World of dust

Don’t get curious when you’re cleaning.

Hazardous, that, if you get my meaning.

My little brother, he was only eight,

He’s very little, not packing much weight.

On the powerful vacuum so fascinating,

He did some too thorough eye-investigating.

It sucked him right in, with a loud hiss.

When mother came she saw something was amiss.

She looked under the couch and above the refrigerator

She looked high and low, a real investigator.

No sign of little brother, none whatsoever.

A disaster like this, it’s not enough to be clever.

My baby brother now lives among the dust

In a world without a sun. now he must

Find his way out if he is ever able

In the dark, with a stick, a piece of a cable.


Gigantic cleaning

I got the inspiration for this while cleaning the house. I wonder how that happened…


A gigantic giant was cleaning his house,

(In my mind my hometown) and me just a louse.

He took a hoover, a jumbo jet long,

Hoovering the houses while singing his song

“Clean-thing cleans things till they’re good clean,

When things aren’t clean I get really mean.”

Not that clever, but gets to the point

Unlike some people we like to anoint…

Hoovered me in, me and my flat,

Sucked into the vortex, just like that.

Anticipating death in the darkness and the cold,

I was greeted by lamps quite functional but old.

The earlier round of people, giantly inhaled,

Had built a society that phoned and mailed.

My home landed right on the best real estate,

Right next to my I-thought-you’re-dead-best-mate.

As misfortunes go, I got pretty lucky,

After all, ho ho, it could’ve been more sucky.

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.

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.

Christmas Cleaning

Christmas cleaning of shelves and floors,

Tables and windows, sheets and doors.

I’m done, no more I’ll trip over stuff,

Cleaning helped and it wasn’t too tough.

Now I’ll do the same to my own head,

Chucking out thoughts, long since dead.

Grooming the pathways of signals of thought,

Finding every hidden, slightly sore spot.

Undoing knots of thoughts going nowhere,

Forgetting old embarrassments, like that one dare.

Reminding myself that niceness is nice,

Towards others is good but only it won’t suffice.

I will treat myself well whenever I can,

If I do, I’ll be a better man.

I should do this more than only once a year,

Suddenly the world seems to be quite clear.

Surface Napalm +

I have to clean but I’m kind of lazy

And the day’s so hot that the air is hazy.

I would need a creative solution,

Something as wise as an ancient Confucian.

Hm, there’s a dam just uphill from here,

If it were to open, as the residents fear,

It’d flush out all the grime and dust,

Peels of bananas and pancake crust.

Also expel the neighbor’s hideous house,

And some of the neighbors fastidious cows.

I wouldn’t hear their moos anymore,

My lullaby stolen would be a bore.

I guess I’ll just use my boring invention,

Surface napalm plus for dirtiness prevention.

I designed it to be easy to use,

So it could be used when I feel like a foo’.

You just spread it on every single level,

Flick a lit match and let it un-dishevel.

That is the plan and that’s what I did,

It didn’t go well, if I’m not to kid.

The tables could create the famous Fata Morgana,

But I’m still slipping on the peels of banana.

Songs of the world

Cooking and cleaning, more fun if you listen closely.


I like the songs the world sings sometimes.

When I do whatever it chirps and it chimes.


I practice Chinese with pencil on paper:

Scratches float up and off they taper.

A curve this way,

A line left to right.

I close my eyes as the music takes flight.

Horse sounds the same as duck when I write

And a bit like the moon if I do it just right.

Sometimes I only remember the spelling,

After some scratches as the sound starts telling,

Me where to go and what to do next.

Talking with the tongue as it becomes text.


I mop the floor made of stone and wood.

Whish, whosh, whush, when it’s clean and good.

The sound is dull if there’s a small stain:

The floor telling me that I need to strain.

“Use more force, that one’s grease!”

The sound becomes clean and I know to cease.

I mop along and it’s all a clear song,

That’s how I know it won’t take too long.


When I cook, the omelet squeals.

The screech goes high and then it reveals

A flip is needed, a minute and it’s done.

I just need the song, timers I have none.

Just a song sung by eggs and heat.

A song way better than any recipe I meet.