. He does not see me with lights on just shapes. He knows what to do. He is okay with not seeing me. I was not okay. I opened and he looked.

He could see me and I am sixteen, inexperienced virgin. I ask if it hurts. I close my eyes and wait. He thinks I am waiting for a kiss. I am blocking myself from seeing him, seeing him look at me the way he was looking at me like I was beautiful like I was a woman or something. It is six years later. He is seeing me again with clothes on wondering if I will take them off.

She said each time I talked to him I lost something else. When I stopped talking to him for a while, out of my own needs, she noted color coming back to my face and that I smiled a real smile again. I told him no twice but he still thinks I want to be on my knees in my heels servicing him in any and every way. I told him no, dream about me in my wine colored heels with dick sucking lips to match. Ashley Elizabeth is a something poet from Baltimore who draws inspiration from her city, her people, her space, and her body.

She has been featured in the online journal Rose Water. Short chunks of stone we put together afterward into a smooth stream. And I put you together with love, which is not in pieces, but a lifetime. David Flynn was born in the textile mill company town of Bemis, TN. His jobs have included newspaper reporter, magazine editor and university teacher. His literary publications total more than one hundred and ninety.

His web site is at http: Her newest collection , Interval: A new book, A Doubtful House , which the above poem comes from, will be out in Sheri Gabbert lives in the small town of Mount Vernon in Southwest Missouri, in the Ozarks; she has lived there since She is a substitute teacher but has been a professional writer.

She has written for small town and county newspapers, Magazine, Street Buzz and has had poems published in Moon City Review and new graffiti. Better not wait for my wedding I never find enough flowers unsevered close to the earth that cast no self-fulfilling shade. Mori Glaser grew up in the UK and moved to Israel 30 years ago.

She has blogged and written material for non-profits. He drifts to sleep thinking of the possibility of a life of insignificance in that second rate village with a woman believing he hung the moon every evening after the bocce game by the fountain in the square. The man smoking a cigarette on his patio thinking how he wants to be with someone else somewhere else. The woman washing dishes inside, lips silent where once there was a song.

Nothing in particular just a song that moonlight can no longer raise in her heart. Robert Halleck fills his retirement years with open mike poetry readings, hospice volunteering, and racing Marlene, his old but still sturdy Porsche. In recent years his poems have appeared in the San Diego Poetry Annuals and a number of other interesting places that show up in a Google Search. Otherwise, he is a UK-qualified shipping lawyer living and working in Greece. Hand over hand hot soft we climb the ladder of we, the ladder disappears we are fire eating each other with everything and grace such detailed grace, the signatures of flame.

Eyes raising eyes, mouth mouth, belly belly long ago your warm wet cock became my engine air air, two voices drawing signs in it a long way off; In the fire I have become a new, intelligence unknown before, different than youandme, but is becoming only light. We go back clean, our bodies boats at anchor all but still. Louise Larchbourne is also an actor, an editor, and a sometime lexicographer. She was one of the poets invited to contribute to the new anthology For Jeremy Corbyn.

She has a trullo in Puglia. I stretch in my chair and my heart goes ranging out of me looking for your essence; the deeper something I can never break into, the hidden something you keep back. I can only hope it is beautiful. I am eating large, green olives, pushing my tongue inside, searching for the red, soft pimento and sucking them out one after another, swallowing them whole.

I crush rubbery bodies between molars; glands twinge from the bitter. Instead, you kneel on sweating summer linoleum, slowly move your hand to lift the edge of my sundress. Earlier—we baked our swollen bodies in July sun, stood with friends, sucked melting ices from wrinkled thumbs. When I jumped headlong into the blue-green pool, you followed. My hands finding your neck, I licked your ear while you clutched my thigh in the water. We knew then what we wanted. Now, it is here—silence crushing us with its howl. You rest your day-stained head in my lap. I feel the moistened breath, salted air, longing in your fingers.

I slide from the chair to the floor; you pop me into your mouth. As a licensed social worker, Muuss specializes in the use of the arts as a healing mechanism for trauma survivors. I held my breath while I crossed the border. He maneuvers my Hyundai Spaceship to a town he hardly knows.

I am no help. He laughs, says not to worry. Allison Paster-Torres was raised by a pack of wild libraries. She knows how to spell at least ten words in the English language, and can easily be talked into doing almost anything if you tell her it will be an adventure, even if this is obviously a lie. Should you feel so inclined, you may find her at Facebook. You always reminded me of songs, of sense within sound: People are so unattractive when sex has become uninteresting. Outside of poetry, his path has been quite various, and he has made my way through things like software engineering, information science, and labor.

I was swollen and could not perform well for you for a few days and for that master I am so sorry. I felt cool vanilla and chocolates pouring over me and numbing the pain I felt. Pretty soon I had healed and so had your urge for another hangover. Out we went, just like every night. You and your same buddies, Britney or Madonna surrounded me in a muffled haze.

Tonight seemed to be all about limes, I tasted a lot of citrus this particular eve. I heard a new voice and met a new friend. He and I exchanged a lot of saliva and words while you pushed me into his home. I visit a lot of people like me. Master you must have a lot of friends. This night I got to know this mate very well. We grazed each other in a wet hello and discussion about our different problems with our masters.

He marveled at my addition, I prided him on how well you treated and cared for me to allow me to look this fancy. Then we said our goodbyes while you used my addition to rub up and down his erected shaft. I love the sensations this metal contraption has given not only me but other creatures. You love to please others and so do I.

After this adventure you rolled off this nameless stranger and let water river over me. Blake Barringer was born, raised, and lives in St. Louis, where he studies English at the University of Missouri St. He spends his free time reading, writing, vinyl collecting, or attending many concerts. He is a mega fan of Madonna and Gwen Stefani. She lives with her husband and three cats and travels the world whenever she gets the chance. I stand by my misanthropy.

As such, performance poetry spoken word delights, because so much of it is about social justice in its manifold forms — even in sex and love. Also, in spoken word there is a good deal of room for a rude joke and an honest complaint. I open my mouth to taste the muddy summer air. A pink rose tonight, something dusky. One finger to my palm, one finger to his boutonniere. Three petals in my hand, already browning: He will stay tomorrow. When the ship moves out? String the night with open fists. Alicia Cole is a writer and visual artist in Huntsville, AL.

You can find her work at www. I said yes; this, perhaps, was her signal. I just visited home, no longer excommunicated. We shopped, gossip swapped, and I, in the end, learned that sacred is as sacred does. Do not yield to expectations of relations who do not sanction you. I once taught Algerian military men, taught them how to speak and pen English.

They had wives at home, wives following ancient religious tome, banned from restaurants alone or flaunting pretty cheekbones. They had wives and girlfriends who waited years in their head coverings, who grew dates with their in-laws hovering near. Opinions can sear, but no matter the geographic location, the spiritual persuasion, the rules of homestead or traditions, love is still knitted in committed forever.

It cannot be severed. My wife and I are opposites. I read fiction and poetry, lit. I cry at lost kittens and she tells me I cannot bring them home—no matter how smitten. I may speak less-than-love, throw myself on the bed and cry. But I always try again. This is marriage, too.

This is human, me or you. Marriage means those deleted scenes may include one spouse being hangry and rude, the other tired and in such a mood that the first might hide inside a closet. What can I do for you? Real love grows daily, plays fairly, apologizes and, yes, occasionally mesmerizes, still, after decades. I did not know who I could be, how I could see peripherally before those vows. There is no greener grass, there is no all encompassing pass to happiness, but I will confess my wife is nothing less than my forgiveness-wrapped better half.

She is married with two children. Too much product on too little hair. Robert Ford lives on the east coast of Scotland. More of his work can be found at wezzlehead. Our lives are so common, becoming ever more boring, and we cringe at the tedium and pretend this is all still fun. I adore the disease that we share, eating our hearts out and drinking the juices of our spite, trying to find the thing we lost, held most valued.

Breathing the fumes of the tar that holds us together, my love for you will never end. On Twitter Deranged2 and Facebook and Amazon. Michele Leavitt, a poet and essayist, is also a high school dropout, hepatitis C survivor, and former trial attorney.

Next June , you tell me in the same breath as I like him a lot — the way another word stumbles out of your mouth before the previous one is finished like our steps two Junes ago, running and jumping into lakes faster than our minds could remind us that we could not rely on the cold to appease our desire for embrace.

We craved that brief moment of forgetting, suspended in air, asking will this last? Still, uncertainty was easier to take if doubt had no time to threaten the slow of my running start, which is why I said I love you too before your lips could wrap around you. Meaning the fall was over — a happy ending until my arms grew tired of treading water. Now, your voice echoes on the other side of the phone line like a face of forgotten belonging.

I also remember that the money that could be earned from the Ginsing somehow solved a problem-maybe in keeping the land that the cabin was on. I remember it well. I don't own a copy at this moment, so I can't give copyright date.

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The story of two boys who seek a the lost cabin of a "Sang Hunter" wild Ginseng hunter and the treasure of fine roots he left behind. The book features the lyrics of a mountain ballas about the Sang Hunter's ghost " I don't know if these will be right, but two books came to mind, although both seem a little advanced for fourth grade. No Promises in the Wind Irene Hunt is about 2 brothers from Chicago during the depression, who run away and survive on thier own. Where the Lilies Bloom has several brothers and sisters living and surving on thier own by gathering herbs to sell, particularly Ginseng, they however live in the Appalachians not the Catskills.

Don't know if these will help, Good Luck. Lasson, Robert, Orange Oliver: Sorry, no ideas about the specific craft book, but I might point out that Canadians where I live anyway usually spell Mommy with an o, not a u. So maybe your book was a British import? I think you may be right, this book must have been a British import.

Eva Knox Evans, Araminta. This sounds like a story I read in grade school, that was in one of our readers. I remember the little girl walking through the city. I don''t remember the author or title, but I'll keep looking! Try Cars , c, Author: Cars and Trucks ,c, no author, Illus. It shows the front cover of all their books. I hope this helps. From what I have learned about the book I seek, at least I was able to input that info on another stumper that describes the exact plot of the book I am searching.

Unfortunately, the book I found was British, with fussy illustrations and too recently published. The book I need about an undersea tour was likely American, published in or , with illustrations that were more heavy black outlines and bold colors within. I was able to find Priscilla and the Prawn on the Internet, look at its illustrations, and was able to determine it was not the book, but I did relate that book info to stumper L , a quest for something that sounded identical. Won't give up on my book, and am desperate!

Thanks for your site! Hewson, Isabel Manning, Land of the Lost, Could it be this one, from the Solved list? The time is right, and there is an undersea kingdom, though I don't know whether it is only for crustaceans. Re stumper C, someone has posted a response, but the suggested book, "The Land of the Lost" by Hewson is not the book, as that book deals with fresh water, originates above ground, and the book I am seeking takes place completely in the ocean, with marine animals shrimp families, crab families, etc.

I remember that each marine animal family had its special color silk pillow on which to sit. Lewis, The Silver Chair. Eustace Scrubb and Jill Pole are transported to Narnia where they must rescue Prince Caspian, who is under a spell and being held prisoner in a land deep underground. Not sure if this is the one -- they don't "swim through the earth" per se, but that phrase reminded me of the mayhemic scene in which they are trying to race to the surface.

It's possible the scene described is when the kids go to the 2-dimensional world? Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia. Digory and Polly become friends when he moves in with his uncle a maigcian who has magical rings that transport the children into and enchanted world. They enter this world through a pool in the woods and encounter a land of eternal winter. This is the first book of seven entitled The Magician's Nephew. The more popular second book is The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe which has four children who live in Digory's home many years later.

Their adventures start by entering the land of Narnia by stepping through the back of the wardrobe.

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This sounds like A Wrinkle in Time , although others will know better. Two siblings -- Meg and her brother Charles Wallace -- and a boy from Meg's school travel through a wrinkle in time to try to rescue Meg's father. No tower in the title, but there's a lot of talk in the book of "tesseracts. It's unclear why the title of this stumper is "ck wallace", but if the stumper requester thinks this could be the name of a character, the book sought could be A Wrinkle in Time.

Charles Wallace Murry, his sister Meg, and her schoolmate Calvin O'Keefe are transported through a tesseract to the planet Camazotz, where they hope to rescue Meg's father. As for the "swimming through the earth" passage the stumper requester remembersthis description of the end of Meg's first tesseract trip is from page Alan Garner, Elidor , '60s?? This description reminds me of elements of Garner's Elidor , and of another of his books where there's a substantial underground section, although I don't recall any "swimming" called The Weirdstone of Brisingamen.

I don't specifically remember the 'swimming through earth' but that sounds very familiar. John White, The Tower of Geburah, I'm not sure about the swimming through the earth part, because it's been many years since I've read it and I don't own a copy to check, but I think the rest of the description fits. Marjorie Vetter, Journey for Jennifer, This is a guess - here's the only description I could find: Jennifer could feel her face stiffen as she watched Steve say good-by to the others. Wasn"t he going to miss her at all when she was in the hill country? C You can't believe how many Google entries have concertina and toothache in them I gave up halfway thru.

Have you tried any of Eleanor Frances Lattimore's books? She was born in China, spent her early years there, and that's reflected in a number of her children's books, which she also illustrated. A possibility--Little Pear has two sisters. Not sure, but it sounds similar. Thomas Handforth, Mei Li , This reminded me of a story in one of the Through Golden Windows books. A little Chinese girl has adventures at a New Year's fair. I didn't see a reference to watermelon seeds, but they could have been in the original book.

A young boy and girl see lights at night on an offshore island, row out to the island and discover a cave, and eventually, during a storm, solve the question of what is going on out there. Kahn, James, The Goonies , There was a novelization published of The Goonies , based upon the Steven Spielberg film. Is that what you're thinking of? I actually bought Black Rock Cave a couple of years ago, but it was a cave that was entered from above and not under the water. My sister also mentioned that she thought someone in the book was perhaps from Scotland or it took place in Scotland.

And she had a vague memory that it was from someone with 3 names like Robert Louis Stevenson perhaps. Elizabeth Heppner, Palace Under the Sea. Probably not it, but just in case Tracy is a diver, and does swim up into the palace. Could it be this book? Three children, Barnaby and his older sister I think her name is Jane and brother, hunt for the Grail of King Arthur in an undersea cave at the bottom of a cliff in Cornwall, in England, with the help of their Uncle Merry Merriman Lyon.

Again, I'm afraid that Palace Under the Sea is not the correct book. I got some more details out of my sister and it definately took place in Scotland and there were 4 children or young adults, possibly in it at least 2 are girls. It was in a book that had 2 stories by the same author. At least two of the children in it are actually from Scotland and it takes place in the late 's or early 's.

I'll let you know if I get more information and thanks, again. No, I'm afraid this isn't the one either, although it was the closest so far. It was definately a cave that they had to swim underwater and into. Thanks again though for trying. They find a cave with a treasure in it. Not sure about swimming underwater to it. I believe they talked about stalactites and stalagmites in the caves quite a bit too. This is now available as a reprint in paperback with an entirely new cover. The same kids travel along a river to where it narrows and becomes a fast-flowing gorge. The boat is swept by the river towards a roaring cataract — a "gigantic underground waterfall" as Jack describes it — and the children are terrified of being dashed to pieces.

Luckily, they manage to swing the boat sideways into a cavern in the cliff, saving all their lives. The children follow tunnels leading out of the cavern and stumble eventually upon the underground remains of a magnificent temple dating from about seven thousand years ago. The temple was erected in honour of a goddess, and kings and noblemen brought treasures there for generations. Many items have perished but the glorious treasures that remain include gold statues, bowls, combs, jewellery, ornaments and daggers.

Just a thought, but the description sounds like something Ruth Arthur may have written. I can't find a title that matches though Cuould this be Taming of the candy Monster? A cookbook somkewheat geared towards kids?? This might be right. I don't have a copy in front of me to check out the chicken legs or peas for sure, but the book is about the youngest son in the family a fool who sets out to bring the czar the flying ship that the czar desires and win the hand of the princess in return. This is a bit of a long shot, but all the stories the poster mentions show up in Old Peter's Russian Tales by Arthur Ransome.

It's a set of stories told by an old forester, not a single story about a prince, however. This is "The family who never had roller skates" by Hildegard Woodward, and it appeared in volume 4 of the old, pre Childcraft books the orange ones , in the volume titled Animal friends and adventures, under the section "Wheels, wings, and real things.

Woodward was an author and illustrator who won a few Caldecott medals. Apparently the little Pettingills and their perplexing predicament originally appeared in a book about families who had never had Thanks, this is going to allow me to pass on a wonderfull book to my children. Whitman Publishing, The Christmas Book , Here's a website that shows the book [broken link]. I'm sure this is right I have it at home--and so does one of my coworkers! Very happy memories of this one.

The Happy Christmas Story Book , This book matches the description and was published by the Ideals Publishing Co. The Christmas Book , published by Whitman in , has the glossy Santa cover you remember, but many more than 8 or 10 stories, there are probably 40 stories and a few classic poems as well. The version of "The Little Match Girl" in this book is quite abbreviated. Is there any chance that this is The Curious Little Kitten?

The kitten is in the back yard, and first goes over the fence on one side, to find a dog, then over the other fence, to find a goldfish pond, which she falls into and then jumps over the grey stone wall to find another little kitten. Lots of repetition, bright illustrations, and my kids loved this one, so it might be it. The Curious Little Kitten. The book was definitely an adult cat, not a kitten. Also not Jenny the Cat books by Averill. Have wondered whether it could be a Claire Turlay Newberry book, but can't find a list of the plots of those books.

The gray kitty always hides by the stone wall, and the yellow one in the buttercups, and the third in the black-eyed susans. One day they mix up the hiding places and Mama cat catches them. Does this ring any bells? I don't remember the title of the book. Jane Thayer, The Outside Cat, I know the person making the request remembered a cat on a gray wall, but could it possibly be a cat on a gray roof?

Much else about this book matches. I found this book used long ago and my son made me read it to him every day. It is illustrated by Feodor Rojankovsky , and the illustrations are on of the best things about the book. The book I have contains the picture of Hansel in the cage. It is hardback and has a green and purple cover. It is volume 4 of The Golden Treasury of Children's Literature, so perhaps you had a couple different volumes with the other stories you mentioned. Bridget Hadaway, Fairy Tales , This sounds very like this collection.

You can find more about on the solved mystery pages. The part about Hansel and the bird cage definitely fits, and it does have all the other stories mentioned. The pictures you are describing sound so familiar - but I can't remember the specific book. I'm almost certain that the picture of the man beside the tree, and the witch with the long hooked nose, is from the story Jorinda or Jorinde and Joringel, by the Bros.

This story is not as common as some of the others, so might help you to narrow down your search. In addition to stories by the Bros. Hope this helps you find what you're looking for. I have looked into both suggestions and neither is the right book. Anybody else with a suggestions?? I don't know the name of this book, but I am also looking for it. It was very thick, and had so many fairy tales inside. I remember I always hated the Cinderella illustrations, but otherwise loved the book. I want very much to find this book, too.

Can't understand why it's so hard to figure out! The green illustrated cover is lush and features a giant in front of a tree, vines, and fairy tales characters in the vines. The vine theme continues on the beginning title pages, and each story is illustrated by a different artist. The subtitle is "50 Best-loved Stories," which is the part I remembered best, and threw me off the trail for so long. You can see it here: Each page has a four line verse, a short summary, a few questions and a Bible verse. Children are encouraged to look for the tiny lady bugs in every picture.

Eugene Field, "The Sugarplum tree. Louis' Eugene Field, who died in You can read that poem here. Tasha Tudor's Bedtime Book , I thought I'd pass this along in case it's what you're looking for. It's a little smaller than you remember yours being -- it's 10x12". The cover isn't red, but the print on it is. There are other stories printed along with The Sugarplum Tree. I hope it's the one. This series had a red hardcover, and the story you are referring to is the " Sugar Plum Tree " You can't reach the candy, but you get the gingerbread dog to bark at the chocolate cat, and the cat in the tree knocks down the candy for you to collect.

This sounds very much like your book. While it does not take place in England, it's very possible you're remembering the English Bulldog character who narrates the tale, and uses many Britishisms. He and a Siamese cat who does act a bit superior and a pet crow work together to rescue their kidnapped owner, involving in a climatic scene in a natural history museum. I have not actually read any of those books myself as they are very difficult to find. Mr Twink was a cat detective and the books are set in England. I believe the hardbacks were published around the 's and then some were reprinted in the 's.

Mr Twink was assisted by Sgt Boffer a collie dog. I think there was nine books in the series. Cipher in the snow. I only saw this as a film in the classroom, but it has to be the same story. The boy gets off the bus and dies in the snow, and then the rest of the story was a flashback showing how he got to that point - that no one cared about him, or paid any attention to him. Somtow Sucharitkul, The Fallen Country , This story is about a young boy whose mother has let her boyfriend move into the house. During the course of events, the boyfriend, who drives a motorcycle, becomes very abusive to the boy.

I remember vividly images of a snow dragon, or the boy imagining snow all around in order to deal with how horrible his life was. The tone of the book borders on the fantasy genre, but when I read your stumper, I thought of this one. I've been looking for this one too! The father was missing, I think, and may have been a sailor. Some of the kids were "real", and others came from this mysterious plant in the garden. Part of the storyline dealt with people in town becoming suspicious because there's a baby born while the father is gone.

I hope someone else can remember more. I'd love to find it again. I think the author's last name was in the R - S section of the library Purdy's Children , , copyright. This is definitely C! One of my favorites, with illustrations by Steven Kellogg. The family makes amazing pies and cookies from the parts of the roanoke plant, and when the father returns home he decides they have enough kids and tries to make them get rid of it.

There is a plotline about Mrs. Purdy being up for Mother of the Year. There's also something Scandanavian on the Solved Mysteries pages somewhere that my sick head can't remember at the moment This sounds very reminiscent of Margaret Jean Anderson's In the Keep of Time , so I looked online and found she's written another book called In the Circle of Time , which is described thus: Although they are drawn to this site for very different reasons, the sudden rolling in of a thick mist one grey dawn changes their lives forever.

When the mist finally disperses, they find themselves in the future, a world far more "primitive" in some respects than our own, but perhaps more advanced in terms of its values this you'll have to judge for yourself, but the characters and the issues are well developed and you'll have a lot to think about. The very coastlines have changed and great cities have crumbled to dust. Robert is slightly more prepared for this strange world he has heard tales in the village of the mists suddenly coming down into the valley, with people mysteriously disappearing every once in a great while.

His own mother wandered in among the stones as a small child and was found many hours later, safe, but wrapped in a strange, soft grey cloth. Jennifer is quick-witted and athletic, traits that come in handy when facing the perils of this "brave new world. How are they to return to their own time? The details don't exactly match but it may be worth checking a copy of this book. After spending almost a year with cave people from an earlier time, a young girl is transported back to the present greatly changed, both by her experience and by the fact that no one believes her.

She had never seen anything like the boy and girl who faced her. Naked, except for flaps hanging down from the front of woven belts, the two of them fingered, sniffed and tasted everything Zan wore, down to her dirty old sneakers. But even as the thought came to her, Zan rejected it: The terrifying "storm" that had wrenched her out of Mechanix Park on a Saturday morning in October had set her down in this meadow lush with strange foliage and teeming with birds, insects and animals she couldn't name. Something awesomely out of the ordinary was happening to her, and the two naked kids poking her and chattering in an unfamiliar language were further evidence of just how far from her normal existence she may have been swept.

At first Zan cannot accept that there is no way back. And then she finds herself irresistibly drawn into the gentle community of cave dwellers. But even as Zan settles into the rhythms of life with the People, she clings fiercely to her own memories of home. All that she has to remind her of civilization is a button, a key, a safety pin and a jackknife, which she guards jealously. Only Diwera, the wise woman, senses the threat Zan poses to the ages-old life of the People. And it is Diwera who takes it upon herself to rid the People of Zan. It's much more like the Margaret Jean Anderson books.

Hope this helps narrow it down. Curry, Jane Louise , Beneath the Hill , This is at best a partial match for the quoted details, but there are enough resonances that Jane Louise Curry's first published story involving the lost realm of Abaloc in this case, hidden underground in the vicinity of an eastern-US coal mine may be worth investigating. The best reasons to think this might match are the underground journey and the author-comparisons.

Could it possibly be this one? See solved pages R. Story of wooden horse on merry-go-round that wants to be a real horse, until he finds out the lives that real horses lead. I am not sure if this is the right book or not. Helen Hill, Violet Maxwell, Charlie books, 's. Charlie learns not to squeeze and tease his kitten after he becomes tiny himself and is molested by a nasty giant girl--so, kind of a moral lesson plus a bit of fantasy. It's been a long time since I read it, but what I remember is that it was about a boy who got into a lot of mischief. I think it was set in the Appalachian Mountains.

This may be the one you want. It's an I Can Read Book. Only the chameleon has no color of his own. He is purple like the heather, yellow like a lemon, even black and orange striped like a tiger! Then one day a chameleon has an idea to remain one color forever by staying on the greenest leaf he can find. But in the autumn, the leaf changes from green to yellow to red. When another chameleon suggests they travel together, he learns that companionship is more important than having a color of his own. No matter where he goes with his new friend, they will always be alike.

Although this title or author don't ring any bells and I believed it was a female writer I'll look this one up. Miles Franklin was a woman and My Brilliant Career is autobiographical. Here's a description of the book: It is a story of a young, spirited woman who rebels against convention and the desire of her relatives that she marry the wealthy and highly desirable local squatter.

Unlike Laura Ingalls, Sybilla chooses the road less travelled and refuses to marry. She follows her dreams instead. Sounds like possibly you are looking for Mary Elwyn Patchett. She wrote a lot of animal stories about the Australian outback, and I believe the title Ajax the Warrior is about her growing up years on a cattle station in NSW.

A long shot here: My dad was English too and we grew up with these two books.

I just looked to see which copy it was I still own "More" but couldn't locate the book. The heroines always seemed more self assured and capable. This copy is old, published by Grosset and Dunlop but has no copyright page in it. A preface from author is dated These 2 Dover books were interchangable in my memories. This kind of sounds like a set of books I have been looking for. They are children's classics that came as a bonus with the purchase of Collier's encyclopedia sets in the s.

They are clothbound, oversized bound in different jewel-colored buckram.

• Trusting Him with Your Addicted Child.
• Kandy,, The Failed City!
• Marie Trintignant : une vie de star, un destin tragique (French Edition)!
• Against All Odds.
• Our brownies' ABC.
• Alter Schwede!: Zwei Hochzeiten und ein Elchgeweih (German Edition).
• A Warriors Guide to the Spiritual Battlefield.

Jackson, Kathryn, Golden Bedtime Book. It's been expanded and reissued since, as "Richard Scarry's a Story a Day" If it's the one I'm thinking of, the nice clown who lost his big red nose tried to make another out of bread and water. I think his name was something like Trundle.

I was wrong, it isn't the Kathryn Jackson book. Finally got it from the library, and it's not the right one. It's a great story--hilarious! Totally charming from the first sentence. The Beast of Monsieur Racine. I think I've got a copy somewhere around but I can't spot it immediately! It's actually an animal parade, not a circus parade. They dress up like animals to sneak into and be a part of the parade. Farley Mowat, Owls in the Family.

Fenton, Edward, Hidden Trapezes. I also remember the trapezes in the attic, where the boy practices and keeps that fact hidden from his father. I think the landlady keeps ocelots who have some kind of amazing performance they practice, and there's an "india rubber man" who's a boarder.

The cover I remember was white and orange, with the boy in the center, trapezes flying around him, and a couple ocelots in his lap. Cuthbert by Blanche J. Definitely a children's book, but I can't find an online description. Someone who suggested a solution for "D Dog who lived like a human" wrote: Cuthbert was a butler. My 3rd grade teacher read this to us in Arthur Ransome, Swallows and Amazons. They meet and befriend local residents, sisters Nancy and Peggy Blacket the Amazons and their Uncle dubbed Captain Flint, from whom the Walkers get the parrot.

A long running series, and still in print Enid Blyton, The Adventure series. Pretty sure C isn't Ransomes' Swallows and Amazons series. Could it be Enid Blyton's Adventure series eight books: The Castle of Adventure. Liesel Moak Skorpen, Elizabeth. This doesn't fit exactly but I thought it was worth mentioning. In this book the little girl Kate wants a fancy doll for Christmas but instead gets a rag doll. She initially rejects it being especially upset that her obnoxious cousin Agnes got a fancy doll that she wanted but eventually comes to love it best.

Agnes' doll is quickly broken but 'Elizabeth' endures. Agnes throws Elizabeth into the ocean but she is rescued, dried out, and is as good as new. More info in the solved pages. This might be worth a look. Unmoved, the little girl gives the doll to her dog a collie who runs off into the garden with it. Beautiful illustrations by Martha Alexander. The little girl lives in the country and has a few treasured toys, her favorite being a cloth rag-doll. One day a man with a shiny new automobile has car trouble and the girl's dad helps fix it. He comes back with a present for the girl in order to thank her parents.

In my old book the little girl had brownish-red hair, the cloth doll looked similar to a raggety Ann, and the new doll had blond hair a pink dress and blue eyes that open and close. The old doll is left on the steps while the new doll is dressed and undressed, hair brushed and other wise fiddled with. But the girl cannot climb the tree with the doll for fear of dropping and breaking her, She cannot give a wheelbarrow ride to the doll for fear of getting her wet and dirty, etc. At night the girl returns for the rag-doll she left on the steps so she can sleep with it, but the fancy doll has to do with a chair in the corner of the room.

I haven't read this, as it is rare and exceedingly expensive, but another possibility is Cotton Top by Jean O'Neill. Someone later gave her a store bought china doll dressed in fancy clothes and she stopped playing with her handmade doll. After trying to do the same things with her new doll as her old one she realized that although her new doll was lovely, it didn't have nearly the play value or love attached to it as her original doll.

Elizabeth Peters, Legend in Green Velvet. Though Peters has written many mysteries, this particular book wasn't part of a series. Well worth a read, even if not the book in question! This is not an Elizabeth Peters book. The female character was traveling on a bus tour in the Highlands and Edinburgh. Could this be one of Gordon Dickson's books? There are three that I remember: The first one is about a boy named Robby with a pet dolphin who lives in the future ! Vandals try to take over when he's alone, and he manages to escape and rescue his dolphin friend and save his father from one of the vandals, who has a grudge.

It was written in the early 60s. I think there was a girl in one of the later ones, and they definitely traveled in a kind of bubble ship but it's been so long my memory of it isn't that clear Ruth Nichols, The Marrow of the World , , approximately. There is a chapter that fits the description in this book.

The main characters are two teenagers, a boy and his counsin Linda, who have 'fallen into' a Arthurian world. They visit the ruins of the castle of Morgaine Le Fay under a lake, protected in a bubble and guided by a merman. It's only a chapter though, not the entire book.

You Will Live Under the Sea, I think it was supposed to be non-fiction-ish. The publisher was the same one who published the Dr. The first sentence starts out: I'm more interested in the illustrator! Could the illustrator be Michael Hague? I'm trying to think of other illustrators from around that time period that are known for detailed and intricate work Trina Schart Hyman, Lisbeth Zwerger and PJ Lynch come to mind, but not sure if they've done "Cinderella". McCall's Storytime Treasury Series , Very often when people are looking for fairy tale books with beautiful illustrations, they are remembering this series, which is described in depth on the "Solved Mysteries" page under the heading "Storytime Treasury.

Thisenchanting picture word book is full of familiar objects and activities in a toddler's life. Maths age Item Condition: Will be clean, not soiled or stained. Books will be free of page markings. Teachers agree that reading with your child not only enhances their learning but is key to your child's academic and life long success. This book has been designed to engage your child's interest with bright, imaginative pictures while letting them learn basic vocabulary and sentences about numbers and the number concept. Phonics Tales are read-aloud stories designed to teach children phonics in a fun and focused way.

Skills covered include long and short vowels, vowel pairs, bossy-r words, blends, digraphs, and more. Letterland Cookbook An Alphabet of Recipes. The Alphabet Stencil Book. Includes a Punch-out 3 bears and Goldilock on back cover. In lovely condition for its age as you can see in the photos. Inscription as shown, no other marks or tears. Place of Publication Fayetteville. Country of Publication United States.

My Hanukkah Alphabet features traditional Festival of Lights objects dreidels, latkes, and more, captured in full-color photographs that teach young children the letters of the alphabet. We are eager to work with you! We will work with you to keep those expenses at a minimum. We are committed to making your experience a positive one! Cover has wear from age and use.

There is edge wear and corner wear.