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.