Stealthy acts of kindness

Being kind can be done by using stealth,

A secret act of kindness improves your health,

It will not improve your local reputation,

Will not make you the hero of your nation,

It will just makes someone else’s life easier,

Help someone’s day be slightly less bee-sier.

It can be any invisible act,

Updating computers is good in fact,

In an IT-class, it’ll save someone a minute,

Or if you wish, you can tune someone’s spinet.

You can do it to friends, that’s not forbidden,

Charge their phone but act like you didn’t.

Might do the dishes while they are napping,

Hang their laundry tighter if it starts flapping.

A moment of your trouble can be a good aid,

Stopping trouble from brewing can be worth more than jade.


Tin foil bird

We went camping on a nice, quiet beach

To see if the night sky had stuff to teach.

A ready-made fire pit, waiting for the logs,

Took away the damp, the wet and the sogs.

We got hungry: Potatoes out!

Get the tinfoil while sipping some stout.

Wrap the potatoes in cheese and foil,

Drown them in the embers and the sooty, ashy soil.

While you wait, toast some wurst,

Not in the flames, the flavors won’t burst.

The embers are the good place with the magic,

If you understand, the results are sausagic.

The fire died out, revealing our treasure,

Our mouths were drooling by no small measure.

Tin foil gleaming faintly in the night,

Something swooshed by, it was fast and bright.

It was gone and so were the wraps,

The tin foil bird got its eggs back, perhaps.

Building towers

Building towers can be pretty fun,

Building blocks or parts of a gun.

If your parts are slippery or small,

The parts and the whole have a good chance to fall.

Some things are better for building stuff,

Cats are difficult, grabbed by the scruff.

A cat tower rarely has more than one layer,

And the builder bleeds like a big game slayer.

If you build your tower of ants,

You’ll get a case of the super itchy pants.

Plus, if the small ones decide to work together,

They might carry you off like a feather.

Forging a tower of compliments might work,

It’d be sturdy and tall and give you a smirk.

Chords and notes would make it a beaut,

If you lived inside, you’d tap your foot.

I would really like to build me a tower,

But the bureaucrats are the ones who truly hold the power.

They say “It’ll tumble and endanger us all.”

“A child would know that a tower needs a wall.”

“No, you can’t replace all the nails with cream.”

I think they’re just more jealous than they seem.

Midnight chicken

I dreamed of feathers and flapping of wings,

Some cluck clucks and egg-shaped things.

I woke up, went down and kitchened myself,

Breakfast time, muesli on the shelf.

Or so I thought, it was gone,

The fruit and seeds too, the list goes on.

Three-pronged footprints on the floor and walls,

Feathers strewn everywhere, along my clean halls.

The front door open, lock picked by a feather,

I was confused adding this all together.

Then I saw a note, a small piece of paper,

Left by the one who performed this caper.

As I read the note, my blood began to thicken:

“You’ve been had by the midnight chicken!”

Pump kin

When I first heard the word pumpkin, I thought,

A compound word I haven’t been taught!

A pump of a fist or a gas station pump?

Must be the latter based on the rump.

Kin is family or relatives and such,

Or something similar, that’s a nice touch.

Then I heard they are orange and round,

Luminescent once a year and stuck to the ground.

That’s when it dawned on me what they are,

Gas station attendants! Hurrah! Hurrah!

It makes sense, with orange-colored skin,

A slightly plump belly and a rounded chin.

Luminescence explained by phosphor paint,

Some ad hijinks, a financial feint.

I wrote a story on the pumpkins’ life,

Got it back and was slashed with a knife.

“Pumpkin is a plant, don’t you know?

See me in my office, don’t be slow.”

A goddamn fruit, that’s so boring!

At least mine got my imagination soaring.

I before E

I before E except after C,

With a switch in hand, they taught this to me.

They didn’t tell me that it’s not true,

There’s more exceptions than they knew.

Nine hundred and twenty three C I E,

These are the throng that do not agree.

And there’s weird and veil as well,

This makes me think out loud: What the hell?

And there’s only forty C E I,

This is taught as a rule. What? WHY?

They also tell me to not do the split,

To not divide infinitives or I’ll get hit.

It’s always been used in writing and speech,

Never has it been a grammatical breach.

But then some people some time in the past,

Decided that it’s Latin, Latin’s unsurpassed.

It’s dead and buried and it allows no splits.

And that’s why my essays are always torn to bits?!

And you know the things I end a sentence with?

The ones you shouldn’t use, also a myth.

Latin again is the one who’s to blame,

In English it’s ok, there isn’t any shame.

How about we stop looking at the dead giant,

Using its body and making us reliant,

It doesn’t matter, it’s way dead and gone,

Time for English to have its own dawn.

Storing dancers

We had a problem in our ballet school:

Accommodation of dancers, cheap as a jewel.

My friend figured out the perfect solution,

Which did not require too much persecution.

The plan was this: teach them some yoga.

Practice every day with a warm, thick toga.

When they get good enough to do that one thing,

You know the one where they look like a ring,

We can stick them in boxes and they’ll keep the pose,

Stay all stretchy from the heel to the nose.

A boatload of boxes is cheaper than a house,

Just keep them warm and dry, don’t douse.

When you need them to show off the moves,

Just unbox and voilá, the audience approves.

Of course, this is bad news if they’re not bendy,

If their bodies are not like fingers of Dendi,

They can’t stretch and can’t be stored,

They would need a room, walled and floored.

This is why, if they aren’t elastic,

Out they fly, the measure is drastic.

But surely, surely, you can understand,

If you treat them like people, they’ll take the whole hand.