Twisting words

Twisting words is for crooks,

This applies to politics and writing books.

All those synonyms, as if they were needed,

Rules of clarity go all but unheeded.

Languages as well, some are seedy,

Grammatical rules with exceptions are needy.

I learned Spanish in school,

The teachers took me for a fool:

Conjugating verbs, distorting their meaning

I wouldn’t have it, so I did some cleaning.

I got a fail on every exam,

Past perfect tense? I don’t give a damn.

That is why I’m now learning Chinese.

No conjugation, the grammar’s just a breeze.


Opposites and kind-ofs

What’s the opposite of a phone conversation?

Sleeping in an abandoned, roofless train station.

(A moist mouth and a cold ear.)

What is exactly the same as giving a speech?

Bungee jumping into a tectonic breach.

(Some applause after wanting to disappear.)

What’s half as good as doing the dishes?

Licking them thoroughly according to your wishes.

(Plates are wet but not exactly clean.)

What’s half as bad as lying to a friend?

Lying to a priest that’s close to the end.

(It’s still a lie, but the truth remains unseen.)

What’s a bit like an uncomfortable hug?

Accidentally stepping on a super slimy bug,

(Icky, but not warm, nor with a person.)

What’s the opposite of sleeping when sick?

25/7 practice of a roundhouse kick.

(Not fun after a while, and your condition will worsen.)

What’s a bit like this poem right here?

Henry Van Dyke’s works, or those of Shakespeare.

(Composed of words, although mine don’t endear.)

A bird of bad weather

Pahanilmanlintu, a bird of bad weather (pahanilman = of bad weather [paha = bad, ilma = air/weather], lintu = bird).


Someone who always foretells bad future,

A doomsayer, a human psychology-moocher,

In Finnish is called a bird of bad weather.

I like it, a small, frail creature of feather

Singing in its voice of a rain that’s coming.

You can always try to drown it out with humming,

But the melody is there always bringing you down

The bird gets happy if it ever sees a frown

Starts singing louder, with enhanced vigor.

To keep your cool, you require some rigor.

The bird gets off on making you annoyed,

Afraid, stressed, slightly paranoid.

Its singing doesn’t reflect the reality at all,

Just a good way for it to feel tall.

Ignore it, live your life like you do,

When bored, it’ll go. Not if you shoo.

Tolkien’s ranch

Fantasy stories, films and books,

With orcs and elves and Captain Hooks.

The tiniest difference makes them stand out,

Your dwarves have steam punk? What’s that about?

Well aren’t you special, Middle Earth with steam,

Please tell me your vampires have a tendency to gleam.

The fantasy worlds all live on a farm,

Ran by Tolkien and his strong arm.

He makes sure the breeding goes ok,

Nothing too fancy, nothing non-cliché.

“This one lacks a certain point in the ear…

We don’t take kindly to your kind ‘round here.

Humans as bad guys? Are you crazy?

That’s for orcs, wrong color and lazy!”

As Tolkien went to his rocking chair,

On the veranda and fixed his stare,

Fantasy worlds on his vast fields

Copulated wildly, producing great yields,

Changing a bit, superficially only,

Otherwise they’d be exiled and lonely.

Mr. T smiled as a very happy man,

Everything was going according to his plan.


I don’t think my brain is all connected.

Sensory input is not well directed.

Ice cream on my tongue and I hear punk,

Playing the guitar I feel all drunk.

Feeling the heat of my frying pan,

I saw a vision of my friend Stan.

It got disconnected, at least I think,

When I sat the pile of dishes in the sink.

The china had turned green,

Like a lean mean killing machine.

I stood there and stared at the sight,

I wanted to cook, now I’ll starve all night.

Thank-you cards

This one has almost the same rhythm as the following song: 5nizza – я не той. This is why listening to the song might enhance the reading experience.


When you want to make a card for

A friend you’re

Deeply grateful to,

Don’t crumple paper down on the floor,

There’s a simple thing

That you can do.

Just make a rhyme, and they will love it,

Just make a rhyme, even if it sucks,

Make any rhyme and they will love it,

About whatever, maybe even their ducks.

A Kalevala-rhyme is my favorite,

It’s quite neutral,

And sounds majestic,

I know everyone will savor it,


Sounds very domestic.

Traditional and they will love it,

Traditional, even if it sucks,

Make any rhyme and they will love it,

About old times, and old-timey ducks.

They always say it was well-thought-out, too

And it made them

Shed one lonely tear,

You’ll do this as well if you get a clue,

Thank yous

Are nothing I fear.

Make them cry and they will love it,

It makes them cry, even if it sucks,

Make any rhyme and they will love it,

About emotions, or sensitive ducks.

Song titles

Sometimes words don’t mean what they say,

In good songs or in the poem of the day,

There’s metaphors and other tricky stuff,

That’s why I often swallow their bluff,

Take their titles for what they seem to be,

So they become funny, at the very least to me.

Stairway to heaven is about architecture,

A staircase to the sky that will never fracture,

Stretching to the clouds and even beyond,

Funded by someone who is really fond

Of great scenery and endless sights,

And way up there, the starriest nights.

Pink Floyd was quite on the same lines,

Building a brick wall, maybe for vines,

One brick at a time is masonry’s foundation,

A bricklayer’s pride in a bad situation

Won’t be reduced to a pile of rubble,

One brick after another: not a bubble.

Pour some sugar on me, on one hand,

Is sung by someone from Candyland.

Someone with a sweet tooth (or more like a fang).

Whose opinion changed like with a bang,

As he realized breathing sugar is not easy,

After you break a sweat, you’ll feel super sleazy,

And at the onset of the second metric ton,

Shoulders get heavy, now don’t they mon?

I know there’s a meaning deeper than these,

But I enjoyed feeling the lexical breeze.