Lunch with friends.

Mmm, lunch. Also, friends be good.


When we eat lunch, I have one wish:

One mouth to laugh with and one for the dish.

It takes ages to finish any kind of meal,

When I spit and cackle and chuckle and squeal.

One mouth to chew and swallow in peace,

Another one whose howls never cease.

This way I wouldn’t spray you with crumbs;

Halfway barbaric with my unruly gums.

But it’s your fault and that’s a real fact.

You’re so funny with how you act.

Every single word hits just the right chord,

People start to stare as I get floored.

I don’t care, I’m somewhere else,

While my milk gets warm and my ice cream melts.

It’s ok, it’s not that bad,

This monetary loss won’t make me mad.

Like death at a funeral, but a bit less awkward,

You’re like a good movie with no fast forward.

With you I never feel sad or grim,

You’re like doing abs at the gym.

I think “I’m lucky to have you as a friend”

While a mouthful of milk starts to ascend.


The not-so-scientific explanation for bears, part 2

Everyone knows, the sun is nice. This, our bear, he knew.

He sat there, in the snow he did, while years they past him flew.

He would not jump, he would not move, a bit like stuck with glue.

His fur turned brown, he never frowned nor did he ever feel blue.


With his new fur, he travelled south, to look for gentler wind.

He ran easier now than ever before, he was lighter, his body thinned.

He swam in the swamps and in the ponds, he climbed the big pine trees.

He found a place to live, a glade, with a pond and honey bees.


He spent his days dozing, eating berries from the bush.

Sometimes he even might dig up an anthill with his tush.

He might hunt a moose to make his belly outgrow his chest.

He would eat some and dig a hole to hide all the rest.


One warm day, the glade was dry, no rain clouds there for days.

Suddenly, no one knows why, the grass became ablaze.

Our brown friend, he took a cloth and started beating the flames.

To stop the fire and save the glade, these were his only aims.


He did succeed, yay for him, to kill out the whole fire.

With the ash, his fur turned gray: a prize for dousing the pyre.

He travelled west to find a pool, a dip he did desire.

A giant one, such great big one, he had never seen one prior.


He swam and swam till the shore, his fur still ashen gray.

Found a salmon stream he did, where watery mists do spray

And nuts and berries and all the sort in this big, flowering bay.

He lazed around and slept all day, just food and rest and play.


The winter came and by it went and all he did was sleep.

His den had food and twigs and such, a great big, giant heap.

Springtime came and he woke up, he felt like doing a leap.

West he went across a pond so vast and blue and deep.


One day he saw hole in the ground and went to have a look.

Black rock everywhere in there, in every cranny and nook.

He roamed and rambled for a while, a week or so it took.

He came out, and feeling his thirst he walked up to a brook.


The surface was so calm and clean, himself he there could see.

Black his fur was, all over, except for a white Vee.

On his chest this letter was, not ears neither the knee.

But, he still felt the need for the food of our friend, the bee.


He noticed he could rise on hinds and walk for over a mile.

Climbing trees was easier when starting with this style;

The strong arms, that he now did have, helped him in this trial.

Climbing trees is so much fun that all he did was smile.


One day he heard a song, he did, while sitting in a tree.

A song so strong and close to him, this he had to see.

He saw the singer, whose face was white, sipping on some tea.

Took her paint to paint himself, it filled him with great glee.


Slapped the paint on his big head, his back while he did grin.

Missed his eyes and legs, he did, his peepers and his shin.

When done, he took a glimpse, he did, at a mirror where he was in.

Realized this one fun thing: he was a panda once again.


And that’s how bears came to be. Not a true story.

The not-so-scientific explanation for bears, part 1

I like bears, they’re so furry and their furriness is diverse.


Once there was a panda bear, extremely sad was he.

He always cried and moaned and wailed, his eyes you couldn’t see.

Without a break he rubbed his eyes, sore they soon would be.

This made him even sadder, yes, not good if you ask me.


He had a friend, a smart old snake, to tell him what to do.

“You need to stop just sitting here, think of something new.

Like dance or song or sunbathing. Then you can’t feel blue.

Hey, I know, just wait a while.” Came back before he knew.


She slithered back, and in her tail, she grasped a wooden thing.

“Look, hey look, I got you this, it’s brown and it goes ‘ding’.

Or ‘twang’ or ‘plonk’ or ‘thump, thump, clonk’, if it you want to swing.

Try it out, here I’ll show how, just scratch that biggest string.”


The panda grasped it carefully, turned it round and round.

Held it to his big head and scratched, ooh, it made a sound.

“It’s called a ‘you coo lay-lee’ now, behind that big green mound.

I went and asked for happy things; this is what they found.”


“You play it with friends or family, make a song or two.

Try and play, I’ll sit and stay, you furry musician you.”

He made a song or two or three, an audience he drew.

And just like that, the tears they went, away they quickly flew.


He made his mind, went on a tour, to the north and west.

He charmed the people on the plains, the deserts and the rest.

Ended up on the Northery Pole, when he was feeling his best.

His fur turned white, glad he was, he lay down to have a rest.


While he slept, his feet grew big, good to run on ice.

His claws they changed, sharpened up, didn’t grow much in size.

Fur grew long for the wind, a white and precious prize.

His neck now thin, to look for food in the holes in ice.


The bear became a new kind, a polar, furry beast.

He grew in size, to like the cold, fish his new main feast.

He was the biggest in the north, the glaciers he policed.

One day he saw a nice new thing, the sunshine had increased.


Too long for one post, to be continued…

Santa’s office workers

I went to interview the office workers in Santa’s workshop now that Christmas is on its way. Here’s an interview from two very nice people.


My job? I’m the happiness treasurer.

My office’s right next to the cuteness measurer.

I decide how bliss is divided

And I am completely un-sided.

I send it to people’s heads via thought.

Whenever I find a suitable spot.

Some people are extremely hard to reach,

Which is why it doesn’t go even for each.

A thought in their head or a bodily feature,

Makes them remain a less happy creature.

I talked to Santa about a new device,

That would be run by little elf-mice.

It’d send the elation no matter what.

Even if your mind was completely shut.

The elves are on it, but it’s not easy;

Once it’s done, my job’ll be a breezy.


Who am I? The cuteness measurer.

My office is here, left of the h-treasurer.

I’m the one who quantitates cute.

Be it a kitten or an old, sodden boot.

It’s not easy, but I’ve had practice:

I can do it to fish or even a cactus.

It’s a pretty exact science with math,

You have to find the right logical path.

I measure eye-size and plumpness and fur,

Crooning, trills, meowing and purr.

Then I run them through my own algorithm,

That uses the heart’s own natural rhythm.

Then I make note of the result I get.

The highest so far? Some baby with a pet.

Got 7.9 on the cutechter scale,

That means an “aww” loud enough to wake a whale

From 93% of the population.

Regardless of status or level of edumacation.

Sit to my left

I’ve been in a car crash, I’ve fallen from trees and rooftops; nowhere near as scary as the girl I fancy sitting next to me.

When I sit and breathe in class,

I feel like a great, big, sunken bass.

Slow and steady, never any rush.

My lungs pump slow, there’s a slight hush.

The air has no taste and it feels light.

My heart beats slow with a tenth of its might.

Once in four, ticks of the clock.

Tick tock tick tock, breathe, tick tock.

I feel calm and surprisingly attentive,

Not excited, angry or pensive.

Ready to learn, my mind feels deft.

You come in and you sit to my left.

My heart takes a dive,

Breath tastes of iron.

It stops for five,

Chest is set fire on.

Heart of lead beats six in one.

I can’t breathe, I want to run.

You so close destroys my core.

You far away just makes me sore.

My skin tingles, don’t dare to look.

Then you ask to borrow my book.

Sliding it over, our fingers touch.

Yank my hand back, the fire’s too much.

You say thanks and I peek at your eyes.

You look back and my heart cries:

”We can’t do it, we don’t have the power!

If you look again we’ll have a bloody shower!”

I look and lean away from your heat.

Your fragrant flower and my nose won’t meet.

To you my glances and voice so meek

(Brought to you by my Heart So Weak™)

Feel like I dislike you, or hate.

The damage is done and it’s too late.

My intention will not get through

It hurts too much to be next to you.

Eye contact and I expire,

Read your name and I perspire.

It’s not normal for a man full grown.

But whining won’t help so I’ll stop my moan.

(And stay alive by staying alone)

Welcome to life

Someone should brief babies when they’re born.


Welcome to our Earth!

You just went through birth.

You have a life now, fill it with worth,

And remember, joy and mirth!


You got that body, take good care.

You can use it to stand and sit on a chair.

You can swim through water and run through air.

You will grow and so will your hair.


Here’s your mouth to taste everything nice.

To make all the sounds, loose or precise.

To roar like a lion and squeak like mice.

And maybe to kiss if you roll the right dice.


Here are your eyes, to see all the beauty.

Nature’s wonders from China to Djibouti.

To dream all there is when they’re off duty.

To shed some tears if life gets sooty.


Here are your ears to hear life’s beat.

The songs of your mom and little birds’ tweet.

Guitar and piano that move your feet.

The whispers of someone who tastes so sweet.


Here’s your nose to always guide you.

To leak when sipping cocoa with the flu.

Sniff grandma’s cakes and pies and stew.

Remind you of a smell that you once knew.


Here are your hands and fingers that feel.

You can paint and play, climb and steal.

Tear open letters and give them a seal.

Hug and hold hands if you need to heal.


Here are your feet to dance and run.

They find you a smile, it’s so much fun.

You can walk on grass or snow in the sun.

On a warm beach with your special one.


Welcome to  Earth my little, dear pup!

All this awaits you when you grow up.

Songs of the world

Cooking and cleaning, more fun if you listen closely.


I like the songs the world sings sometimes.

When I do whatever it chirps and it chimes.


I practice Chinese with pencil on paper:

Scratches float up and off they taper.

A curve this way,

A line left to right.

I close my eyes as the music takes flight.

Horse sounds the same as duck when I write

And a bit like the moon if I do it just right.

Sometimes I only remember the spelling,

After some scratches as the sound starts telling,

Me where to go and what to do next.

Talking with the tongue as it becomes text.


I mop the floor made of stone and wood.

Whish, whosh, whush, when it’s clean and good.

The sound is dull if there’s a small stain:

The floor telling me that I need to strain.

“Use more force, that one’s grease!”

The sound becomes clean and I know to cease.

I mop along and it’s all a clear song,

That’s how I know it won’t take too long.


When I cook, the omelet squeals.

The screech goes high and then it reveals

A flip is needed, a minute and it’s done.

I just need the song, timers I have none.

Just a song sung by eggs and heat.

A song way better than any recipe I meet.