I’d like to rhyme you one – a poem

I put on my fanciest costume,
not immune for stress,
but love is an antidote.
I went to your abode.
A knock on the door,
her dad answered and yelled:
‘Ada, it’s Jimmy Moore.’
His daughter appeared,
raven black hair
blue eyes.
I could only stare,
wanted already to say my goodbyes.
But I resisted the urge,
took my paper trembling,
it had taken me forever to these words assembling
to a lovely church.
‘Dear Ada, you are a specimen rare,
I lay my soul bare
to you, for I long for your sweet lavender-scented embrace.
You are leather, you are lace,
sweet and tough,
like it tender and rough.
I can give you these things,
we could have wings.
I am but a pour poet,
but I would be forever in your debt,
if you went out with me.’

Ada smiled,
she got all riled.
‘How romantic, your kind they don’t make anymore.
I am sick of admirers who want to get in my pants, but your poem I adore.’
We went out.
We kissed.
Her parents objected,
but it’s foolish objecting to genuine love.
A year later we married.
We had children with raven black hair and blue eyes.

Lizzie – about life

Lizzie is healthy. We have a bad track record involving animals.
A dead goldfish, one guinea pig eaten by cats, another dead after two weeks
and the third frozen stiff in the stable. She didn’t succeed in burrowing herself under her hay.
Or first dog we had to give to a friend. He was a real menace.
The other two dogs stayed here till they died. Or first Filien had cancer, she lay in her own excrements and vomit. She blew her final breath out in the arms of my dad. Or second Filien got a stroke and couldn’t eat or move anymore. She had strained herself by chasing a cat.

But Lizzie is tinier than Filien. She is eight weeks. Nine now. She likes to bite in shoelaces and in fingers. Not for real, just playing. She has a ball I got from Rox, a friendly woman from the hospital, that she loves. I am glad I am home.

I missed this all. How I could ever be so stupid to try and end it all, I don’t understand anymore.
But I have Lizzie now, and a big responsibility towards her. The first task is to get her completely housebroken.
Tonight, I sleep back at the hospital but tomorrow I may return to home again.
I hope I don’t have to stay to long in the clinic anymore.

Love devours – a poem

Love is a cannibal
Woman is a criminal
She gave the hunger
But man is the animal.
She devours you with skin and bones,
your soul she sucks up.
When she is finished,
she wants to break up.
Preferably by a text message.
Or a fancy lawyer,
wanting halve your riches as alimony.
I let myself be sterilized if I begin
a romantic adventure.
Women come from Venus.
It’s a very hot planet, with toxic gasses.
Men come from Mars,
a red dust ball.
Be aware for the opposite sex.
It’s a golden reminder to stay out of trouble.

Keep it simple – a poem

Some people talk like a manual,
the annual visit of my nephew.
He mumbles something about python,
I should have that on my computer.
It’s guilt of course.
Because he got my comics, my PlayStation and my computer.
He speaks in computer language.
It’s really freaky.
‘Can I use your waste dispenser?’ he asked me.
‘My what?’
‘The toilet, yes that’s what some call it.’
I am always glad as he leaves, especially because his attractive wife likes to cuddle.
A man can’t be hugged enough, it releases oxytocin which makes you feel good.
I know not much of computer programming but after eight intakes in the
mental ward I am pretty well versed in the psycholanguage now.

Dear, poor girl – a poem

The world is divided in haves and have nots.
It’s the iron law of capitalism.
See, a sixteen-year-old offering her body to an old pervert.
Welcome in the sewers of the city.
Coke a plenty, drunkards too.
It’s society’s sinful place.
Every mayor promises a cleansing,
but you can’t take a train more without endangering your life.
Gangs fight it out with guns, grenades and knifes.
Where is the world coming too.
In everything we copy the wrong country.
I should search another example.
I enjoy binge drinking and snorting shit,
but I leave people in peace.
Live and let live I always say.
I asked the young prostitute if she liked to share a house with me.
No strings attached.
She was cautious, a moment in doubt but accepted anyway.
I have her the bed of my late parents.
I dosed of in my own.
My good deed for today was done.

And then comes the redhead – a poem

You always have to protect your turf here,
it’s the way this jungle works.
They keep bringing in new lunatics,
it’s like a videogame with
increasingly tougher opponents.
This redhead is mean.
She has a big butt,
big tits,
and sadly, a big mouth.
She has it in for me,
first, she was nice, then she acted shitty.
It happens to me all the time.
I try to ignore her.
But I’ll have my neighbor’s coffee.
Dissolvable one,
and the I am going to that room where they all sit,
and make some trouble.
Because I love mayhem.
There are no normal people around, that’s a pity.

Welcome to the seesaw – a poem

Going up,
going down,
the seesaw called my mind.
Feeling a God in the night, no sleep for three days.
Mixing my music,
I want to be as big as Charlotte De Witte.
Or Amelie Lens.
Top Dj’s.
I think I can beat them in a contest.
At least when I am manic.
But today I feel like shit,
the depression hit hard.
About ten percent of my life I am truly happy,
all the rest is misery and grief.
Other people experience the same, but the curve is flattened.
They know moments of indifference or boredom,
those feelings are alien to me.
Just as love is strange to me.
A physical attraction has never occurred to me.
Maybe once,
when I looked in the mirror.