April poetry 3 – Control


to take control into my own bare hands,
I scooped a seed out of a sweet lemon,
Fragrant lemon,
Lemon with rind that I thoroughly enjoyed chewing.

I put that seed into a little pot,
And watered it for weeks.

Three anticlimactic weeks passed,
and finally a little plant appeared:
Green, cute, fresh.

I keep watering it.
It keeps growing bigger,
And bigger, and bigger.
It’s all going according to plan.

Take that, life!
Going to make my own damn lemons
(in a few years)
if I manage to overcome my own curiosity
to dig the little buddy out,
risking its short and uneventful life.
Curiosity to know what exactly it looks like beneath the surface.


February poetry 3 – Mars One

Mars One

They are prettier now that they are dead,
Now that we can no longer pinpoint why
Exactly she was a huge asshole and
Whether he ever drank too much. We still
Hear their consolations: this too shall pass.

And we’ll never join them in their frosted
Star-shine, no matter how hard we pretend
That killing them off in the same way and
Arranging their corpses with gusto will
Ensure we’ll meet again. How do you do?

Solitude is for social animals
Like you and me. Is that what hell is like
If you were to believe in it? Is hell
A good place? Is it an up-and-coming
Neighbourhood with hip cafes and antique

Shops and very low crime rate and only
Well-integrated, soft-spoken, wealthy
(But not in an intimidating way)
Immigrants peppered thinly over the
Smiling, bright, pink-cheeked faces? You betcha!

They are prettier now that they are dead,
And so we’ll be as well, one day, after
A sufficient amount of time passes
And no one remembers how we pillaged
This hostile, stinky, dusty and surely
Uninhabitable patch of dirt.

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.

September poetry challenge – Day 27

An okay night for looking at the moon

The crescent is low tonight,
Floating in the clear black water
Like a child’s ball washed ashore,
Disturbed with a bright flash light.

All you hear is a mute scream
When the light hits its surface.

How easy it is to love
This ball when it’s white and plump,
Its dimples begging for more:

More songs, more sighs, more kisses.

They howl at the reflection.

Would you howl at this sliver?

September poetry challenge – Day 24

Necessary change of seasons

The arsonist is late this time.

Is he stuck in traffic?
Has he forgotten?
Has he even been called for?
Did you leave a voicemail?

After all this time
One would assume
He never forgets,
So that option is out of question.

But he is late,
And that fact starting to show.

As pleasant as it might feel
Not to have him arrive,
Clumsy and morose,
Reeking of decomposing roadkill,
Inevitably turning pulsating lungs into
Salty, dusty, grey fluff,
Don’t you also miss

How lovely they burn,

Red, orange, yellow,
Little tongues of flame?

The arsonist is late.
Time-stamping among the living-dead
Is becoming ungainly.

Poem – Paved with apples

Again, it’s that time of the year
When the roads are paved with apples.
Yellow and red oxidized chaos,
Smelling wet and rotten sweetly.

Again, crushing them with my feet,
When I could’ve been eating them,
Apples. Now they aren’t for me,
Mushy brown and rotting sweetly.

Perhaps, when it’s this time next year
I’ll be able to catch the apples
Right into the hem of my dress
In time, before they rot sweetly.


Poem – Tree trunk

Hurry up, sit yourself down
Onto this chair that smells like
A rotting tree trunk that got
Taken down by a storm and
Nobody was there to hear.
Only worms and termites saw.

Shut your mouth now and resume
Inhaling the dusty spores
That will take root in our lungs.
Not a doubt, they will take hold
And will eat because you could.
Only worms and termites know.