Screens at night

Computer screens at night don’t sleep.

The IT class full of optical beep.

Flashes of light of many different hue,

Red ones more common than green or blue.

I don’t know why this is done,

Or why they wait till there’s no sun.

Maybe it’s easier to see in the dark,

A bit like talking is better in a park.

Maybe they talk about their hard day,

Of all the users that spat their way.

Someone nice who scrubbed one stain,

For a screen being dirty is like tooth pain.

Or maybe they sing their silent songs,

A melody of color just where it belongs.


Bread waiting room

I built a waiting room for my bread

With the blueprints I made in my head.

It has tiny couches made for sitting,

A small TV and stuff to do knitting.

I made some magazines, with tiny print,

On what to wear, a fashion-themed hint.

Of course for breads it’s just not the same.

Wearing cheese and ham is their aim.

There’s also tips on how to taste better,

And a whole section for a bready love letter.

“Ah, my dearest, I long for your crumbs.

Seeing your crust makes my body numb.

When you wear Gouda or camembert with jam,

I can’t move, like covered with spam.”

These entertain them more than I expected,

I guess it makes them feel less disconnected.

Breads love romance, and I guess they must,

Their days are numbered when I smell their crust.

Enjoy the moment when you’re gonna be eaten,

The life philosophy of the ones who are wheaten.

My head

You know what you did that made me dizzy?

You, yesterday, ran around super busy,

And you swept my head off its feet.

There was no mess, it was pretty neat.

You knocked the podium with your arm,

My head fell down and set off the alarm.

The platinum legs that hold it standing,

Did nothing at all to smoothen the landing.

My forehead banged on the marble floor,

And I rolled with my ear to the door.

I don’t mind, you know that I’m dead.

But it filled your guests with dread.

They tried to roll their luggage inside,

But me in the wheels, they didn’t glide.

It’s pretty rare to have a skull in the cogs,

But at least it entertained their dogs.

So, all in all, my dizziness aside,

The slobbering and fright was not a good ride.

In the near future, if you can,

Be less hurried, my dear man.

Asking for a ballot

If you get to tell people what they should do

And they have to do what you say or you might sue,

You will get used to this treating quite unequal,

And if you get paid well, your story has a sequel.

You think you’re better just because of your position,

Like you had gotten some superhuman-like condition.

This happens to everyone, no matter what,

Which is why politics is so full of smut.

If you’re a person you will be corrupted

By the power and the high, both uninterrupted.

So why would I vote for anyone at all?

If I know that, in the end, they’ll drop the ball?

Ask for my ballot and I’ll have a question:

Are you a human? If yes, bad suggestion.

If you are not, but an A.I. for example,

I’ll change my mind and my support will be ample

Bear claw tree

I was on a walk and I saw a tree,

With weird fruit that attracted me.

I went closer to inspect them well,

They were brown and smelled like hell.

Shaped like a paw of a grizzly or a polar,

As fruit, I guess they’re powered by solar.

With long, thin, black things super, super sharp,

Mat, furless black that’ll go through a carp.

I looked closer and one pawed at me,

Startled I yanked my babyface free.

All of them seemed to have come to life,

A treeful of them waving, sharp as a knife.

One of them fell, I guess it was ripe.

It didn’t move and I poked it with my pipe.

My poke made a hole and jam oozed out,

It was a pastry, I had no doubt.

A bear claw tree, isn’t that wonder,

I tasted it, and it made me ponder:

“What is the filling? Tastes like vanilla.

Whatever it is, it’s one tasty filler.”

A bear claw tree almost next to my home,

I guess my sweet tooth won’t have to roam.

Flesh eating moose

Nine hundred pounds of hairy and smelly,

Muscles everywhere except on its swollen belly.

The head held high and two feet higher,

Horns of steel sharp like razor wire.

The part that’s abnormal is in its hard head,

A normal moose doesn’t want you dead.

Flesh eating moose is a northern quirk.

For a thing so big, it knows how to lurk.

When you’re picking berries blue or cloudy,

It’s behind the bushes just thinking “Howdy,

You look tasty with your tender meat,

The last thing I’ll eat are your tiny feet.”

Seventeen thousand people in a year,

Succumb, in the forests, to the ancient fear.

It’s no wonder it’s a god in the north.

Just his image brings our tears forth.

Baking pizza

Baking pizza in the oven. Can’t it be done?

Not quite as much as the eating, the baking was still fun.

Kneading dough with my bare fists,

Checking herby ingredient lists,

If I check what it looks like it’s yellow as the sun.

That’s the cheesy crust it has, moustache licking good!

Tomato sauce and salty things, like a pizza should!

Onions and garlic. Onions and garlic!

Onions in onions, garlic on garlic!

If I had a fireproof mouth, chomp down on it I would.

It’s done! It’s done! It’s been a half hour!

Its red and yellow is prettier than any flower.

Bye bye now, my dear friend.

I’ll salivate all the way till the end.

I’ll be so greased I will need a soapy shower!