Poems by Paul Hassing

Here you'll find a collection of poems I've written over the years.

Most were created at times of intense emotion: love, fear, grief, anger - you know the drill!

The full spectrum of human emotion, wrought in words.

I hope you enjoy them and warmly welcome your comments.

Written while stunned by the death of my beloved mother, Barbie Hassing.

my brain is getting smaller

as the world cuts it to size

we're dumbing down the hard bits

since we found that i'm unwise

the small pond of the big fish

now the marianas trench

i'm drowning in life's ocean and

it's something of a wrench

the man who once set vcrs

can barely lick a stamp

i thought i had a searchlight

it was a miner's lamp

Dedicated to my beautiful wife, Fonnie.

I'm your bok choy baby,

You can call me Green Pea Paul.

I've got grinnage from that spinach

And that's not bloody all.

I'm a lamb-ramming psycho

Who never took a leek.

I've had a hit of gravy

That'll last me till next week.

So thank you wife so precious

For an ace and decent feed.

You're smart, cool and pretty,

And you fill my every need.

A true story. Jen will confirm it!

Jenny was juggling on our balcony on Sunday afternoon.

Her three coloured rings spun through the air above her concentrated gaze.

Suddenly, she lost control and the purple ring landed on my empty Violet Crumble wrapper.

'It's an omen!' I cried.

Jenny looked, and understood.

Later, she was juggling again, and this time, the purple ring landed on a cushion.

It, too, was purple!

We stared at the ring, at the cushion and at each other.

'It's an omen!' she exclaimed.

'Purple seeks purple!' I shouted.

And we understood.

It was groovy.

These flowers actually bloom around my wife's birthday.

This flower is called a 'Fonnie Flower' because:

It's very hard to find.

Once you see it, you want to look at it all the time.

It's modest, yet breathtakingly beautiful.

It doesn't compete with other flowers.

It thrives in dark, barren conditions.

It turns an ordinary patch of clover into a tiny paradise.

It opens itself to the world, regardless of risk.

It's the pinkest thing ever.

The closer you look at it, the more you see.

It sums up all of nature's genius and goodness.

It rolls up tightly in cold weather.

It has a golden heart that's full of light and empty of evil.

The beautiful Fonnie Flower!

Written in a (vain) attempt to keep a communal work kitchen clean!

When holding a wet teaspoon,

Prithee, stop and think:

'Shall I wash and dry the b@$#ard,

Or chuck it in the sink?'

Imagine all your workmates

Gathered at your side;

Fondling their bread knives

As you try to decide.

Picture sixteen Staysharps,

Keen and cold and true,

Dicing you to dog food

And you'll know what to do.

My goodly mate Adam

Was kindly and smart.

He had a big brain and

He had a big heart.

His IQ was thrice mine

Twice doubled and then

Paired with the first number

Plus three score and ten.

His spirit was open;

His largesse a crime.

He gave ten percentiles

Though he'd not a dime.

He moved through his life with

Attention and care.

He had all the fixings

He was all but there.

Yet ever so down in

The small of his back,

An unguarded portal

Open to attack.

A target for mean things

Like toothpicks and fluff

And burrs, glass and gravel

And other sh!the stuff.

Instead of a bandaid

Or maybe a shirt,

He twisted and strained to

Check out all these hurts.

This thing in its doing

Brought Adam to ground.

But when he arrived there,

Not a foe was found.

Ensconced in their bolt holes

Safe in their disguise.

They mocked and they jeered him

And bested his eyes.

Meanwhile the bright sunshine

Impatient to rest

Moved over the mountains

And on to the west.

Instead of a young man

With noble head high,

A hunched figure fretting

With bulldust and flies.

The day is not over.

The sun is not set.

There's time yet to rise up

And over things get.

So stand to, young soldier,

Thy head from the sand.

Your heart and your brain seek

To know this fine land.

Press on ye regardless

Of everyday crud.

F% all of the numbnuts!

And go unto God.