My friend, Bela wrote this poem and I really like it. So I decided to post it today. It’s called Smile, and he and I both hope you enjoy it.
I need your smile.
But pockets are empty and my words wobble when you’re around.
But that won’t stop me from fleecing your neighbour’s garden, ripping rose after rose, until hands are soaked red.
Until I think I have enough to make your lips curve, until blue and red sirens shackle me and drag me away.
But the thought of your smile shatters shackles, because your smile gives me the power to open the matrix.
It makes me want to jump on Oprah’s couch, but I’m not famous, so I’ll just jump on my housemates couch until he tells me get off, so then I’ll come and jump on your mum’s couch.
Because you need to know the power of your smile
and the fact is my words are inadequate to the expression of my feet.
Land. We walk on it, work it for food, enjoy the water that flows on it. But we forget that Land is a dangerous beast.
The metal cylinder is its enemy. It hovers above the Land, trying to escape, but the Land is only thinking about luring it into its trap and swallowing its victim whole.
Aeroplanes and Land are natural enemies. Aeroplanes are really only safe in the air. On Land they are always in danger of being eaten alive.
Every time an aeroplane comes into Land it’s praying that the Land isn’t hungry. Otherwise the victim rarely survives the devious, quick and hungry Land.
“I present to you my new time machine,” Mr Malclan said to his assistant.
His assistant looked at the rather uninspiring blue box, “Really?”
“Yes, really. Quick jump inside, there’s no time to waste.”
“But isn’t that the whole point of a time machine? Going back in time so you can waste your time watching every episode of your favourite TV series instead of studying for that test?”
Mr Malclan gave his assistant an unimpressed look as he opened the door and ushered her inside. “What do you see?” he asked from outside the box.
“Nothing. There’s no light in here.”
“Get out your phone and tell me the time.”
“Three past five.”
A minute later Mr Malclan said, “Okay, you can come out now.” His assistant came out of the box looking very unconcerned. “Now, what time is it?”
“Three past five…”
I’ve noticed that when people ask “How are you?” they expect you to answer “Good,” or something similar.
I don’t know why that is, but it annoys me. So I’ve started answering with “Horrible,” or “Combustible,” or “Murderous.” Some reactions are priceless.
But even when I answer completely unexpectedly, every now and then someone will completely miss it and say, “Good.”
Have a good murderous day everybody.