A Certain Substance

Happy Saturday, folks! 

I'm still bloody well snowed in and it's really boring and cold. Got some heavy beats laid down for my novel today though, which I guess is a good thing. 

Today's poem is all about the realistic terrors one goes through when faced with a life that has briefly crumbled before your eyes. You just gots to scoop them pieces into a cellophane bag and throw them off a cliff, otherwise they'll get real mouldy and start to impinge on your brand new life, which, though it may be a little slow to begin with, it going to be a thousand times better than the old one because you're not carrying around a dead weight of rancidity. Glean from that what you will my darlings.

Day 38! (Scary number!)

The Four Stages of Overcoming Defeat

Stage 1 involves covering your face with PVA glue

and singing along with the microwave.

Become a bed. Let everything inside you fall asleep.

Draw 1 inch of water and then eat the paper.

You are ready for Stage 2.

Carve a story of the sea onto the back of a chocolate bar.

Sell it to a sheikh for a thousand apologies.

With them, buy yourself a new backpack;

we’ll be going on a hike.

Whitewash a cabbage and use it as a snowball

against the fiends of the mountain.

They might look like thin air,

but they’re definitely going to try and kill you.

Take ‘em down to advance to Stage 3.

Stay in for twelve years waiting for a phone call.

Stage 4 arrives when you realise what a fool you’ve been,

at which point you will stand up, turn once around

and be transported to a train station of yesteryear.

Get on the train and don’t look back.  

Of All The Named

Hey hey hey!

So, I've spent the day coming up with alternate life plans and buying large envelopes. That's right, ENVY ME. But for reals, this poetry lark is taking its toll on my inner tubes and whatnot. 

Just as a joke, answer me, who would read a novel I'd written? Not that I really HAVE written it, but it's coming along, and I'm pretty sure that if I sent some positive public opinion polls garnered from my very own blog to the agents I'm going to approach, they would DEFINITELY want to add me to their books. So do me a favour, tell people I'm a writer and that I'm coming to write the shit out of them, yeah? Thx bbz.

Day 35, love to you.

The Book Of

In the beginning,

we went to a pearl

and asked for forgiveness.

The pearl said,

“Let he who is without a stone

cast the first line.”

And with that, fishing was born

and all the people were saved.

We cut out small stars from our skin

and cooked them into a stew

so that we might taste

the darkness of universe.

Our mothers and fathers didn’t trust us

with the sharp knives,

but when we served the meal,

they sat back and thought it was good.

They say there are cabbages out there

that are bigger than houses;

so big in fact they hollow them out

and have people live in them,

like giant molluscs.

There, they make lists

of everything that could improve

at the hands of anyone but themselves.

We’re all born in black and white,

coming out of the dark room,

pleased with our exposure.

In the end, everything is a sea

and we have drowned and drowned again

searching for a precious stone.

Wandering through the suburb of my mind

the streets ring with nothing.