This poem was originally published on 6 March 2016.

Let me switch on the stars,
And paint a fresco on a napkin.
Fix the moon to the sky,
with nothing but a hairpin.
You can straighten out the clouds,
Just take a lint roller.
And use a spatula,
To whip the wind into order.

‘Tis a weird wild world,
That cat and priest sang about.
Even a robin swooped in,
And squeezed the humour out.
So just take a fork,
Untangle all the grass,
To make up for the shadows,
All cut half-arsed.

Ease the tempo of the clock,
Tape the chorus to the soundtrack,
Call the biplane around,
For this misfit of a playback.
There is a stockpile of breeze blocks,
To quell the bloody dawn.
Tighten the ropes a tad,
I see a ripple coming on.

‘Tis a weird wild world,
That Howard is off to capture,
As did van Gogh colour it,
A thing that enraptures.
They say some power,
Made it in seven days.
To which I shake and chortle.
We make it every day.

Note: The last verse of the original version of Weird Wild World referenced a director/comedian whom I admired at the time of writing. In subsequent years, I learned of his allegedly cruel and sickening behaviour. I do not have the power to dismiss such people from our world, but I can omit them from my writing. And I will continue to do so, unapologetically. They will find no sanctuary of respect here. As a result, I have replaced him with Russell Howard, a far superior comedian, someone (I believe) whose character and work embody the spirit of this poem.

If you, or someone you know, is a survivor and would like to speak with someone, you can find the nearest information and support through the global directories of No More and the University of Minnesota. I wish you love, strength, and a weird wild wonderful world.