“…and all that remained was a pile of ash, by a burnt pair of shoes on the ground…”
Young Sam was watching the news on TV,
“…man bursts into flames unexpectedly…”
the picture showed flames leap from his belly,
spontaneous combustion – on telly!
“And all that remained was a pile of ash,
by a burnt pair of shoes on the ground,
and a dangerous question we never should ask,
with an answer should never be found.”
That dangerous question nevertheless,
“Why do we spontaneously combust?”
Got Sam hard thinking to hazard a guess,
is it something we eat, do or touch?
something we drink?
something we think?
something we all can do?
something so magical,
something so tragical,
is it made-up or true?
“…to bated breath, his baton drawn”
MARACAS ON CRACKERS
Searching for a new sound, the composer sat confused
Music was his food of love, but he couldn’t hear the muse
“A diet of music is called for!”, he thought it a bright idea,
To eat what once he would play, to taste what he needed to hear
So he ate…
Marinated guitar, baby-belles (tubular),
Triangle fritters, double bass pittas,
Haloumi harps, elbow of oboe,
Tambourine jus with violin roux,
Xylophone on the bone, flute en croute,
Trumpets on crumpets, maracas on crackers
He finished his meal with a Swiss glockenspiel,
Washed down with clarinet claret,
And baked drum sticks for percussion toothpicks,
Piano sorbet for cleansing the palette
He strode into the concert hall, to bated breath, his baton drawn,
Then let out one almighty roar, a truly original and gutsy score
A triumphant melodious malodorous,
As never composed before.
Yapparister – April 13
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