Furniture hospital

Here at the hospital we take care of beds,

Chairs, tables, shelves forgotten in sheds.

Here, for example, is a sofa we found

Abandoned near the main underground.

As you can see, the leather is peeling

Its legs are broken, lacking any feeling.

The plan of action is to make prosthetics

And a leather transplant with anesthetics.

Then, a recuperatory period takes place

Finally, released to the wild, if it doesn’t face

Any complications while it’s healing.

This is the stuff with what we’re dealing.

Everyday miracles for abandoned pieces

Of furniture covered in grime and greases.

For a positive ending, you can pet this chair

Hear it purr as you stroke its hair.


Salt sucks

Salt absorbs water, at least I think.

If I spill water in the kitchen sink,

Add some salt, the wet disappears.

This applies also to already-salty tears.

But is the salt supposed to make any sound?

I tested it, and it’s loud, I found.

I spilled some water, add some salt

“SLUUUUUUURP!” is what brought me to a halt.

I thought there was someone else there as well,

But no, it was sodium chloride giving hell

To the burnt hydrogen with great zeal.

Sounded like me with a well-prepared meal.

Now I hear slurping on a daily basis,

The antics of salt between my braces.

Pebble symphony

A ball on the floor, not sure what it is,

Gray and hairy, now that’s a quiz.

It doesn’t move on its own at all,

Just with the wind, and it rolls like a ball.

I recognize some dust-like qualities,

And something that looks like moldy old cheese.

Dunno what it is but I know what I’ll use it for,

The motivation to clean, the dickiest chore.

I took my vacuum, my trusty J.E,

Named after the prez who’s so dear to me.

Absorb, inhale, imbibe and suck,

It does its job, about it doesn’t muck.

I hear a swoosh as the dust goes in,

And a sudden jingle. What did I win?

Ah, I guess it’s pebbles on steel,

Bouncing inside with rock’n’roll zeal.

The visit to the beach brought more than sand

And I got to hear the stone-symphony at hand.

DIY fountain

If you want a fountain but are not a mayor,

Or a rich person who employs a bricklayer,

You don’t need the political power,

You can always go to where you take a shower,

Take the shower head and let the water flow.

Mind that your feet don’t get soaking wet, though!

Turn it upside down, the stream flowing up,

Change your position for a good close-up.

Now you have a fountain and voilà,

Pretty and soothing, just one flaw:

You can’t customize it with bushes or straw,

No naked cherubs or mermaids or such,

But personally I never liked them much.

The water is beautiful and quite enough,

It will sooth a day that got too tough.

Cleaning my room

I rented my room away,

As someone needed to eat by day

Sleep by night and have no one say:

“Go home you bum, here’s not there!

You will give all of our tourists a scare,

Besides, it’s cold and you’re not a bear.”

I cleaned it, of course, the walls and the floor,

Fixed my DIY knob on the door.

(People get shocked handling a toy boar.)

Hid my poems for awkward’s sake,

Otherwise they’d sing and keep her awake,

The bad ones might make her laugh and break.

I thought I cleaned it till ready and done,

Nothing left over, zero, none.

I even exiled my sheltered fugitive nun.

Some days later, she moved in,

Was greeted by something that had been

Still left over, my abstract kin.

My personal scent gave her a shy smile

From everywhere at once and lingered a while.

I guess, no matter your cleaning style,

You leave your essence there as you live,

The time you spent is determinative.

Infrared vision

If I ever had infrared vision,

I would have truly zero indecision.

I wouldn’t do an impossible mission,

Such a great height is not my ambition.

I’d go on a plaza, that’s what I’d do,

Keep my eye on people quite like you.

Observe the signatures of heat they release,

Their bodies and breathing while at peace,

Occasional puffs of humorous gas,

I’d make note of every lad and lass,

Note how they always quicken their step,

Smile to themselves in the human web,

As they do it, slightly forbidden,

But always as fun, in the open or hidden.

Note how similar we tend to be,

Wind is fun (also for adults you see).

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.