Poetry by Rhys Hughes
KARMA IS A BOOMERANG Karma is a boomerang, Kismet is a net. The vampire jumped out of the dark and bit me in the neck. I picked him up and shook him down and flung him far away and that was that, or so I thought, the end of a dismal day. But I was wrong, just like this song he wasn’t finished yet. Into a bat he turned and flapped and to my dismay in every way raced back and slapped my face. How rude it is to stab with fangs a person you have just met. Karma is a boomerang, Kismet is a net. A CEILING FAN I am what I am. I am a ceiling fan. Round and round I go but why I never know. I have a feeling that I can be either fast or slow but the sounds that I make are sure to break the patience of any man who is no fan of fans, for I am never motionless. And while I twirl to cool boys and girls on torrid summer evenings, the drunken fools see the room revolve and assume I’m still at rest. Is this the best I can expect? IN THE FACE I laugh in the face of danger but not at the legs, arms or body of danger. Only an insane stranger would do that. Occasionally I suppose I might nervously chuckle or even chortle at the buckle on the belt that holds up the trousers of peril because it is shaped like an awful portal to the immortal world.
Rhys Hughes has lived in many countries. He graduated as an engineer but currently works as a tutor of mathematics. Since his first book was published in 1995 he has had fifty other books published and his work has been translated into ten languages.
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