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.


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 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 – 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.