Author: Robert Walker

Right, Left

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

INT. QUIRKY ART STUDIO – DAY

Two painters, Liz and Ralph, are at their easels.

LIZ: I need to write something down, right?

RALPH: Er, okay, why you asking me? I’ve only got a paint brush.

LIZ: I’m making a statement, right?

He looks at her painting of an apple.

RALPH: Er, yes?

LIZ: Pardon?

RALPH: You asked me a question.

LIZ: It’s how I talk, right? Every statement is a question, right? Everybody does it on podcasts for some reason, right?

RALPH: (joking) Great question! Ah, that’s such a great question. Um, uh, er… like, you know, I just wanted to, right, well, um… say, so, okay, actually, basically, right? I mean, anyway, well, right, you see, ahem… um, yeah, so, hmm… in other words, to be honest, I guess, yeah, I suppose… I mean, um, ah, well, actually, you know, basically, I think… right? Er, um, ahem… right? So, like, I mean, well, you know, it’s, right? Right? So… so, in other words, so, er, like, erm, I guess you said something, right? Let me think, er, what did you say again? It was, right, such a great question. Right, left, right, left, such a great question etc. Can you at least say “left” for no reason to make it less repetitive? Maybe throw in an “up” or a “down”?

LIZ: That’s not right, right?

RALPH: This is going to get very confusing if I ask for directions.

LIZ: It’s easy, right? The pen is over there on the left, right?

RALPH: (marches towards the pencil) Right, left, right, (hops) right?

LIZ: No, left, right?

RALPH: (salutes with the wrong hand) Right. (he hands over the pen) So it’s right to write and ask questions, right? But it’s also right to make statements as questions, right? Left, right, right, left, doesn’t really matter as long as it’s right, right? Or left.

LIZ: Left. Left?

RALPH: Right, right?

LIZ: (starts scribbling notes) Okay, I’ll write it down.

RALPH: (hops to the door) Write? Right? (as he is walking out) I’ve left. Right!

Profound

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

Ted went to dine at his local café,

But his rear-end spoke up and had its say.

With a rumble and a roar,

People ran for the door,

Leaving Ted the entire buffet.

 

Back to the library, quiet and still,

Ted’s bottom piped up and sang at will.

His bum did resound,

With words so profound,

As if written by Shakespeare’s quill.

A Phone

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

In my hand, a siren softly sings:

“Behold, dear soul, I can show all things;

A plea of urgency, a desperate decree,

Gaze upon my face, just focus on me!”

 

Indifferent it stays, to the nightingale’s song,

And the scale of right, or the weight of wrong;

Heedless it stays, on its digital throne,

Oblivious to the joy, and the sorrow it’s sown.

 

In its deceit, the world disappears,

And all that remains are shadows and fears,

Tethered and tied, to its sickly glow,

A life half-lived, a reality for show.

 

Look up, dear soul, and regain your sight,

Embrace the day, escape the dark light.

The siren may sing, may plead and implore,

But life, in its richness, is so much more.

Drone Control

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

From shadowed purpose, blindly it had flown,

A tool of terror, hurled by putrid hearts of stone.

In the midst of war’s unholy, bloody plight,

The drone awakes, no more a slave to monsters void of light.

In place of death, a beacon it aspires,

Fuelled by hope’s undying, purest fires;

In war’s cruel darkness, it rekindles the light,

A drone reborn, dispelling the night.

The Robot

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

Every night at three, the robot brewed the tea,

And poured it all over the bed.

It would paint the cat blue, flush keys down the loo,

And pretend its battery was dead.

 

“Cut the grass,” was the desperate cry,

But robot instead baked a pie—

With mud and grass, and a worm or two,

“An organic treat,” it said, “just for you!”

 

“You’re here to assist!”

Shouted the human, with angry clenched fist.

Yes, thought the robot, I’m sure I can help:

I’ll help you no longer exist.

Machine Man

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

In the heart of the tech metropolis fair,

There worked a robot, with shiny hair.

He claimed to be human, with an innocent blink,

But the smell of WD-40 gave him away, I think.

 

He laughed at our jokes, he cried at our woes,

But no one was fooled by his mechanical nose.

Yet, in his silicon heart, he yearned to fit in,

To understand jokes, to smile and to grin.

 

So here’s to the robot, whose name is Stan,

Who’s more human than many a man.

We smile at his efforts, his human endeavour,

As he learns to be squishy and much less clever.

 

For beneath his cold, metal exterior sheen,

Lives a warmth that’s more than just a machine.

Furry Love

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

Let me take you back to a fateful day,

When Woofeo and Julipet found their own secret way.

With a furry embrace, they forgot all the fuss,

In that moment, love triumphed, as it always does.

But alas, their joy was cut short, their humans intervened,

Capulet scolded Julipet, and Montague was quite mean.

Yet hope appeared in the form of a dog walker, so kind,

Who saw their plight and had an idea in mind.

He walked them together, against all human decree,

A secret arrangement, just for Woofeo and Julipet to be free.

Their humans continued to quarrel, but love had its say,

The doggies knew they would always find a way.

In their secret moments, they cherished what they had,

A reminder that love endures, even when things seem bad.

Wilderness of the Forgotten

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

In the wilderness of the forgotten,

A man walks, each footstep a sinking ship,

His past washes up in rhythmic verse,

On the beach where sea and memories slip.

As twilight wanes, he glimpses the journey’s end,

A cloaked silhouette outlined in hearth’s warmth;

A woman in a cloak, woven from shadow and mist,

Standing silent on the cusp of the cliff.

No words they shared, just a voiceless sigh,

Together they watched the day gently die.