Friday, 28 August 2015

friday poem fanclub #42: Hoom... what shall we call it?

(written 28 August 2015)

A long time ago, before I threw in the towel on my marriage, before I let them cut a 6-inch gash in my stomach to remove the cause of my current troubles, I used to write a poem on Friday mornings and send it people and they’d laugh and laugh, and then everybody would get back to pretending to work. It was called the friday poem fanclub and I figured I’d give it another go. I think many of you didn't used to receive this, so this will be your first one! Yay! You can while away the day reading the old ones here:

The idea is to write a poem in 15 minutes - and send it out whether it’s good, bad, sublime or clumsy like a bunch of retards trying to fuck a doorknob*. And most importantly: Keep it short. Because no-one likes long frikken poems where they don’t know what the hell its about and they feel they’ve missed the “message”. So. Here we go:


Sometimes my stomach feels like chum, waiting for a shark
And I sleep like restless Lucifer, homesick and unsure
I’m drained of blood, of flesh, of tears
And have no thirst to quench
Overall I find things
perfect as a pawpaw, sufficient as an elephant
And generally OK.


Ten fingers,


* This remarkable metaphor is from the movie Dodgeball. I haven't been able to find one more ear-blistering than this, though I've stayed awake nights trying.

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