When outside it all seems black and white
or a rather dull shade of grey,
everything’s a depressing sight
your eyes look whichever way.
In times like these, it is music that brings colour
all you need to do is sit still and listen
it really is a kind of emotional juggler
as the orchestra glows in unison.
Yes, it glows—a radiating hue
deep crimson to soothing navy blue
its crescendos pulse in the dark
and, in a way, so does AC/DC’s Back in Black.
Let me tell you:
when you meet a friend, kindred spirit or someone special
don’t—whatever you do,
start cracking economics jokes.
Their demand is in low supply
and people’s humour for them even more;
they’ll all just say “bye”
with a rather sullen face.
You might call that a negative externality;
let me tell you: stop.
We all know of your fantastic ability
but one’s enough.
Diversification of your jokes is key
much like many things in life
and your inability to see
past macro is, um, a problem.
So next time you see your grandma or next Juliet,
please err away from trade surpluses
or anything remotely soviet.
You’ll thank me later.
I’m a magician
pulling words out of a hat
not knowing if it’s going to be a brick
or a cat.
I pull religiously everyday
even Jesus would raise his brows
pulling strings
and threading them into bows.
One fateful day I put my whole hand in
rumbling, fumbling around
just empty air
not a single sound
Oh wait! There’s something!
Hard as stone but firm
It’s a bit of Lego—
I can use it to finish
building this poem!
You, who has bright blue eyes
and glowing blond hair;
You, who does not talk to strangers
and keeps to yourself;
You, who stands away from others
giving them all the space they need;
You, who eats strange fermented things
or as you call them—“local delicacies”;
You, who is an entirely different person
having drunk the right stuff;
You, who is deeply friendly and kind;
to your other sides, I am still blind.
Travelling the
whole
wide
amazing
epic
striking
beautiful
gobsmacking
astounding
jaw-dropping
resplendent
world
is something I’d very much like to do, at some point, that would be fantastic, thanks.
Do doctors docate
in the same way educators educate?
Or do teachers tate
oh no, that’s a Gallery.
Nevermind.
Pif, paf, pum
that’s the sound of a gun
and the ratatat of this pun
which I’m saying for fun.
This conundrum of sounds
waiting to be found
cost: a few pounds
curse them, blimmin’, confound!
What’s wrong with wanting
when we’re wackily wailing
while waiting with Wim’s whim.
Wonderfully windy winters
whenever we wish
when we want!
Wonky wands with worn words
without Wim’s whim.
Wonderland was wryly wrong
wavering, whisking,
wondering whether Wim’s whim
wherefore, was worth waiting?
Why won’t we whisht
when winds whisk
wrongly waiting Wim?
Folded in stacks,
hanging on wires
rolled up socks
into shapes like tires.
Stiff and lonely
yet fully coloured
bright pastels
left abandoned,
deep blacks
like drawing pencils
or a blunt axe.
But despair no more!
For life is breathed in
to these clothes once more;
when they’re worn
they’re no longer forlorn.
Their colours radiate
as if newly born
their beauty’s innate.
Entirely different, if they were
simply left hanging on those hooks
waiting for monsieur.