Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Enough of today I have already had

(based on suggestions from @tiggyjohnson, @mlledelicieuse, @quadelle, @GretasTARDIS, @lucyrogue and @greenspace01)

Jack of this crap I am.

Flailing along a wet regatta,

cox-less hessian bag at the

bottom of a straight boat.

Tired of writing for rowers.

At snail laptop fuming I wait.

Tea tastes like sharp jaguars,

crack my hands off doorways

like they were trampolines.

Nothing mysterious it is.

Like driving to Ireland from Africa.

The friends you lose and cherish

round the clock as tickertape

parades herald your new verse.

Not allowed into a choir we are.

Men sing with men, women

sing hot biscuits from the oven.

Culture-jam on toast, screw it,

lid off, no great joy is buttered.


Today's poem is based on suggestions from six peeps:

  • @GretasTARDIS: "gay romance! Clocks! Ireland!"
  • @quadelle: "Cookies. Snails. Trampolines. Yes?"
  • @lucyrogue: "choir."
  • @greenspace01: "cherishing, mysterious, and doorways"
  • @mlledelicieuse: "I'd like one written in yoda speech pls: object-subject-verb" (I did the first line of each stanza for you.)
  • @tiggyjohnson: "Can I make a suggestion/request for tomorrow's #poemsbyrequest that you write about being sick of writing"
I was having a bad morning, so today's poem is a bit tired and sad and pissed-off. Which seemed to be a lot of us, this morning. I reckon tomorrow will be better.


mademoiselle délicieuse said...

Feel better you will, for more poems to be written there are.

And poems give you and us joy =)

Quadelle said...

Ooh, I love the Yoda-speak.

Amazed again. I don't know how you manage to make such disparate things come together as a whole. You must have one wicked right brain.

Anna said...

Thanks guys.

I don't know @Quadelle, things just seem to always fit together. I suspect you are all in cahoots with your suggestions ;)