Friendly tire fixing

Fixing a tire with a friend is better

One is the fixer, the other the tire-setter.

If you do it alone, it’s hard and boring,

With a good friend you won’t be snoring:

 

“You hold the tire and I’ll unscrew

Everything we need to remove and glue.

Whoops, you almost dropped it just now,

Please don’t let loose until I allow.

The valve is loose, let’s unmount the tire,

With our fingers it can’t misfire.

No! With a screwdriver you’ll make it flat!

Haven’t you learned not to do it like that?

Please be careful, and do as I say,

It’s over very soon if we do it my way.

No, you don’t work for me, I know,

I’m glad you don’t with that dumb show.

Now keep it still while I glue it shut

And give me the patch, don’t just sit on your butt!

Oh, sure! You can just get mad and leave

Like you do every time, don’t you, Steve?”

I guess I’ll finish this thing on my own,

And do it well like I am well-known.

Working alone is better after all,

There’s no one else there to always drop the ball.

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King Worthless

I watched the movie The Cell, and I found its subject matter of entering other people’s dreams interesting. I started toying with the thought of a rescue operation of a person stuck in someone else’s world going wrong, which led to this:

 

They sent me, the one they could spare

To save one of us from the sorcerer’s snare.

Who would have known that this world not true

Would become my home, and I greet you.

Hail, King Worthless! I offer my greetings

In this most auspicious of all possible meetings

I came for a friend in your nightmare land

But it is more familiar than the back of my hand.

I think I will take over and make it my domain

The world you created inside your puny brain.

See? I took your crown without trying

Such a worthless king, cheating and lying

Hoping to keep your subjects in line

If it were me, I would take what is mine

Take it with my power, absolute and awesome,

I will take it all and make this world blossom.

I think it is time for you to not exist

You never were with a flick of my wrist.

Now, my friend, please do not cry,

I think now it is time for you to die.

You are the link to the real world, the last

When you are gone I will not have a past.

I will be king, my reign will be free

Now even God can’t stand before me!

Autumn is here

Autumn comes soon

Singing the tune

Of the sharp scent of a hoarfrost moon.

Darkness comes too

The nights we knew

Become black and cold with stars in vies.

Rain comes as well

I retreat to my shell

Reading stories that my books tell.

Cozy is all

Under the shawl

I am the blanket’s faithful thrall.

Waking up is hard

When, out on the yard,

The patter of rain is the beauteous bard.

Autumn is here,

But I have no fear

As I stay inside for the rest of the year.

Child Preservation Zone

I thought about a sand pit, and what it is,

The conclusion I ended up with was this:

A sand pit is a child preservation zone,

CPZA approved, not accident-prone.

A place where the children turn golden brown,

Don’t get spoilt while you’re out on the town.

CPZA (Child preservation zone association)

Has a list of zones with a bad causation.

For example a lake is a bad CPZ.

The small ones get spoilt, turn blue, you see.

A library’s another, too many books.

They cause questions in unending brooks.

You can’t predict where their minds will go,

Your control broken by the information flow.

The good ones are, of course, all traditional,

Churches and schools, benefits unconditional.

Obedience and politeness, the two main aspects

Of our beloved, precious, dear future subjects.

And no one ever heard anything bad taking place

In these bastions of impeccable manners and grace.

Exploring

Adults are not children, that’s not news.

The former are bigger and can untie their shoes,

Walk on paths well-worn well before.

The latter explore much closer to the floor.

Leave it to a child to find a hole in the fence,

Or testing how many meters and cents

Is between the roofs of the neighboring houses

And if you can construct a bridge from blouses.

A bird cherry tree lived where I as well,

I tested every branch, and my mom did yell.

Something about safety, and fracturing bones,

I fell down many times, sometimes on stones.

Not an injury in sight, not counting the scrapes,

While finding out where you can harmlessly traipse,

Where you can clamber, where you can creep,

Where you’re not seen, and where you can sleep.

The bark of a bird cherry is not soft,

But I used it as a bed more than quite oft.

Where am I going? I don’t know.

Exploratory danger made me grow?

Cloudberry jam

Cloudberries are difficult to pick, don’t taste as good as many others, but at least they give you something to do. They also have lots of names in English. I wouldn’t have thought that the term bakeapple refers to these small things.

 

Cloudberry jam is not too sweet

A good, old-fashioned chorish treat.

Taste is decent, and it gives you stuff to do:

Between your teeth, you have a queue

Of cloudberry seeds, waiting to go down,

Stuck in your maw just milling around.

If you ever want to clean your fangs,

You can use your nails or small boomerangs.

Floss is for those who don’t mess about,

And toothpicks, well, they make me pout,

Splintering in everywhichever way they will,

Hindering more than helping until

You have cloudberry seeds and a splinter

And chewing feels like diving in winter,

Prickly and you don’t want to persist;

Cloudberry jam, the Devil-kissed.

Less than human

Somebody will always think

That you are less than human.

Because your tone is India ink

Or you didn’t support Truman.

Europeans thought so landing in the west,

Them on it once more kidnapping peoples:

“The natives died, our great God put them to the test!

Whip them low and high, and lift up the steeples!”

It seems we need a reason

In order to think so

God never out of season

How about no?

How about, if we think

Someone else is lesser,

Stopping on the very brink,

Not becoming the oppressor.

How about we listen

To what our conscience sings,

Instead of the lack of christen’

Or the allure of the “ka-ching!”s.?