April poetry 2 – Milk


At the surface,
milk congregates as a disgusting film.
The buttery yellow of this film, the sweet
scent of the ivory liquid’s broken down sugars,
the whisper of boiling bubbles,
they all sure do mock you with the potential
of oral pleasures.

Don’t blame yourself –
you simply lack the necessary information, like
the fact that the film’s underbelly
is a slimy, sticky, decomposing jellyfish.

So you’ll try it once.
“UGH that’s gross!!!”

move on.

I’m sorry
I’m laughing at your misfortune –
I really shouldn’t be. The only reason
why I didn’t get seduced –
I’d been force-fed it as a child,
I guess they wanted to teach us early on that life is full of shit.
I mean “surprises”.

At the surface, the milk congregates as a disgusting film.

You quickly and gently peel it away these days.
Now here is your favourite part –
the way it sticks to the roof of your mouth.


Movember poetry challenge – Day 30 out of 30


It was all so typical that day:
He inhaled an entire pepper to show how tough he is.
She was not particularly impressed.
Scarce stoic tears streamed down his cheeks.
The room was getting filled with a tipsy out-of-tune Happy Birthday .

There are only that many attractions in this zoo,
But there’s hoping that something will go noticeably haywire
This time around.

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