BLUE BEARD

Here we go then. The sun is warm and the weather is summery sweet. I walked in today to the tune of birds happily singing in the dappled green shade and the gentle trickle of the fountain.

This is perfect for maintaining the chill-factor. After all, being cool is literally more desirable on hot days isn't it? On go the sunglasses, out come the headphones, back goes the music and everything is super sweet.

Time for a little 'cool' poetry then. This one's kind of layered, but essentially it's about hipsters - the coolest among us perhaps. Actually, as Q pointed out the other day, you measure style individually - and therefore coolness as an objective thing? Well, it doesn't really exist, and consequently, you are the coolest person you know - because only you can be you. Similarly, limericks are out of fashion, which is kind of why I used them...


BLUE BEARD

There was a young hipster I knew
Whose beard turned a vigorous blue
He wondered if shaving
Was better than braving
The world with unusual hue?

He put on his boots and his scarf
And didn't consider it daft
To walk, not so far
To the Cereal Bar
Where his chums could all see him and laugh

But his friends were all strangely polite
To the blue-bearded hipster's delight
They all went inside and
Immediately dyed
Their beards to a blue, bold and bright!

But the hipster returned to his flat
(and immediately frightened the cat)
He knew that his beard
Was no longer... weird
And he couldn't be doing with that!

So he took off his specs with a sigh
And he reached for a bottle of dye
But a moment or two
Of removing the blue
And his beard was as white as the sky

So now the young hipster looks old
And his friends leave him out in the cold
For the cool of the crowd
Is young, blue and loud
Or so I'm reliably told