AKA Harry Potter Limerick Day 6
Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince
Now that Snape has killed Dumbledore dead,
Voldemort’s finally gotten ahead.
He’s got domination on his brain
And he’s clearly insane,
But that’s what happens your family is inbred.
© Emilie C. Black, 2020
I walk these cobbled closes
And pathways paved with memories
That wear down with every step,
Pacing day after day,
Trying to remember and forget
The stories that haunt these streets.
I curse the ground beneath my feet
I curse the will that keeps me walking
Through constant pain.
I struggle to hear myself talking
And curse the rain and its echoes
That sound like mocking applause.
I think back to everyone I’ve lost
And finally accept
I’m not cut out to be a tour guide.
© Emilie C. Black, 2020
It could be all matter of obscenities
And extremities
Which could be the source
Of my stickiness.
It could be the beer,
Sweet and sticky
And definitely
The wrong choice for this party.
It could be their breath,
So close it leaves condensation on your eardrums
And so heavy it drowns out the techno.
It could be the sweat,
Dripping, glistening and refracting
Looking like a perverse fancy dress
Where everyone wears glass.
Realistically,
It’s all of the above but
It’s mostly semen.
Question from my favourite li’l pervert, Arzoo.
#PoeticAnswers 28 – So, What Do You Do?
I work for the Government.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
I work in Government finance and
Administrate Government grants
To help local councils develop their
Green and low-carbon infrastructure
To help promote the uptake of
Active travel and electric vehicles.
I play video games.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
Essentially, I just sit around
On my arse all day,
Pushing buttons and fiddling with joysticks,
Reminding myself of my previous,
And slightly more devious,
Sex life.
I play musical instruments.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
Piano, accordion, ukulele and banjo
Amongst a few others which,
In conjunction with my vape and my
What can only be described as “questionable” facial hair,
And the wafro which encompasses and cushions my skull,
Effectively makes me the world’s ultimate hipster.
I write poetry.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
It does nothing for the hipster stereotype
That I established in the previous stanza,
Nor does it make me sound like any less
Of an absolute wanker,
The only way I could possibly be worse
Is if I could actually afford a Macbook.
I see a therapist.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
It’s mostly just talking about
What I’ve been doing and
Why I’ve not been to see them in two months,
Which leads to further conversations about
My relationships, or apparent lack of them,
Resulting in deep-sea dives into my personality.
I suffer from bipolar disorder.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
It’s like a low-budget rollercoaster,
Only ever hitting highs and lows
Or somewhere in between,
Making me see things that can’t actually be seen.
Making unscheduled stops in places I don’t know,
Driving me off the rails like a runaway train.
I self-harm.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
I lock myself away emotionally and physically,
Hiding inside the shattered remains of my
Already fractured mind.
Smoking, bruising, purging, cutting,
Using my body as a punching bag
To knock some sense into myself.
I spend a lot of time thinking about suicide.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
Wondering why it would be better
To let my helter-skelter life
Plummet off the edge of the waterfall
At the end of my shallow-water life.
It’s the result of nihilism instilled by
Self-doubt, mental health, and life choices.
And having to work for the Government.
Question from Lisa T. from Facebook
Jesus H. Christ,
You know how to pick your moments.
I wish I could say that
I haven’t given it much thought,
But for thirteen years
It was all I could think about.
Don’t complain at me for being morbid,
You brought the subject up.
It might take me a while to get to the answer,
But I’m hoping it’ll take a while for it happen
So let’s take a moment as I
Wax lyrical about the great inevitable.
So for music,
Have the organist play
“Phantom of the Opera” and “Whiter Shade of Pale”.
I cannot abide “Abide With Me”
I may believe in reincarnation,
But damnit I will circumvent my own cycle to haunt you.
Please don’t tell stories of what I did during life,
There’s a whole lot I don’t intend to tell my husband or wife.
No prayers and no sermons, avoid all religion,
Just avoid any talking at all,
I don’t want to take up your time,
You’ve got shit to do.
And when they drop me in the flames,
Use Doritos for kindling,
Chilli Heatwave not Nacho Cheese.
You’ve got to have standards afterall.
Play the Countdown theme as the flames take me,
Never let anyone say I never had whimsy.
If you must have a wake,
No booze, because I’m a dick.
And fill a pinata with bees.
Be happy but not too happy.
Play 90s dance anthems and
Rave on my grave.
And while all this is happening,
I’ll get to be alone.
Because while they’ve been
Crying and reflecting,
And going insane with my shitty choices,
I’ll be secretly being buried at sea.
Question overheard on a bus. People are weird.
Mxcellany - Poetry, Music, Art 