Sheep on the field

Just your average bicycle ride,

See some sheep, very woolly, two-eyed.

Come to a halt for a nice, quick pause

Observe the sheep and their chewing jaws.

That one over there is just ruminating

Chewing with the intent of swallow-for-sating.

The small one is rolling around in the grass,

Fluffy and white, its cuteness first-class.

And that one there is… in a white lab coat?

Holding a wrench and making a note?

That thing that it’s building, hold on…

Is that a rocket made of wood and nylon?

Defense against wolves and political aggression?

That raises one, and just one question:

How does one use a wrench with hooves?

One of the most complex of fine-motor moves.

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Wolf pack

On my first day, I was pretty nervous.

My first day of entering binding service.

I find the location and look around,

When somebody comes to greet this poor, lost clown.

“Welcome to the Wolf Pack,

I’ll show you the ropes.

Hunting with us is a knack,

But I have high hopes.

Our formation has a hole,

Just jump right in.

Our target is a foal,

Rip and tear at its shin.

Followed by communal eating.

Scenery very panoramic.

Then, a feedback meeting

Improving the group dynamic.

Welcome aboard again.

Our motto: Fangs and brain.”

Spring fauna

The spring sun now shines all the way down.

I can feel it on my brown arm and my frown.

The night is losing its endless fight,

Time spent awake no longer too tight.

Especially because of the local fauna,

Going crazy in the morning like Madonna.

Screeching and chirping at 5 am,

It’s not like I never want to hear them,

But, as you know, sleep is nice,

And 5-ish hours do not suffice.

So, any birds reading this right now,

Mating calls only after nine would be wow.

Tiger bone waterfall

In the hills in Southeast Asia, there is a waterfall

It is not gigantic, nor especially tall,

But it has beauty, like no other

Given by the bones of an old tiger mother.

Bones in the plunge pool, buried long ago

By monks in robes, careful and slow.

Bones of a goddess, colossal and fierce,

Beautiful, strong, with eyes that pierce.

God that died in a war of gods

Struck down by the god of war’s bamboo rods.

What little magic is left in the bones

Gives the waterfall and its smoothed-out stones

A verdant green glow, vivid and alive,

The plants all around cannot but thrive.

Chickpea hatching

Chickpeas, chickpeas, who would’ve guessed

If left alone in a chickpea nest,

Will hatch tiny chicks who will climb out

Poke through with a cute beak, that birdy snout.

I wanted falafel, but what I got instead,

A throng of chicks, 500 head.

Now I’m a poultry farmer by trade,

Not of my volition, but Destiny’s aid.

If you don’t have a garden, I’ll tell you this,

Don’t hatch chickpeas, it’s a feathery abyss.

Penguin fuel

Whalers on the Falklands had a dilemma.

They had freshly arrived on their ship “Gemma”,

Butchered some whales and were ready

To turn the blubber into oil, slow and steady.

The dilemma was, there were no trees.

Nothing to burn, no bushes in the breeze.

The next logical step was, of course,

To use penguins for fuel. (I don’t endorse.)

Penguins are fatty under the skin, you see,

For burning purposes, better than a tree.

About nine in ten were thrown into the fires

To fuel the burning of whales before the deadline expires.

Burning penguins enabled the burning of whales,

Still ranks pretty low on the cruelness-scales.

I find this somehow incredibly funny,

Oh the things we do, the things we do for money.

Spider Matriarch

The spiders hate you more than you do them.

They write spider poetry of our icky phlegm,

Our hairless bodies, our shameful four limbs,

How we interrupt them when they sing their hymns.

Poems dedicated to the spider matriarch,

The one whose nest would span Central park,

The one whose mandibles crush every prey,

The one who still lives when the sun grows grey.

They ask the matriarch to rid them of the curse,

The curse of the two-legs that keeps getting worse.

The matriarch’s words for the small ones: “Wait.

Wait until darkness, when the dreadful weight

Of sunlight is lifted, that is when you win.

Creep on their bodies, their disgusting skin,

Lay eggs in their mouths, conquer from within.

And wait once more, in the webs you spin.”