IKEA

If your home is too small, if you've no space at all,

If your dwelling's no more than a closet.

If within your new flat you could not swing a cat,

But you've already paid the deposit.

Should your focus be bent (once you've paid up the rent)

To then fill it as far as you're able.

But must save for an age from your scholarly wage

For a sofa perhaps, or a table.

Shall I make myself plain, if you're hoping in vain,

To thus make your abode fit to live in.

But your furnishing schemes are but laughable dreams

And you're practically ready to give in.

You must go to the place where they value your space,

Where there's many a brilliant idea.

To the furniture store that all students adore:

I am speaking, of course, of IKEA.

When you wander on in and prepare to begin,

You must strongly hold fast to your mission.

Through a treacherous maze of enticing displays

That suggest an unthought-of addition.

Take a look over there, it is HERMAN the chair:

So well suited to custom scholastic.

He's square and he's cheap and he stacks in a heap

Made of brushed aluminium and plastic.

And lurking close by (why not give him a try?)

It's a foldable table for dining.

And the signs there proclaim that ÄPPLARÖ's the name

Of this triumph of Swedish designing.

Now do what you can, you will stray from your plan,

Well aware you are gilding the lily.

Made of particle board that's been carefully poured:

It must be the bookcase called BILLY!

So you've purchased your stuff, that's not nearly enough:

For next you must put it together.

And you'll curse and abuse those those refractory screws

'Till you're quite at the end of your tether.

So remember my song when for shelving you long:

It's a science IKEA has mastered.

But you'll work half the day and you'll hope and you'll pray.

And after you'll want to get plastered.

A Metaphysical Ode to my Gin and Tonic

This varied world wherein we live

Has many great delights to give,

But first of these, it has to be,

The philosophic G and T.

This tribute to the polished arts,

This sum far greater than its parts,

This glassy cosmos where inside,

Four mighty elements reside.

So let us turn our thoughts to Gin,

(Where else but could the list begin?)

A liquid, yes, but one that came,

Into existence on a flame.

Beware of him, this son to Fire.

For neat he burns, just like his sire.

But flames may take on many forms,

And that which burns us, also warms.

So in the heat, one should take care

To find a cooling breeze of Air.

This role the Tonic Water claims,

And soothes us where the Gin inflames.

Observe the glass with thoughtful eyes!

And watch the bubbles form and rise.

A world in every airy sphere,

All doomed, alas, to disappear.

And then these glories will be past,

For nothing made of Air can last.

So to those things that owe their birth

To nourishing and fecund Earth.

How avidly the fruit trees climb

To flaunt the Lemon and the Lime!

'Tis true enough, their taste is sour,

But therein lies their potent power.

For sweetness never tastes so sweet

But when with sourness we may meet.

So savour thus, this fleeting mirth,

Before returning to the Earth.

Alas our years! They swiftly flow.

We've but arrived, 'tis time to go.

Consider then, the cooling Ice:

It makes itself a sacrifice.

And scorning frivolous concerns,

It back to Water thus returns.

But while it runs this hopeless race,

It makes the glass a better place.

Can we do less, my merry band,

With Gin and Tonics, close to hand?