Spring fauna

The spring sun now shines all the way down.

I can feel it on my brown arm and my frown.

The night is losing its endless fight,

Time spent awake no longer too tight.

Especially because of the local fauna,

Going crazy in the morning like Madonna.

Screeching and chirping at 5 am,

It’s not like I never want to hear them,

But, as you know, sleep is nice,

And 5-ish hours do not suffice.

So, any birds reading this right now,

Mating calls only after nine would be wow.


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.

Slow talking

If you think about it for a small while,

Singing is making a sound last one mile,

Stretching it out at the weirdest places,

As- and descending, making weird faces.

You could get your point much faster across

Talking like you usually do, big boss.

Although, I guess it’s not as fun.

Fun faces and sounds can brighten up the sun,

Make others dance or maybe tear up,

If done really well, make them bounce like a pup.

I guess this shows that looking real close,

Can show that something has a dumbness dose,

But take a step back to your normal place,

And you’ll re-receive that smile on your face.

Analyzing is good if you want to see clearly,

Singing full force if you love life dearly.

Tribal tradition

Here we see the tribal tradition.

Where they gather of their own volition,

Under a thatched roof once in a season,

To rid themselves of vestiges of reason.

Singing in unison at people not there,

Inhaling superstitiously charged air.

Suggestible ones can forcefully tremble,

They swoon strongly, convulse and dissemble.

Food is eaten with considerable fervor,

Looks like bread to an outside observer,

But I was told of an unseen meaning,

Some sort of fabricated inward cleaning.

While they do this, they talk about how,

They are good people for coming in now.

This mental patting on the back is vital,

In keeping ties close, although it does entitle.

This is all for now, come back next week,

We’ll delve into their attitude to critique.

Screens at night

Computer screens at night don’t sleep.

The IT class full of optical beep.

Flashes of light of many different hue,

Red ones more common than green or blue.

I don’t know why this is done,

Or why they wait till there’s no sun.

Maybe it’s easier to see in the dark,

A bit like talking is better in a park.

Maybe they talk about their hard day,

Of all the users that spat their way.

Someone nice who scrubbed one stain,

For a screen being dirty is like tooth pain.

Or maybe they sing their silent songs,

A melody of color just where it belongs.

“It’s not milk any-moo”

I knew a girl who sang so bad

Milk turned to butter as it got sad.

She was banned from visiting farms,

Or singing with groceries in her arms.

Thinking her only option was to be a hermit,

Giving up joys of society, such as Kermit.

Then she was approached by a multinational,

With a good offer, fair and rational.

They wanted her to work in their shop,

Singing all day to farm a brand new crop.

“We’re launching a line of butter-like goo,

With the tag line ‘It’s not milk any-moo.’

You’d be perfect to streamline the production,

Plus, your passion would get some suction.

We would record every song you sing,

Use them in the ads with some added zing.

You’d be heard by millions of clients,

And it’d be harmless due to our science,

We’d tinker with the sound and take away the curdle,

With auto tune, it’s not much of a hurdle.

If you’re in, just sign here in blood,

Oh wait, no, I meant ‘sign to bloom your bud’.

Ehem, never mind that, what say you?

Will you sign and make your dream come true?”