The little things we say to get us through the hurricane And Other Poems

By Oliver Kleyer

The little things we say to get us through the hurricane

Fear not, my love, it will be over soon,, the howling
has become much lower & the loose roof tiles have already
stopped their banging.

Don’t be afraid, we’re safe in this house, 
it’s solid. My greatgrandfather built it with his
own two left hands. 

I know the trash cans are racing down Main Street. 
I’ll collect them tomorrow, when it’s over. 

Look, even the trees are waving to signal that
everything is allright. One is even
caressing the roof to console the house.

Put your head on my shoulder, darling, 
I will stay with you until the storm is over, 
even if it takes days or years. 

Ode to my mandolin

1. I love my mandolin. 
I just wish I played better or at least found the time to practice more regularly. 
Although, once a year is regularly. 

2. In a conversation with my Grandma, I mentioned, that now that I play the guitar quite well (a bold exaggeration), I think about learning a new string instrument, maybe the mandolin. Next Christmas, she bought me a semi-acoustic mandolin. 
I wonder what would have happened if I had mentioned the sitar (which I am also very curious to try). 

3. The other day I recorded myself practising a simple etudé for beginners.When I played the recording back, it sounded like plucking the strings of an egg cutter. 

4. It’s not that I want to become the next Jethro Burns or Bill Monroe. But at least, I want to master the “Pippi Longstockings”-Theme. 
Tjolahopp tjolahej tjolahoppsan-sa!

5. I love my mandolin!
And I hope she is not sad or disappointed, because I don’t play her that often. She is always on my mind (and hopefully doesn’t mind being referenced with a song that does not involve a mandolin). 

The Umbrella Man

You see him almost every day, 
his trusted friend always by his side. 
In the sun, he walks around with 
his hands behind his back,
his umbrella dangling from his wrist. 
When it’s raining, he shelters him
and everybody walking with them. 
You can smile about him, but
don’t make fun of him,
because he has a very familiar face. 

Oliver Kleyer is a teacher and poet from Northern Germany. He writes in German and
English. His poems have appeared in The Creative Zine, The Basilisk Tree, Molecule – a tiny
lit mag and elsewhere. When not teaching or writing, he can be found in theme parks,
working on his skee ball skills. Follow him on Twitter.com/funnyfrogget