poetry

postcards from tilburg

You’ll find me by the canal,

or perched on the balcony-

Odd socks swinging four stories up,

Or bare toes tracing water-

een bier in my hand,

just window shopping the world.

 

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On Writing · poetry

oh, honey

Oh, honey,

There’s no need to throw

Your concern around like

A balloon in the wind,

Just constantly wafting around my

head.

I’m fine!

I would not be so vain

To write everything about me;

And I would not be so

Un-artful

To only take inspiration from

That which is closest to me.

On Writing · poetry

yes, this one’s sarcasm too

Excuse me,

but the sun is sinking and

I must bid you farewell

And crawl back into my cave

Of parchment and torment;

The walls are covered in the

Graffiti of my innermost

Desires and regrets,

And every night I lie surrounded,

Reading and re-reading

Every terrible line,

Every spelling mistake

And bad punctuation.

It’s a hard life

Being a poet,

But please,

Feel free to make it harder-

Oh, cruel world-

Happiness will only make it worse.

 

On Writing · poetry

dear diary III

Dear Diary,

Someone else mentioned they’d 

Read my poem today.

It made me happy that they’d taken

The time to do so.

But then,

They did not tell me what they thought-

Not even a simple compliment.

No,

They asked me if I was ok

 

poetry

the city doesn’t care

The city has a story to tell.

Rumour has it you do too,

But I’m afraid you won’t always

Be around to tell it.

Sure, you can feel tall and mighty

Watching beetles on the pavement,

But riddle me this:

I was once 11,

Now I’m 21;

Soon I’ll be 31,

Then 101…

 

Look up at the clouds and skyscrapers;

The city doesn’t care

About the people on the pavement.

It doesn’t even see the beetles.

This universe

Works the same way too;

In light years you might as well

Not exist…

Yet you still insist

That your writing isn’t good

And rejection hurts

???

Dead people would call you crazy.

The universe doesn’t care,

So listen to the ghosts,

And stop caring too.

 

Inspired by J. Truant’s book ‘The Universe Doesn’t Give a Flying F**k About You’ 

On Writing · poetry

I’ll try harder next time

I’m afraid today’s poem won’t be much good.

The sun on my skin

Is making me far too happy,

And I keep accidentally saying

‘Good morning’,

‘Hello’,

and ‘Good day’

to the people who walk by.

I tried coming outside

To be inspired by my loneliness,

But I’m afraid I’m more inspired

By the green, green grass

And the bright blue sky

Than I am by my own

Free solitude.

I’ll try harder next time.

On Writing · poetry

Feelings are good inspiration

Feelings are good inspiration,

But I do not write such poems

To declare my days and

Tomorrows to be riddled with

More ‘hell’ than yours-

But, I suppose,

Some words have more than one meaning;

Most people have more than

One demon,

I’m just happy to

Wade through the fiction

For us both,

Hopefully finding some nice words

To make us both feel better;

Perhaps a nice rhyme, so you

Can double up on your mistakes

And I can double down-

Writing is a gamble after all,

But it is not your means

To my end.