Speck, the Vulcan

Spock is the Vulcan from Star Trek.

He has a brother whose name is Speck.

He is a replicator in human form,

With pointy ears per the Vulcan norm.

The food comes out from a nostril, the right

The drinks from the left, because it’s a bit tight.

If you think it’s icky, well you know, he’s a Vulcan,

Not a dirty human like me or Macaulay Culkin.

You calibrate your wishes by pulling on the ears.

No fuss, no trouble, no clanking of gears.

Shoot it forcefully into your container,

Of course you bring one, that’s a no-brainer.

I don’t know if Star Trek has Tupperware,

But if not, then something else that’s square.

Spock likes his brother and that’s no wonder,

With him every party will fail to go under.

Just be sure to calibrate it well,

One yank too much and and your soda might smell.


On the edge

Standing on the precipice of an endless void,

If you fell in you would be destroyed,

But you can’t escape, it draws you in,

When you look down your head starts to spin.

So you stand there fearing for a thousand years

Stuck in one place, controlled by your fears.

Would you jump in to an almost certain death?

Would it be better than feeling its cold breath?

Perpetual fear or possible demise?

At least falling down you might see endless skies,

That is, if you could, falling might be lies.

Dragon wagon

Get on the dragon wagon,

Shaped like a red dragon!

We’ll fly to the Moon and Mars

Tears some brand new astral scars!

Fill our lungs in Venus with gas,

So we can roast some bad-guy’s ass!

I think Jupiter needs more spots,

Gigantic marks and not just dots!

Get on the dragon wagon,

With the claws of a black dragon!

If you want in, you have to be fast,

Or we’ll zoom and whiz right past!

Prepare your claws! Get ready!

Grab on until you feel steady!

Faster than light? That’s easy,

Photons in our trail feel queasy.

Get on the dragon wagon,

With the presence of an ancient dragon!

Let’s make Everest afraid and run!

Drive it into the sea for fun!

Stop the tsunami with just our eyes!

Do it fast so no one dies!

Get on the dragon wagon,

Shaped like an awesome dragon!

Warrior architect

My duty is creating warriors and fighters,

Slashers, crushers, voracious biters.

I craft them for worlds of battle and war,

My sole task since the days of yore.

I look at each world and see their need,

Ready my tools, I design and breed.

Set them free for destruction or order,

I have noted: ‘tis not a clear border.

You should see the beauty I have created,

Planets of deserts where a hunger was sated,

Eternal oceans of burning blood,

Tides of bodies avalanching like mud.

Continents cracked, skies torn asunder,

Atmosphere escaping, only death, no thunder.

All so quiet, lifeless and clean,

The marvelous beauty that I have seen!

No, I have never asked for any reason,

It is not my place, nor is it the season.

Tell me of your world, small one, go ahead please,

Is it one I visited? Does it still have trees?

Hmm, I do not think it has been on my list.

No, I am certain, your world has not been kissed.

Your one still breathes, and all do not fight,

Most spend time eating or learning to write.

Not a part of my plan now, most likely not ever,

Unless… One day I might need a lever…

Space octopus

I feel that the giant space/sea/any monsters are too often portrayed as a destructive force. What if one wanted to just inspect the smaller lifeforms and relax at the same time? Just a short little break in the rat race of a giant monster, not stopping to smell the flowers, but instead examining how the ants of the monster world go about their business in a day to day situation.

Between pretty sunsets four and five,

The space station wakes up, becomes alive.

Maintenance work on the ISS,

Duct tape and super glue fixing stuff, oh yes.

The perfect tools for every plight,

Every problem on your space-age flight.

I take it back, almost all,

Not a space octopus, doing the crawl.

A gigantic monster, floating in space,

Panic on the ISS, the whole damn base.

The kraken of space just floating around,

Inspecting quite closely not making a sound.

Its massive tentacles not doing a thing,

Not crushing metal plates with a forceful swing.

Its sharp beak not devouring us,

Not like Godzilla with a full school bus.

The panic dies down as nothing ensues,

This docile giant just makes the news.

On the blogosphere, a brand new meme,

Chris Hadfield’s Octo-selfie’s the dream.