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.
.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Borderless 