Eyes of the seasons’

My eyes changed color, I guess summer’s over,

When it’s hot they’re the same as your average clover:

A very deep green that’s velvety and soft,

If you look too deep, you’ll yawn quite oft.

With the leaves they tend to turn yellow or red.

A stranger saw them, frightened to death.

They do blend in with the falling leaves.

Leaves are falling? The birch tree grieves?

When it gets colder, they become blue.

A bit like ice, but deeper in hue.

A friend told me they’re dots of dancing ice.

Like a glacier holding ancient cries.

When it gets warmer, they turn white,

In spring I can’t see, too bright.

Milky and useless they wait for summer,

For the bright day they can hear the drummer,

Drumming the rhythm of changing hues,

Green is coming with reds and blues!


Bicycle baby

My bicycle gave birth to a tricycle!

The wheeled tiny one is patterned like an icicle.

Its tires breathed out the very first cry,

It wanted more air, and boy did it try!

With the baby pump we filled its tires,

Cut its zip ties with a set of baby pliers.

It tried to roll around but didn’t know how.

Its tires stuttered, sweat on its handle-brow.

After some tries it gaily wheeled away,

But couldn’t yet break, ran into a café.

Weeks went by and brought more tire tracks,

And then, one day, when we turned our backs.

We heard a “Ding!” as clear as ice,

It grew a bell and didn’t need advice.

Ringing away at people and the weather,

Dinging on the street and sometimes in the heather.

Now we’re waiting for the bikeberty weeks,

When it loses a tire and its bell creaks.

But that’s in the future, not just yet,

Now it’s just tire tracks, dusty or wet.

Anesthesia slur

Guess who went to the dentist today?

And now, if I want, I can’t have my say.

My tongue isn’t up to much co-operation,

But at least it’s good at spreading some elation.

I can’t speak, if I try, I slur.

And my face looks like an old chestnut burr.

(Hairy and swollen, is what I here mean,

Not filled with nut or brown and green.)

What’s up? They ask and I try to answer:

“I went to the dentisht”, a hilarity enhancer.

To top off this fun train, I have a friend,

Who is a linguist; you can see how this’ll end.

We had a talk and she, being funny,

Made me say sibilants like in “test” and “sunny”.

Never before have I witnessed someone crack up

By these words “screen, list, closeup.”

I guess the good side is that laugh is contagious,

I forgot the ache and that’s advantageous.

Shy car

I saw a car when cycling today,

It was just standing, not blocking my way.

When I got closer, I heard it growl,

Closer and closer, it grew to a howl.

After I passed it, the growl grew fainter.

I thought it was due to its shyness restrainter.

It might be broken, which made the car shy,

And me coming closer just caused it to cry.

I was amused for an hour or two,

I cracked the case, happy like a ewe.

My friend, when I told her of this,

Started to smile at what was amiss.

“Maybe, just maybe, because it’s a car,

It didn’t growl fainter when you were still far.

Maybe it kept its growl quite flat,

And you heard it different. How about that?

You went closer and the sound got louder,

Because of sound waves working like clam chowder.

The closer you are, the thicker they come,

If you go away, you’re bound to lose some.

In the near future, would you please

Check if the ground’s shaking or just your sneeze.

Eating a carrot (or a banana)

There’s a fun thing that you can parrot

And it is related to eating a carrot.

You know how carrots have the core and the rest?

(Everyone knows that the core tastes the best.)

You can first finish the orange outer layer,

Then you’re left with the carrot town mayor.

Usually the core is brighter and better.

If you save it for last, you’re a proper go-getter.

There’s another fun thing when eating fruit,

The curvy yellow ones can be turned cute.

It has three wedges known to a cook.

Shaped like sectors from your old math book.

Separate them and you have three strips,

Geometrical bananas if you use your lips.

I don’t know of any other food,

That can become neat if you’re just shrewd.

If you know some, can you share?

I’ll be sure to try with deliberate care.

Barbarian cocoa

I had a guest for lunch at my house,

He didn’t have pants or a hat or a blouse.

He communicated with grunts and growling,

His table manners would get my mom howling.

Just his hands, no fork or knife,

Rain of crumbs, the air was rife.

He had a beard and it quickly greased up,

His hands too slippery to drink from a cup.

Tearing meat and crunching bone,

Throwing his head back with a loud moan.

Satisfaction was what I think he felt,

The dessert was ready and I think he’d melt.

It was his favorite, cocoa quite warm,

He used his palms to save the glass from harm,

Squeezing them tight on its both sides,

Down it went in brown sugar tides.

But my guest had one minor gripe,

“Marshmallows missing!” with a rough beard wipe.

“Oh, my bad!” I fetched him some.

Give barbarians sweets and they will come.


Oh my goodness, I’m wet again!

I guess I was hit by vindictive rain.

It didn’t like the poem I wrote last week,

About it nowadays with its lazy streak.

What do I do, how do I get dry?

I even got some salt in my eye.

I guess it’s time to use my new Tomel whistle,

Composed of plastic, bone and gristle.

It will summon me my very own Tomel,

If you don’t know, that’s just a towel camel.

Their humps open up with hinges and a creak,

It should be oiled, it’s a bit antique.

In the hump you have heaps of towels.

To be used for drying or wearing like cowls.

Thank you Tomel, now I’m good,

Ain’t no more moisture in my hood.