Tag: Poetry

#PoeticAnswers 11 – Who Is That Red Man In The Bathroom?

“Who is that red man in the bathroom?”
My child asked.
Her voice trembling with fear.
Her small hand wrapped around
The edges of her pyjama top.

“There is no man in the bathroom”
I assured her.
I took her hand in mine,
Shaking like a leaf,
As cold as ice.

As we walked the dark hallway
As we adventured back to her room,
She stopped by the bathroom door.
Her eyes locked on the metal handle,
Stained with blood.

“You’re seeing things darling”
I nudged her on,
But it was too late.
She reached out,
Then she screamed.

I pulled her back and held her close,
I prayed she thought this was a dream.
But her little mind was too far gone,
I can’t imagine what she thought,
I don’t want to.

“He’s in there!
His eyes are white,
I think he’s dead,
He’s dead dad,
He’s just hanging there!”

I brought her face to mine,
Those sweet innocent eyes,
Tarnished, wading in pools of
Tears and blood.
They were too young for this.

“It’s okay, I promise!
I just cut myself shaving”
I prayed she’d believe me but
If I can’t convince myself,
How can I convince her?

She fought my grasp
And tore open the door,
Casting shadow on the floor.
Clutching at empty shapes
In a cocktail of hope and dread.

“He’s here daddy”
But her hands found nothing,
And the shadows that had been cast,
Turned to doubt
With a flick of the lightswitch.

I saw those eyes,
Those tear-stained, petrified eyes.
It won’t happen tonight,
It won’t happen tomorrow,
She’ll never know.

“There’s no one here honey,
Now go back to bed.”
As I tried to assuage
The thoughts in her head,
As I tucked her in, and kissed her goodnight.

And as she slept,
I slunk back to fix my mistake.
I closed the door and took a step back,
Ready to face the truth,
I stared at the mess I left behind.

It was my shadow, my second skin.
Red for the blood,
Black for the bruises.
I raged at myself and my stupidity,
I don’t want to be her nightmares

Maybe one day she’ll understand,
I’m doing this for her,
So she can have a better world,
So she can be safe.
She must never know who I am.

Question from Rebecca L. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 10 – Are You A F*cking Fairy?

What did you call me?
Why the fuck does it matter?
I’m a goddamn person,
Regardless of what
Unintelligent bullshit
You choose to sprout forth.

I have loved you all my life
But I’m not allowed to love someone else
Because you chose to believe that it’s
“Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve”?
Why do I not get to experience true happiness,
Just because I found it differently to you?

I am still your son,
Despite what you have to say.
Whether I’m straight, bi, or gay
I exist.
And I am free to enjoy
Anyone’s kiss that I please and pleases me.

For what it’s worth,
I’m none of the above.
I’ve let myself be
Used and abused
Now I’m not confused when I say
“I am asexual”

I’m not under your roof anymore,
And if loving who I want is a crime,
Then goddamn, I’m guilty as sin.
You can deny, deny, and deny me
But I am nothing wrong in this world
And love is not a criminal offence.

But if being happy with him
Means I’m a a fairy,
Damn right I’m a fairy,
I’m fucking magical.
“Poof”.
You’ve disappeared from my life.

#PoeticAnswers 9 – How Many Sides Are There to a Friendship?

For a friendship to stay afloat,
It must have a strong base.
Let this be side one.
From this, the fundamentals are established,
We build and we bond together,
Floating as a brand new raft on a sea of no cares.

Growing taller and stronger,
Your raft becomes a boat.
Boxed in and built up.
Port and starboard
Stern and bow.
Ready to sail into the future.

Port, left side,
From here, you can look out and see
All that you have left behind.
Out in the distance, a setting sun,
Typhoons of emotion.
Beneath the waves,
Buried treasures and wreckages,
Lost forever, eroded by salt-water tears.

Starboard, right side.
Because someone was always
Right by your side.
Your first-mate and anchor,
Your navigator and helmsman,
They have never steered you wrong.
And although the waves have been rough,
They have never left you mutinied or marooned.

Stern to the rear,
The wind at your back,
And your home and stateroom.
And it’s appropriate that the bedroom
Is called a stateroom.
Because the two of you have left it in a state
From drinking too much rum with no coke
And sharing the best and worst moments of your lives.

The final side, bow.
Always looking forward.
Looking forward to the future
Because this is the best journey of your life.
There’s never been a second wind,
But it’s never been a breeze.
But sometimes, you need to go ashore,
The rum makes you say some pretty dumb things.

But your five-side friendship
Will still be in harbour,
Waiting for you to return,
Waiting for the next journey.
The seas may be rough,
But much like the barnacles on the base,
You’re sticking together forever.

Question from Peter G. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 8 – Who Protects Your Kitchen By Shouting Abuse From The Counter Tops?

In Haiku form.

In his special way,
He guards the stove and toaster
Hail, Kitchen Goblin.

Arsenal of spoons,
Crown made of foil, forks and card,
Hail, Kitchen Goblin.

You enter his realm,
Cutlery and insults fly,
Hail, Kitchen Goblin.

“Gerrout my kitchen!”
He shouts, as marmite hits you.
Hail, Kitchen Goblin

You fight ’til first sauce,
Your shirt reddens with ragu,
Hail, Kitchen Goblin.

He squeaks out, “Fuck Off!”
You run, embarrased and bruised.
Hail, Kitchen Goblin.

From my mate, Dave.

#PoeticAnswers 7 – How Much Does A Teenage Diplodocus Weigh?

I’m sure we can answer this
With simple logistics and mathematics.

If an adult diplodocus is ten to twelve tonnes,
How much would it weigh when it was young?

Now a baby diplodocus would be very small,
Five feet from the ground, that’s not big at all!

But an adult diplodocus, well they were huge
They were bigger than me and bigger than you!

They were ninety foot tall, as tall as the trees
So the diplodocus would eat all their leaves.

But a teenager, what about their weight and size?
Well now we’ll find out, I won’t tell you lies!

A teenage diplodocus is somewhere between,
They’d be pretty tall and they’d be pretty lean.

A teenager would be about two thirds of the size
So let’s use some maths and start to divide

Two thirds of twelve tonnes, well that would be eight
But let’s find the height as well as the weight

Two thirds of ninety, that’s sixty feet tall
So they wouldn’t be big but they wouldn’t be small.

So know we know what a teen diplodocus would weigh,
I hope you had fun, now have a great day!

Question from Alice F. from Facebook!

#PoeticAnswers 6 – When You Were Little, What Did You Want to Be When You Grew Up?

During the misadventures of my youth
I was torn between
“Spaceman” and “dinosaur”.
But when you’re four,
You don’t know.

I knew I didn’t want to be an adult
Because adults were boring
And regularly abandoned me
In this weird room of bright colours and toys.
I should’ve been resentful, but I had toys.

I spent seventeen years
Locked in education,
Gaining the years and transforming.
Gaining and losing friends, sense and myself
But every day I’m still learning, I can’t be grown up

These days, I sit in an office
That slowly suffocates me.
I’m mature enough to know responsibility,
But I know I can’t be grown up,
I still have a Chewbacca bobble-head on my desk.

I’ve definitely grown old
And I’ve definitely grown out
But I haven’t grown up.
I still don’t know what I want to be.
I’m still torn between “Spaceman” and “dinosaur”.

Question from Cat T. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 5 – If Every Marvel Hero Went Up Against Every DC Superhero, Which Side Would End Up Winning?

The soldiers held their rank
Staring across the Incursion.
Staring into the void.
All was silent

The anger rose like a tidal wave.
As the warriors who could fly took to the air
A tsunami of capes and energy
Filled the skies on both sides.

One side held an infinite power
And had an army the size of several small countries.
The most dangerous stood near to the front line,
Impressive and horrifying in their mutated glory.

Behind them stood a legion of heroes
Who swore to avenge and protect Earth with their might.
Led by patriotic duty, and enforced with intelligence
With an iron garrison at their backs.

On the other side,
52 of the strongest beings from
Humanity and the galaxy
And from further beyond.

They had speed on their side,
And truth, gadgets and feminism.
Morality was their strong point,
Their foes had iron, but they had steel.

The soldiers held their rank
Staring across the Incursion.
Staring into the void.
All was silent.

Then Superman and the Flash said
“Hold my beer”
And that was the end of the matter.

#PoeticAnswers 4: What Is The Pointy End of a Strawberry Called?

My knowledge of the strawberry
Can only be described as limited.

I know the strawberry is a liar.
That’s not to say the strawberry
Has manipulated or deceived me
On an emotional level,
Because that would be
Fucking mental,
But the strawberry is not a berry.

I know the strawberry is a fruit.
This is not a statement or an assumption
on the sexuality of the deceitful strawberry,
If I wish to get technical,
This fruit is asexual,
Self-reproducing, Self-generating,
Much like… this poet.

I know the strawberry is a female,
Before you start, I am not assuming it’s gender
It’s just empirical, scientific fact.
Before I incite outrage,
Strawberries aren’t human,
They don’t feel,
We do not need “Justice For Strawberries”.

I know the strawberry has a hull,
Unlike a boat and England,
The strawberry’s hull is at the top
Not the bottom or in the middle
Slightly to the right,
However, like England, the hull is
Green, boring and tasteless

Strawberries are the first fruit to ripen in the spring,
Strawberries on average have 200 seeds,
Strawberries are considered to be roses by scientists,
Scientists don’t often make sense but we trust their judgement anyway
Strawberries have a dedicated museum in Belgium
I had to go to Belgium to find out these facts about strawberries
Strawberries are actively driving me insane
The word strawberry and it’s variants are featured in this poem 19 times
I used to love strawberries until I wrote this poem

I know you asked me
What the pointy end of a strawberry is called
But the truth of the matter is
No one knows
And I don’t want to know either.

Question from Laura W. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 3: Why Don’t I Want To Live?

Why Don’t I Want To Live?

I have spent too long awake
And my thoughts are travelling
At a million miles an hour
As I try to find an explanation
To justify the non-extinction
Of myself.

Please forgive the 1am ramblings
of this shell before you
But I feel a need for an
Inevitable confrontation
And elaborate invocation
Of my feelings

Dear myself,
Why don’t I want to live?
Seriously, please tell me
Because I’ve got enough going on
And I was going so strong so
Why here and Why now?

I have more than I
Feel and deserve
And life lately has been
As easy as soft-serve
Ice-cream because I’ve been
Pretty smooth and chill

I’ve got a job and an income
Friends I can rely on
So why is my mind
Greyer than the
Aberdeen skyline
In September?

There’s a roof over my head
And pillows and a bed
Yet a lead-lined shadow of doubt
Has cut its claws into my shoulders
And I adorn it and crumble
Under the weight of this dark cape.

Why don’t I want to live?
When my mood started cycling,
I started using training wheels
To keep balanced
But there is still a white light
At the end of this track that I’m riding

I have tried to hop, skip and jump
From pity, misery and responsibility
But my physicality and mentality
Are in a separation battle
And the judge said
They can have me on alternate days.

I have syringed the serotonin
From my brain and painted it on my door
And immersed myself in the real world,
And attended firework displays of
Fluoxetine, clozapine and amphetamine
But dark smoke has choked the chemical light.

Why don’t I want to live?
Am I averse to positivity
Or have light-headed thoughts
Been pit against a heavy heart
In a rigged boxing match
In my skull?

Are my thoughts made of
Shadow puppets
Which can only be cast
With the setting sun?
Even though a shadow of a shadow
Creeps in with the dawn through my curtain.

Or is it more likely
That a material life
Is unfulfilling
And the things that I want
Are not what I need
And depression is more than a metaphor?

Why don’t I want to live?
Why don’t things work
the way that they should
And why do I feel that
I should feel better
Because I have it better than others?

Why are questions easier than answers,
Why is sobriety so hard and
Why won’t this negativity shut up?
Why am I writing a letter to the
Voices in my head asking them to explain
Why we want me to die?

Because I don’t think you understand the
Gravity of the situation,
We live in this same body so
I feel that’s a cause for consternation
For you right now because
I don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t.

What is wrong with me
What is the reason
What is the point
What is the answer
Why don’t I want to live

I don’t know.

#PoeticAnswers 2: Why Does Every Song Remind Me of Someone I’d Like to Let Fade Away?

I wanted to stop listening to love songs
Because every chorus reminded me of you.
Every word was an agonizing, antagonizing
Heartfelt reminder of everything I ever felt.

I wanted to stop listening to metal
Because the bitterness and screams kept me in
A constant state of hate that I didn’t want to feel
Because I could never hate you.

I wanted to stop listening to hip-hop
Because the beat and the bass
Was like our two rhythms coming together
Reminding me of the times we became one.

I wanted to stop listening to classical music
Because the beauty of it all
Haunted me, burning ethereal love notes
Off the paper and onto my skin.

I wanted to stop listening to music
Because every song reminded me of you.
Because every lyric was part of our story
And every melody was a memory.

I wanted to stop listening to music
Because everything was on repeat.
Our soundtrack looped and cross-faded in and around itself,
When I should have let it slow-fade to nothing.

I want to stop listening to myself,
Because I’m playing the same records over and over,
Now they begin to warp and break
And leave grooves and scratches on my skin.

Question from Felicia W. from Facebook.Â