Ben jumped at a whisper, and ran from a shout,
A squirrel’s scamper would make him freak out.
He’d wince at the bubbles that popped in his soup,
And take a mile’s detour to avoid the hen’s coop.
Sunrise brought panic, sunset brought dread,
He even had nightmares when safely in bed.
But amidst all this panic, one thing held true,
Ben’s spirit was kind, his heart was true.
Even though hidden, in fear’s old embrace,
He offered to all, a kind, smiling face.
Once there was a kangaroo,
Whose colour was a peculiar blue.
He hopped around, from town to town,
Wearing a bright red velvet gown.
With a pocket watch and his bow tie neat,
He’d greet folks on the street.
“Hoppity day, isn’t it?” he’d say,
Then he’d simply hop away.
In a bustling city or some quiet bay,
His uniqueness brightened every day.
Popping in with a joyful bound,
He’d scatter laughter all around.
He’d share stories in rhyme and verse,
Of places far, and some diverse,
About a koala who could sing,
Or a pelican with a broken wing.
Through winter’s chill and summer’s glow,
He’d amuse both friend and foe,
With antics that would make you swoon,
Like juggling pies under the moon.
A wonder seen in morning’s hue,
So full of life, yet steady too;
He bids the heart to start anew,
Our bounding guide, the blue kangaroo.
In the Antarctic where the air is thin,
Lived a yoga-practicing penguin.
He stretched on the ice,
Slid once, then twice,
And giggled, “Let’s do that again!”
He practiced each pose while drinking his tea,
A sight that was peculiar to see.
But with a twinkle in his eye,
And a flipper raised high,
He was as happy as a penguin could be.
Many an axe came with the dawn,
Yet the oak tree, it stood on.
Many tried to hew its will,
Yet the oak tree, it stands still.
Its bark is scarred, each a tale,
Of axes that tried, only to fail;
The axe may come and the axe may go,
But the oak tree continues to grow.
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.
With roots sunk deep in life’s rich clay,
In this sprawling theatre of existence, I play.
Through textures of love, of hurt, of fear,
I trace the contours of moments dear;
In melodies of joy and cries of despair,
I lend my ear to the universe’s prayer.
In desires whispered, in dreams unfurled,
I cast my wish upon the world.
Beneath towering spires, Man’s hollow shrine,
We crawl and we falter, blind yet divine.
Stripped of our wings, we’re still born to fly,
With hope as our compass, under the wide-open sky.
In a world spun from lies, love remains true,
To embrace the strange, and make all things new.
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.
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.
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.
Robert Walker 