Movember poetry challenge – Day 28

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The walls in my room
Are frosted pink of
Heavily diluted blood.
The chocolate brown
Of my solid wood
(Higher price point) IKEA
Asserts that I’m above
In the food chain.

We never cared for
Decorating, though
There’s this gnawing
Pressure to express yourself,
To prove you are
An artist not a peasant.

I never care, I commit
A faux-pas
Making me
A little too hick,
But unmistakeably,
The very formula
Of the Zeitgeist.

I don’t care about that
Nonsense either.
I do care about what I commit to –
Not touching the walls
In case they have ears.

Do not be alarmed –
I am not paranoid.

I savour the refreshing
Monopoly on my
Demographic data.
I bathe in it. I am
The King of my targeted
Bring me my cape.
Bow down.


Movember poetry challenge – Day 27

A walk in the park

Now go away to a place
Where, in hindsight,
It would still be a good place to go.

It might be instinctual

To hold your breath when you step
And into
The soggy surface;

To hold your breath
To prevent those mouldy spores
From penetrating your lungs;

From making their way
Into your bloodstream;

From penetrating
The blood-brain barrier.

It will then be instinctual
To fight the initial instinct,
To scoff at it
As something foolish.

To be bold instead,
To open your nostrils wide
And welcome what comes your way.

Don’t forget though,
We are penicillin,
And we’ve been misused
For about a century.

Movember poetry challenge – Days 25 and 26

Day 25 – Probability

The odds were never in his favour,
And he suspected as much
As he watched the winged rats
Peck on no-longer-his pepperoni pizza
That the wind swept away from his lap.

They were swallowing it all:
Chilli flakes,
Processed meat.

He was watching with disgust and fascination
As a colourless sparrow hopped into the middle of the action
And stole a big piece from the slower giants.

That food has got to be the end of them,
And yet they can’t help themselves,
Mindless and driven by an outdated instinct.
They can’t fight the temptation.
Hell, they don’t even know that’s temptation.

The odds were in their favour, so
No one would remove them from it either.

Day 26 – Metrics

Sometimes it’s tough to know
If your score
Is your personal best
Or personal worst:

I’ve pulled my own tooth.

I saw seven disturbing dreams about being unprepared in rapid succession.

I contained my laughter in a crowded elevator.

I only cried a little bit at the movies.

My own worst fears left me unmoved.

Movember poetry challenge – Day 23

A poem about writing poems

As an engineer I believe that
An accurately formulated problem
Gets you closer to the solution.

I’d say writing poems
Is like riding a bicycle:
I am not really good at it,
I don’t particularly enjoy it,
I am scared of the street cars,
Why do it when there are better ways?

Which is why I’d rather compare it
To driving my car:
An excuse to not share a drink,
A pretext to avoid the crowds,
An ability to come and go as I please.

I don’t know if I can call myself a poet,
But I am full of shit.

Movember poetry challenge – Day 22

Spare keys

They are to be shared
Casually. For convenience
Of both parties involved.

They are to be shared
Just in case I lose mine,
Just because I assume
That it won’t be odd
To call you if and when I do.

They are shared so that
You can come and go
As you please
With ease like a cat.

They are shared
Trusting that you won’t
Rob my home or my head
Or my heart. Therefore
They are shared with you
Who cannot.

Movember poetry challenge – Days 20 and 21

Day 20 – Frost

Frozen fingertips
Aren’t that bad. Take that hand –
You’re left with a gift!

Day 21 – Thinking Forward

When I’m gone
I want to be buried
Behind the drywall
Of that normal house
Down the street
On the left

I want to be buried
Behind that beige wall
That’s undecorated
No paintings or pictures
No markers of life

I want to be positioned awkwardly
Twisted spine, frozen grimace
Clutching a picture of my own ass
So that if ever discovered

My corpse would induce
Laughter and vomit
In equal proportions
No in-betweens

Movember poetry challenge – Day 15

I wrote an aubade because

I’m not a bird but I rise early,
Though not enough to call it late.
The rustle of my feathers – I contain it,
For otherwise I’ll make you come to life.

When I lean closer with my beak not touching
Your solid surface, I always hold my breath.
I do that so that I can distinguish
Your blinded sleep from my own death.

I’m not a bird but someone told me
That that’s the only way to fly.
I always do while you’re made of marble.
You’re heavy
But you’re how I know the geometry
The contingency
The fabric
Of the sky.