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.”



What if you could hear

Every new-born whisper?

They flew to meet your ear,

Like thoughts, but crisper.

Your day would be

Filled with sighs,

Unknown he and she

Staring into each other’s eyes.

Offering gifts

Words, their best,

Bridging rifts,

A beating fire in their chests.

Hums with smiles

Deep into the night

Through all your trials,

Would it make it all right?

Secret of niceness

“Can you tell me why that man is so nice?

I don’t even know him, just rolling some dice.

But he seems like a pal who hugs really well,

With a big laugh and a gingerbread smell.

I bet, if I shared with him some of my troubles,

He would advise me, not bursting my bubbles.”

I looked at where my friend was looking

To see what this nicest stranger had cooking.

“Well, you see what he has on his face,

A great big beard that’s in a growth race,

With a moustache climbing up his cheeks.

They could hold food to sustain him for weeks.

There is the secret and the hidden reason,

Furry is nice and it’s always in season.

Why do you think we think bears are nice?

They’re super furry, as some cats and mice.

Furry equals friendly in our monkey brains,

Good news for us with great hair gains.

You’re my friend as I have a beard,

And you’d likely leave if I ever sheared.”

I watched amazement dawn in his eyes,

As he was computing my fresh advice.

“Holy monkeys Friendman! You’re absolutely right!

I’ll start growing one with all my might!”

The hottest target

I got a new bow and some arrows with a point.

I warmed up every muscle and joint.

Looked for a target and found me the Sun,

If I hit that, I’d be inferior to none.

Careful aim and just enough tension

To ensure my arrow’s adequate ascension.

The zenith is where my arrow flies to,

The day is still as it flies to the blue.

Staring at the sun, my arrow grows smaller,

Into the body of an incandescent dollar.

I stare and I wait, for what, I don’t know,

All of a sudden I feel a sharp blow.

Shooting at the Sun is not that smart, I confess,

At least depth perception is unnecessary in chess.

Sauna gnome

I’ve been reading a book on old Finnish folk tales and mythology. Some of the stories can get very non-Disney at their best.


Going to the sauna must be done on time,

Never, ever late, not for song nor rhyme.

There was a woman some thousand years ago,

Who worked hard with a twisted toe.

She looked forward to Saturday night,

The toe would heal in the sauna all right.

It snew and snew and it took a long while,

Till she got home: midnight, still a mile.

Everyone at home had washed already,

While she was still walking, slow and steady.

Due to this delay it was already one

As she sat next to the oven’s small sun.

Saunas are known to house their own gnome

Who is proud of its warm, cozy home.

It wards off diseases if treated with respect,

Given sacrifices, but if you neglect,

To obey its rules it will be wont to do

Like gnomefolk will, it will hurt you.

The woman, who came late, not of her own volition,

Made no sounds, which raised much suspicion.

Her brothers and sisters went to investigate

Found the sauna empty, the warmth first rate.

They looked and peered in the dark of the room,

And, in the rafters, next to the broom,

Saw what used to be the skin of their sister,

Shredded and torn to bits like a popped blister.

This, they knew, was done by the gnome,

Who suffers no tardiness inside its home.

Something about fighting

There’s something about fighting

With words or with some biting.

As long as it’s quite even,

(Not between me and Fry, Stephen:

Knockout in round 1.)

Fighting, can be fun.

To see who’s stronger,

Whose argument’s wronger,

Who’s with more muscle,

Or who tries to hustle.

Even if it hurts

Or destroys your shirts

Friendship built up,

(With a broken tea cup)

Shards in the cheek;

A smile on the beak.

Lazy fame

I’m quite lazy, not a very hard worker,

A well-known mindless labor shirker.

My family knows me as do my friends,

Never ask me to finish their odds and ends.

I met a person for the first time

And she said, at the drop of a dime:

“You’re that guy, the super lazy one!

You’re pretty famous under the sun.”

I didn’t mind that as it’s quite true.

And it made me likeable in her view.

But that still wasn’t the peak of my fame,

To be quite honest, that was still quite lame.

The peak, the zenith happened one slow day,

Breakfast time, my mind of hay.

I took an apple to start my early feast,

And it spoke up, it’s tongue now released.

“Oh you’re the lackadaisical Letharg of now!

I’m so out of words! I mean wow! Just wow!

I can peel myself to save you the trouble,

You can just stay there and stroke your stubble.

Just point me towards the peeling knife

I’ll do my best to enable your life.”

And so it did, with the knife not sharp

While whistling a tune that sounded like a harp.

As I thanked it quite confounded,

It said “no prob” and left me astounded.

It appreciated my lazy and helped me with haste.

And I just appreciated its sweet taste.