Wer einstmals uns Gregorianen
Zum Tranke gab Krambambuli
Konnt nicht die Konsequenzen ahnen
Doch heute Abend sieht er sie
Drum singen wir die Melodie
Zum Lobe des Krambambuli
Krambim-bam-bambuli, Krambambuli!

And right here in the Oratory
Krambambuli’s reign has begun
From wine, rum, sugar stems its glory
And once the cooking has been done
We sing together merrily
Our fuel is called Krambambuli
Krambim-bam-bambuli, Krambambuli!

Krambambuli in all its glory
Has come to us for our delight
So joyful and merry is its story
Keeps us awake all through the night
And even from the Holy See
There’s praise for old Krambambuli
Krambim-bam-bambuli, Krambambuli!

So pour me a glass, we drink together
For none of us shall drink alone
Our heads are lighter than a feather
When our fine drinking skills we hone
Tonight is this fraternity
United in Krambambuli
Krambim-bam-bambuli, Krambambuli!

A spark of genius, nothing more

This is the story of someone who would
Never tell you what he was up to, but he could
Do a lot of good things if he knew that he should
Do those things, but if not, he was up to no good.
Thus the story ends
Without even beginning
Because it depends
On the rhymes always winning
Just a play of words and
A trip to absurd land
Nothing fancy at all
Hit the wall
With a ball
And remember the fall
Is it autumn, my friend?
Is it close to year’s end?
And this poem, if it is one,
Will be finished, then it is done
So if you know how
Cut it now.
But somehow I do not want it to end
I am smelling the salty pang
Of weeping defeat, and to amend
This, let’s go out with a bang.


Wish I could do that
I am too stiff and too fat
I am too old and to weak
But even at my physical peak
I could not do it
Yes, it is true, it
Has never been a strength of mine
Cartwheeling? I must decline

I bet I would crack my spine
If I tried it, or break my arm
Or both. Only bodily harm
Can come to me from it
I am simply not fit
There are other things for me to shine
But I have this feeling
I will never go cartwheeling


I am wheelbarrowing a load of cement
I have no idea where the other one went
To the hole, to the hole in the ground I was sent
Though I cannot be certain what that really meant
So I am struggling uphill with my load of cement
And the path that goes up there is curvy and bent
There is time for my innermost anger to vent
To find serenity and my sins to repent


Why do you even talk to me?
You know that there is not a thing to see
Or learn for you
And while you are a drooling imbecile
Who’s only worth my time when I have time to kill
I loathe the fact
And even this is true
I lost my tact

It grows on you
The more I call you stupid names
The more it’s true
And not to start a war of flames
I’d rather just pull back
I would not waste my time on you
So now I act out of the blue
And will despise you ever so
My soul is black
Some part of it will always show

Here ends the piece
Written out of spite
To last a day, a night
And be forgotten, lest anyone
Remembers you
And even hatred is too good to feel
Towards you, and ignorance be your seal
For I loathe the fact
With all the credit due
I lost my tact.

Mr Blonde

Your situation is dire
You are bound to a table and a laser is just
About to cut you in half, and you must
Now prevent, and soon, lest you never will sire
A child of your own, so you talk to the villain
To listen to you and to stop all this killin‘
And you ask „Should I talk“, as the seconds tick by
„No, Mr Blonde, I expect you to die!“

Your situation is dire
You are bound to a rocket that is ready to start
And the girl here dying would just break your heart
As her beauty is something you really admire
And you use your watch to cut through the rope
And you say „Shall we go?“ but she shatters your hope
Aims a pistol at you, the traitor, so sly
„No, Mr Blonde, I expect you to die!“

Your situation is dire
You’re surrounded by mooks with automatic guns
But you dispose of them in a volley of puns
And hit them on their heads and evade their fire
And there is the villain, ready now to depart
From his crumbling lair, but you are too smart
And you catch him and hold him with glee in your eye
„The name’s Bond, you f***wad“, and then you let fly.


A rather unpleasant thing to do
Oh quite the opposite
It all depends on your point of view
Don’t be a hypocrite

I love the world the way it is
Even if it could be better
A problem is that religious biz
People following books by the letter

But most of it is just plain old greed
Wanting more than they’ll ever own
If people just knew and sticked to what they need
There’d be way fewer things to bemoan

A rather mysterious thing to read
What’s the start got to do with the middle?
Why the poet performed such a reckless deed
Well, I leave that to you as a riddle


Write as if your life depended
On it, and you’d find upended
All that is civilisation
If you were to stop

Write to be the king of writers
Be among the bravest fighters
For advanced alliteration
Aiming for the top

Letters dancing, words evolving
All the known world is revolving
Now around this new creation
Literary love

Let the writing force flow through you
And the rhymes will come straight to you
And some rhythm takes its station
here, beyond, above

Lame and weak are all excuses
So are some elaborate ruses
There may be some altercation
But the point still stands

Write as if your life depended
On it, with this verse amended
To avoid your will’s cessation
Here the poem ends.


Give me a thought to think, a pen to write
Give me a pinch of romance for a start
Give me some time, and soon it sees the light
A piece of poetry, a piece of art

By careful crafting I will make it rhyme
And give it metre, rhythm, outer form
Will use much effort, and a lot of time
To have it fit an arbitrary norm

But poetry is more than crafting lines
The force of feelings needs to be put in
‚Tis through emotion that a poem shines
‚Tis force of love and hate that makes it win

The most impressive poems, to my mind,
Show craft and feeling skilfully combined.