An Ode to Angry Birds

Once again I bring to you a frivolous Ode:

An Ode to Angry Birds

O Angry Birds,
Why are you so?
It was those damned
Porcine foe.

They stole your eggs
And now must pay
In explodey, crunchy
Smashy ways.

O Angry Birds,
Where shall we go?
To defeat those damned
Porcine foe?

In space, in Rio,
In the Wild West,
Anywhere we find those
Porky pests.

O Angry Birds,
Why is it so much fun?
When I told myself
Work should be done?

It’s the height of
Procrastination
To smash and crash
And dream of bacon.

An Ode to an Ode

Some of you may know that sometimes I write Odes to Inanimate Objects. Today, I’m writing an Ode… to an Ode:

An Ode to an Ode

An Ode to an Ode;
A jest to a jest.
Hiding behind word-play
To escape seriousness.

Writing novels is tricky
But Odes are just fun,
So I’d rather write Odes than the
Bazillionth novel I’ve begun.

How can you blame me?
Odes are short and witty.
Novels are long and hard,
Writing them is rarely pretty.

So here I am, writing this
Instead of what I should be.
Hoping that at the end
I’ll at least feel happy

That I’ve written something
At all, instead of watch tv,
Or drink beer in the afternoon
Which is tempting me.

I’ll probably still do these things,
But at least I can say,
To myself if no one else: Hey,
I’ve written a freaking Ode today.