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Blue Kangaroo

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

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.

Journal 2023-07-22

by Robert Walker, posted in Journal

Today I was dancing in the rain on a deserted beach with some seagulls.

It’s always a good idea to come alive before one dies.

When I was very small, my grandad assuredly told me that there is no such thing as God. Later that day, I couldn’t find the boot of one my action men anywhere. Frustrated, I said to God, “I promise I will believe in you if you show me the action man boot.” I found it immediately when I looked in the pile of toys again. I kind of feel obliged to keep my promise.

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.