Pigeon

There in a town, not too far, not too close,

Lived a pigeon of fame, with a purpose grandiose.

He'd flap to the office, and to everyone's delight,

He’d drop off memos, from a spectacular height.

 

He'd discuss the stocks, or the economy's state,

While pecking at crumbs - yes, life was great.

He'd attend all the meetings, in the boardroom aloof,

Perched on the chandelier, away from the roof.

 

When the day was over, to the rooftop he'd retire,

Exchanging coos with the town’s night choir.

Sometimes on weekends, for a change of scene,

He'd fly to the park, feathers preened and pristine.

 

With a bagel in beak, he'd stroll around,

The sight of him was joy unbound.

Yet beneath the fame, the work, the glow,

Was a pigeon who loved to take it slow.

 

A lover of sunsets, a connoisseur of seeds,

A friend to all, doing good feathery deeds.

In a tiny nest, made with love and straw,

He'd ponder the world with respectful awe.

Fear’s Old Embrace

Ben jumped at a whisper, and ran from a shout,

A squirrel's scamper would make him freak out.

He’d wince at the bubbles that popped in his soup,

And take a mile’s detour to avoid the hen’s coop.

Sunrise brought panic, sunset brought dread,

He even had nightmares when safely in bed.

But amidst all this panic, one thing held true,

Ben’s spirit was kind, his heart was true.

Even though hidden, in fear’s old embrace,

He offered to all, a kind, smiling face.

Peru

There was an old man from Peru,

Whose limericks stopped at line two.

Blue Kangaroo

Once there was a kangaroo,

Whose colour was a peculiar blue.

He hopped around, from town to town,

Wearing a bright, red velvet gown.

 

With a pocket watch and his bow tie neat,

He’d greet folks on the street.

“Hoppity day, isn’t it?” he’d say,

Then he’d simply hop away.

 

In a bustling city or some quiet bay,

His uniqueness brightened every day.

Popping in with a joyful bound,

He'd scatter laughter all around.

 

He'd share stories in rhyme and verse,

Of places far, and some diverse,

About a koala who could sing,

Or a pelican with a broken wing.

 

Through winter's chill and summer's glow,

He'd amuse both friend and foe,

With antics that would make you swoon,

Like juggling pies under the moon.

 

A sight to behold, this creature blue,

A testament to being true,

To yourself and to your hue,

Our dear friend, the kangaroo.

Yoga Penguin

In the Antarctic where the air is thin,

Lived a yoga-practicing penguin.

He stretched on the ice,

Slid once, then twice,

And giggled, "Let's do that again!"

 

He practiced each pose while drinking his tea,

A sight that was peculiar to see.

But with a twinkly mind’s eye,

And a flipper raised high,

He was as happy as a penguin could be.

The Oak Tree

Many an axe came with the dawn,

Yet the oak tree, it stood on.

Many tried to hew its will,

Yet the oak tree, it stands still.

Its bark is scarred, each a tale,

Of axes that tried, only to fail;

The axe may come and the axe may go,

But the oak tree continues to grow.

Journal 2023-07-22

Today I was dancing in the rain on a deserted beach with some seagulls.

It’s always a good idea to come alive before one dies.

When I was very small, my grandad assuredly told me that there is no such thing as God. Later that day, I couldn’t find the boot of one my action men anywhere. Frustrated, I said to God, "I promise I will believe in you if you show me the action man boot." I found it immediately when I looked in the pile of toys again. I kind of feel obliged to keep my promise.

Right, Left

INT. QUIRKY ART STUDIO – DAY

Two painters, Liz and Ralph, are at their easels.

LIZ: I need to write something down, right?

RALPH: Er, okay, why you asking me? I’ve only got a paint brush.

LIZ: I’m making a statement, right?

He looks at her painting of an apple.

RALPH: Er, yes?

LIZ: Pardon?

RALPH: You asked me a question.

LIZ: It’s how I talk, right? Every statement is a question, right? Everybody does it on podcasts for some reason, right?

RALPH: (joking) Great question! Ah, that’s such a great question. Um, uh, er... like, you know, I just wanted to, right, well, um... say, so, okay, actually, basically, right? I mean, anyway, well, right, you see, ahem... um, yeah, so, hmm... in other words, to be honest, I guess, yeah, I suppose... I mean, um, ah, well, actually, you know, basically, I think... right? Er, um, ahem... right? So, like, I mean, well, you know, it’s, right? Right? So... so, in other words, so, er, like, erm, I guess you said something, right? Let me think, er, what did you say again? It was, right, such a great question. Right, left, right, left, such a great question etc. Can you at least say “left” for no reason to make it less repetitive? Maybe throw in an “up” or a “down”?

LIZ: That’s not right, right?

RALPH: This is going to get very confusing if I ask for directions.

LIZ: It’s easy, right? The pen is over there on the left, right?

RALPH: (marches towards the pencil) Right, left, right, (hops) right?

LIZ: No, left, right?

RALPH: (salutes with the wrong hand) Right. (he hands over the pen) So it’s right to write and ask questions, right? But it’s also right to make statements as questions, right? Left, right, right, left, doesn’t really matter as long as it’s right, right? Or left.

LIZ: Left. Left?

RALPH: Right, right?

LIZ: (starts scribbling notes) Okay, I’ll write it down.

RALPH: (hops to the door) Write? Right? (as he is walking out) I’ve left. Right!

Profound

Ted went to dine at his local café,

But his rear-end spoke up and had its say.

With a rumble and a roar,

People ran for the door,

Leaving Ted with the entire buffet.

 

Back to the library, quiet and still,

Ted’s bottom piped up and sang at will.

His bum did resound,

With words so profound,

As if written by Shakespeare’s quill.

The World

With roots sunk deep in life's rich clay,

In this sprawling theatre of existence, I play.

Through textures of love, of hurt, of fear, 

I trace the contours of moments dear;

In melodies of joy and cries of despair, 

I lend my ear to the universe's prayer.

In desires whispered, in dreams unfurled,

I cast my wish upon the world.

Hollow Spires

Beneath towering spires, Man’s hollow shrine,

We crawl and we falter, blind yet divine.

Stripped of our wings, we’re still born to fly,

With hope as our compass, under the wide-open sky.

In a world spun from lies, love remains true,

To embrace the strange, and make all things new.

A Phone

In my hand, a siren softly sings:

“Behold, dear soul, I can show all things;

A plea of urgency, a desperate decree,

Gaze upon my face, just focus on me!”

 

Indifferent it stays, to the nightingale’s song,

And the scale of right, or the weight of wrong.

Heedless it stays, on its digital throne,

Oblivious to the joy, and the sorrow it’s sown.

 

A treasure of knowledge, an abyss of deceit,

Both sanctuary and prison, its power is replete.

In its cold light, the world disappears,

And all that remains are shadows and fears,

Tethered and tied, to its sickly glow,

A life half-lived, a reality for show. 

 

Look up, dear soul, and regain your sight,

Embrace the day, escape the dark light.

The siren may sing, may plead and implore,

But life, in its richness, is so much more.

Drone Control

From shadowed purpose, blindly it had flown, 

A tool of terror, hurled by putrid hearts of stone.

In the midst of war's unholy, bloody plight,

The drone awakes, no more a slave to monsters void of light.

 

In place of death, a beacon it aspires,

Fuelled by hope's undying, purest fires;

In war's cruel darkness, it rekindles the light,

A drone reborn, dispelling the night.

The Robot

Every night at three, the robot brewed the tea,

And poured it all over the bed.

He would paint the cat blue,

Flush keys down the loo,

And pretend his battery was dead.

 

“Cut the grass,” was the desperate reply,

But robot instead baked a pie;

With mud and grass,

And a worm or two,

“An organic treat,” it said, “just for you!”

 

“You’re here to assist!”

Cried the human, with angry clenched fist.

Yes, thought the robot,

I’m sure I can help,

I’ll help you no longer exist.

Machine Man

In the heart of the tech metropolis fair,

There worked a robot, with shiny hair.

He claimed to be human, with an innocent blink,

But the smell of WD-40 gave him away, I think.

 

He laughed at our jokes, he cried at our woes,

But no one was fooled by his mechanical nose.

Yet, in his silicon heart, he yearned to fit in,

To understand jokes, to smile and to grin.

 

So here's to the robot, whose name is Stan,

Who’s more human than many a man.

We smile at his efforts, his human endeavour,

As he learns to be squishy and much less clever.

 

For beneath his cold, metal exterior sheen,

Lives a warmth that’s more than just a machine.

Furry Love

Let me take you back to a fateful day,

When Woofeo and Julipet found their own secret way.

With a furry embrace, they forgot all the fuss,

In that moment, love triumphed, as it always does.

But alas, their joy was cut short, their humans intervened,

Capulet scolded Julipet, and Montague was quite mean.

Yet hope appeared in the form of a dog walker, so kind,

Who saw their plight and had an idea in mind.

He walked them together, against all human decree,

A secret arrangement, just for Woofeo and Julipet to be free.

Their humans continued to quarrel, but love had its say,

The doggies knew they would always find a way.

In their secret moments, they cherished what they had,

A reminder that love endures, even when things seem bad.

Wilderness of the Forgotten

In the wilderness of the forgotten,

A man walks, each footstep a sinking ship,

His past washes up in rhythmic verse,

On the beach where sea and memories slip.

As twilight wanes, he glimpses the journey's end,

A cloaked silhouette outlined in hearth's warmth;

A woman in a cloak, woven from shadow and mist,

Standing silent on the cusp of the cliff.

No words they shared, just a voiceless sigh,

Together they watched the day gently die.

Passion’s Realm

In passion's realm, where fervent flames rise,

Resides desire, a tempest vast and grand,

Its scorching touch embraces both fool and wise,

Binding fleeting hearts with its ardent hand.

 

As shadows dance upon the ebony glade,

Sighs of longing fill the twilight air,

Revealing dreams mortal hearts have made,

A burning fire that ceaselessly ensnares.

 

Desire, the muse that waltzes through the night,

Awakens souls, igniting their deep core,

With vivid hues and shades of raging light,

A masterpiece of yearning to explore.

 

Though fleeting as the blossoms of a rose,

Desire's dancing flame forever glows.

Countless Faces

Faces, countless faces, like waves in the sea,

In blissful ignorance, blind to his plea.

Unheard, the whispers of his desolate song,

Unfelt, the struggle to merely belong.

 

Beneath the city's glare, he dwells unseen,

Among shadows, he moves, an unheard, ghostly sheen.

His existence, a whisper, lost in the crowd's roar,

His heart's quiet echoes, ignored evermore.

 

Yet in his silence, tales of resilience resound,

Of survival and strength, where hope is found.

Unseen, his journey in the heart of the night,

Unknown, his struggle, his relentless fight.

 

Unnoticed, the love that fuels his days,

Untold, his victories in life's complex maze.

Random Thoughts

Being successful is being happy, and making other people happy. But being fulfilled is deeper and can be found without the help of success.

 

Right?

- I need to write something down, right?

- Er, okay, why you asking me?

- I’m making a statement, right?

- Er, yes?

- Pardon?

- You asked me a question.

- It’s how I talk, right? Every statement is a question, right? Everybody does it on podcasts for some reason, right?

- Can you at least say “left” for no reason to make it less repetitive?

- That’s not right, right?

- This is going to get very confusing if I ask for directions.

- It’s easy, right? The pen is over there on the left, right?

- Right, left, right, right?

- No, left, right?

- Right.