Here sits young Geisel.

He ponders endlessly

Pondering a pondering thought.

Chasing a fleeting image.

He is half drunken with booze,

Half with ideas.

He glances for inspiration

Around his college room.

Partially slumpt on his desk

Piles with incomprehensible sketches

And made up rhyming words.

He glances continuously

To the point where one might

Wonder…

Wander…

Yonder…

Abrupt impulsive jerks

Make for attentions to be brought

Back to the devoid page.

Devoid except for splotter drools

And mindless storytelling.

A purple elephant trots onto the page.

Yes, purple.

His giraffe friend followed,

Or so it seemed.

A giraffe with a pink beak.

A rubbing of young Geisel’s mind

Was necessary at this time,

As well as the responsible question:

How much did I drink?

The elephant opened it’s mouth

“Enough to huff a blumberdoo

and then say ‘oy’ why didn’t I listen to you?”

Geisel’s eyes widened as

The elephant spoke.

What’s gibberish to sober ears

Was wisdom to his impaired mind.

What if this creature had a wife

Who was none other than a winged

Turtle, with a kangaroo pouch.

His name will be Turtloo,

And he’ll eat things made of hunger stu.

He’ll hop on one leg

For every hundredth step he takes.

Dust flew as Geisel abruptly woke up

From his flustered drift.

Wrinkled brow

And sweated lip later

Words flew onto his paper

At nearly 110 miles per hour.

He couldn’t control the speed if he tried.

Which he did, I assume.

Dazed drunk creeping in

On the hour of the night

And the pen still going.

Words that don’t make sense.

More rhymes of made up words.

The pen didn’t care.

The pen had no plan.

Sleepwriting Geisel

Blindly writing

Scattered pen marks

Digging into the page.

“blumeroo”

“higglyhoo”

“wallabaloo”

“fish, tish, hish, dish.”

Geisel himself didn’t even understand.

Not yet.

Soon he would find that this sleepless

Sleeping night

Was a subconscious plan for success.