write bad poetry

in the rain
is like happiness
leaking into you
from your head
down and then
squirting out
of
your
shoes

_{And it’s too wet for the
mean dogs to chase you at
the rednecks’ mobile home
ranch and dead car memorial.}

))){

Clifshot lunch

..but

The sun is out
and it’s glancing
at the ripples and
1,2,3..

Hop in the kayak
and paddle – digging
temporary holes
in the water.

))){

In a big, round hand
Hispanic she writes
In the nationality box.

Is this where I write my
passport number she asks
me pointing with a LoCal
manicured index fingernail
at the box that reads passport
number.

She’s filling out her
arrival form; it’s raining
in Sydney and I’m looking
for her earring backs under
the seat.

She fell asleep with them
in and snored and drooled
and lost them somewhere over
New Caledonia.

))){

We planted the banana
trees on the slopes
of Mt. Erebus hoping
the fumaroles would
nurture the bananas.

Alas, the banana trees
perished.

You can still see the
ghost banana forest
on clear days when the
sun shines on it – as
if an overnight Pleistocene
happened in Costa Rica.

))){

I stopped on the
side of the road
and waited for

(2 cars)

crossed over and
picked up the dead
glasses – horribly
scratched

(death by tyre)

I placed them on
a boulder and looked
up at two fawns peering
at me pretending to
be invisible

(we’re not really here)

What? I said and rode
away on my bicycle to
the astonishment of
them both

))){

Tiresome watching
the boys

I saw you burn one
down in the garden

Sitting amongst the
boys looking bored

Crushing a flower
and all the petals
fall at once

He loves me – he loves
me not maybe you think

But no one is watching
you because they’re
too busy talking

Talking about excavators
and 12 gauge shotguns pointing
at birds, raccoons, and other
shootable ambulatory chordates

Shooting in any direction
but at you with their
attention

_{And so you go home and
the fart jokes commence}

))){

Loosing self control
Over you is no fun at all.
I need to get away,
Stay quiet for a while.
Dig deeper
Into my own little world.
Let us die down
And be myself again.
I hate myself thinking about you
Imagining things again and again.
I hate myself checking emails,
And texts every now and then,
Waiting for the dead cell phone to ring.
I hate myself letting you
Crawling around my head
Shouting at me “I am winning”!
I hate falling secretly for you.
Feel the loose jump into a net trap
& can’t get out
But stay there helplessly.
I hate myself for being this way.
I need to pull the old me,
Let me find me,
Force you out of my monkey mind
Put pieces back together
And be myself again.

Thank you for letting me drive it
and be the coolest girl in town
But this girl
prefers the feeling of the wind
blowing against her cheeks
on the back of a big bike
snaking around town
in the baking sun
instead of,
sitting comfy
and getting stuck
in the packed traffic

i thank you god
for the quiet time
each morning
for me to pray, read
and write
for stength to get up
and leave the comfy bed
to run and get things done
for laziness
that comes once
in a while
for me to slack off
and bounce back
to stockpile of work
for the spirit
to keep me focused
with this translation
for determination
to get things done
throughout the day
for windy afternoon
blowing away the heat
for the kind neighbour
giving sweet treats
while relishing twinings tea
for these beautiful songs
that play along all day

a for this sunbeam day
that inspiring me
to manage and write
another bad poem..;]

and now back to work, joy!

one is like
an old comfy pair of jeans
you like to wear
on the long sweaty day
in the sunshine filled-morning,
the kind of day
a long walk is needed
they are like an old friend
you fit in anytime

another
is like
a new lacey, red dress
hung in the closet
more than being worn
you put it on
on special occasions
not sure if it suits you
but you wear it anyway
you feel beautiful,
womanly in it
it gives you
senses of excitement,
new and dashing

which one shall i choose
the comfy
or the exciting one?