Monday, 5 September 2011

Bad Poetry, Vol. 1

The View From My Window

What do I see when I look out of my window?
A car, another car, and another,
3 cars, 3 cars! And a van,
A branch swaying in the breeze,
As if to say, 'Alright?'

A bus stop, cold and empty,
Because it's Sunday, and there aren't any buses on a Sunday,
A man shaking his fist at the sky,
As though cursing the gods themselves,
Because it's Sunday, and there aren't any buses on a Sunday,
We've just been over this.

A cloud shaped like a human heart,
Could it be a metaphor? I don't know,
I was away when we did that in English,
Another cloud shaped like a bear,
That's not a metaphor, I just really like bears.

And then, a face looking back at me,
A familiar face, a friendly face,
I smile and he smiles,
Then I pick up the phone and call the police,
Because it's a peeping tom, and he's not wearing any trousers.

Untitled 1

She broke my heart into so many pieces,
That even now I'm finding bits months later,
Stuck in the soles of my feet,
I must've hoovered about 10 times since,
It's really irritating,
And has cost me at least 3 pairs of socks.

Untitled 2

I remember his funeral as though it were yesterday,
It seems like a lifetime ago,
Ironic really, the one time he wears a suit,
And he's not alive to enjoy it.

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