Dear Sleeping Pill, You Had One Job

Dear Sleeping Pill, You Had One Job

In the night

My mind is up and around

Alive, awake, awhirl

Churning out stuff

That happened

That didn’t

That should have

 

Heyou, mind,

Cut the crap

Stop the swirl

Let me rest 

Brain dead

RIP

 

My sleeping pill is taking long to kick in, so I fingered a poem on the WordPress mobile app. It was horrendous. Both using the app and the poem. I think I’ve broken a finger or two.

Also I just shot the shot below from the app, zero editing. I can’t see how people can use the mobile app for posting stuff. I’m pissed off with it and this stupid idea of posting a pseudo poem hasn’t helped my sleeping at all. Eff that.

That’s what I can see right now. Find the cat! 🐈
An Extremely Crappy and Crazy Ode to Lexaurin

An Extremely Crappy and Crazy Ode to Lexaurin

Got a panic attack. Took Lexaurin. Then got a panic attack that it’s not working. But later:

Aw, Lexaurin, my happiness pill
You make me feel chill
You make me divine
You’re forever mine
Will you marry me
Til either of us die?

Finding Everyday Inspiration: BBC Poem

Finding Everyday Inspiration: BBC Poem

Part of WordPress’s writing course Finding Everyday Inspiration.

Today’s writing task doesn’t involve writing. Just as well. The instructions are to mine what’s mine. One suggestion is to look at your own tweets and use them to create something. Another suggestion is to look at your tweets and use an automatic tweets-to-poems generator. I’m game. Or rather, I’m algorithm.

The Poetweet linked above didn’t generate anything remotely readable from my tweets, so I resorted to plagiarising the produce of another Twitter account. I turned to the authority of BBC. BBC as the news publisher—I beg you not to look up the definition of BBC in the Urban Dictionary. I’m serious.

An inexplicable packet of crisps found in the supermarket

I swear I have nothing to do with the half-open packet of crisps pictured above. I found it like this. Also, I know, you probably call them chips, be my guest. And, if you disregarded my advice and did look up BBC in the Urban Dictionary, serve you right.

Back to the BBC poem: I used the Poetweet but edited the result. It’s a recipe. Please don’t try it at home. Remember what happened the last time when you didn’t take me seriously and looked up the BBC…

 

Maligned insect…

based on a true story by BBC

Recipes for every student. 🍽️🙌😋…
Made from seriously weird things 👉…
That makes it contagious? 😮💤…
You need to watch this September. 👉

Take the quiz & find out!

What I Hated the Least Today 262/365: Concrete Poetry

What I Hated the Least Today 262/365: Concrete Poetry

Be warned. This is extremely dumb.

I’ve been thinking about concrete poetry. Not concretely, just generally. It happened after I snapped a snap of concrete. I thought I’d produce a concrete concrete poem.

Concrete poetry
P
 o
   u
      r
        i
          n
            g

               c  o
                     n  c  r
                              e  t  e  ___

Yeah. I know. Shoot me and pour me with concrete.

All the Same, All the Time

All the Same, All the Time

Loosely inspired by a recent somewhat heart-breaking post by Cardinal Guzman, I decided that the world needs more bad poetry.

At peace,
At home.
Alone.
Quiet, but not quite.
The kettle boiling,
Coffee brewing—
Another day, another night.

Of Cars and Men [Poem]

Of Cars and Men [Poem]

Pedestrians are people with destinations

In their minds

And baggage in their hands

Too heavy to carry around

 

But cars—

Put your weight away in the trunk

And let you guide

As though you’re in control

Go

Go

Trams

come and go

Stopping

on the go

Crawling

tediously

Counting

meters

As they go

Status

What I Hated the Least Today 27/365: Ibuprofen

027

I woke up, made coffee, smoked, practised my yoga routine, smoked, blogged, smoked, cooked lunch, ate it and smoked. I live a dream. Except while cooking, I got a nasty headache.

I was cooking fish, so maybe it was the ghost of the fish cooked that came to plague me. Maybe the fish cooked was a single mother and now her baby fish is floating bellies up in the ocean because their parent was hooked, deep frozen and cooked. Wouldn’t this image give you a headache too?

The fact that the lunch was barely edible didn’t relieve my pain either. Cooking is not on the short list of things that I hate the least. Since home cuisine as a cure did nothing for me, I popped two Ibuprofen 400 painkillers and went to bed, where I was growling for a while and then slept through the whole day.

Now I’m quite fine again, thanks to Ibuprofen, for which I composed a thank-you ode.

O Ibuprofen 400

I love it

When I’m low

You give me back

What I lack

My healthy glow

Poetry 101 Rehab: Roots

Poetry 101 Rehab: Roots

In response to Andy Townend’s Poetry 101 Rehab.

Uprooted

Rejected

By what you loved

Crushed to the ground

With no resources

No roots to take

In

Poetry 101 Rehab: Fem

Poetry 101 Rehab: Fem

In response to Andy Townend’s Poetry 101 Rehab.

Fem or man

Man or wo-man

All hum-man

All equal

Some more

Some less