ponderous poetry for the hoi polloi



The Night Owl

Who-o-o, who-o-o!



I’m a night owl,

No need to lark about,

That featherbrained flyer and midnight-cryer,

Call it agitated depression?

Or a major obsession?

For me it’s more than a

Moonlight requisition,

Oh she can’t come soon enough!


So call me a madman, a crazy, a

Lunatic… tock… tick… tock on the

Midnight clock,

I’m that odd sock,

Sending love letters by semaphore to the

Crystal rock,

With frantic arms and

Lips on lock,

But still the clock goes

Tock… tick… tock…


Who-o-o, who-o-o!

Dear Hans

Eh! Lippershey!

What a foolish man you’ve turned out to be,

To have wasted your time on

Such unnecessaries,

How could you not see?

This ball of midnight magic!


She’s so gloriously obvious,

So obviously glorious,

The girl with the alien tongue,

Space oddity, cosmic commodity,

And so delectably different from me…


And you… and you… and you!


But keep your hands off, Hans,

And put your telescope away, old chap!

She’s mine to keep,

Locked deep within my paralysed mind,

Behind feverish eyes,

She skips through black jack skies,


That girl so familiarly foreign to me.

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