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.

Mayday Picnic

Mayday Picnic, my friend brought bread

The sun is out! I think the winter is dead!

We have grapes and mead and buns,

And loads of sunshine, tons and tons!

I think I burned my forehead again,

First burn of summer from my snoozing Zen!

Lying in the sun after over half a year,

Eating apples and carrots with beer.

Spread some olives and peppers of bell

On the rye bread and salivate like hell.

Somebody’s cold? Here, have a hug,

And this large-ish cocoa-mug.

That damn cloud brought the winter back,

May is the month of its “I’m back!” attack.

One day sun, next day sleet,

But now I’ll eat this chocolate treat.

There’s a small dog with a stick too big,

I can hear the birds as I take a swig.

Oh my, oh my, how I missed the sun,

And my friends, and the warmth they spun!

Potato blood

Potato farmer is what I am,

No cattle or corn, berries or yam.

I eat potatoes, always have,

I know how to slice and dice or halve.

If you halved me, spilled my blood,

You’d be faced with a scent of spud.

Potato blood is what flows in me:

The outflow of when I scrape my knee,

Put it on a pan with oil and salt,

You get slices with only one fault,

Tasty and moist but heart attack prone.

Due to what I have always grown.

Potato blood in my potated veins,

I have green hair and I like plains.

I grow well even if it’s quite cold,

I like the sun but I do not like mold.

Potato for me is love distilled,

Feeds you for life if you’re not unskilled.

Free-willed vampire

In some movies with monsters and such,

People want to be like them too much.

Vampires or werewolves, doesn’t really matter,

They’ll serve themselves on a non-silver platter,

Become vampires free willingly or so.

I couldn’t say anything but “NO NO NO!”

Vampires can’t really go into the sun,

And I do think that tanning is fun.

Also, when I’m doing any kind of cooking,

You shouldn’t smell, but just stick to looking,

I use garlic more than pirates use rum,

Enough to lay a whole town on its bum.

Thus I can’t be a vampire of my own will,

No garlicky stews, the rest are just swill.

I wouldn’t mind taking the life of a stranger,

Not a second thought in the alley or the manger.

But frying veggies without the angel of taste,

Is like a turkey with water for a baste.

So, Mr. Dracula, please stay away,

Go bother others, if you please may.

Sand dune surfing

I like to think that sand dunes are snakes.

Their mission in life is to find blue lakes.

The sun doesn’t like them, it makes them hide,

The wind helps them move with their long stride.

All of the dunes in Sahara and Gobi

Travel to the sea to find them a new adobe.

The mountains work with the sun on this one,

Block their path, as for them it’s fun.

The dunes haven’t lost their hope, not yet,

Hopelessness is not a big threat.

They like the wind as it tickles their backs,

And at night they party to the max.

They also like it you surf down the sides,

You tickle them pink with each of your slides.

Some of the weak ones almost lost their hope,

But small humans sliding stopped their mope.

So, if you want to help an ancient creature,

Just find a sand surfing place and a teacher.

Ants in the grass

When I lie on my back on the grass,

Ants use my arm as an overpass.

When I lie on my leftmost side,

The shy ones go in my ear and hide.

If I sit up to lean on a tree,

Under-back sleepers will roam free.

If I stand up and feel the warm air,

They will climb up my shin hair.

If they stay on me and I swim,

I’m an island that sinks on a whim.

If the sun shines, I’ll play with the ants,

If it doesn’t I’ll hug potted plants.

This will caterpillarize my chest,

And I’ll be all-organically well-dressed.

Sun or not, you can find some friends,

Some so small you’ll need a zoom lens.

Signs of summer

It snowed today but the banks didn’t stick,

This means summer is coming real quick!

Ears didn’t freeze and I woren’t a wool hat,

Soon I’ll tan and swat at a gnat!

The birches have atoms with a greenish tint,

Soon, a sun so bright you will have to squint!

I’ll lie in the sun and not move a muscle,

Just feel the wind give my hair a soft tussle.

Signs of summer in the north are precious;

The summer is tight and the winter real spacious.

When you see even the smallest hint,

You take your hammock and then you sprint.

Enjoy the sun and the warmth so frail.

In a short while it’s replaced by hail.