Band of leeches – a poem

I am condemned to find no proper people in my immediate environment.
Only leeches and other bloodsuckers,
who like money or free smokes.
The most pathetic about this is,
I let them,
everything is better than to be alone.
Of course, they discard you if they don’t need you anymore.
Like a paper wrapper you float away with the wind,
destination unknown.
And your self-esteem sinks down,
your heart hurts.
But it makes you harder.
You rely on yourself,
become less talkative.
In the end you are a creature made of stone,

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.

Tips for aspiring poets – a poem

Go plant some carrots,
throw your mother-in-law under a car.
See how far you can pee.
Eat bleach,
drink baking soda.
Go to tango on your own and
fetch a broomstick as partner.
Kill a mockingbird,
poison a cat.
But whatever you do, don’t write poetry.
Take it from a drunkard,
it’s hard deciphering the gibberish I come up with,
in the middle of the frightful night.
Choose a different hobby.
Stamp collecting seems to be nice.
But DON’T become a POET.

Messing it up – a poem

You have a lot to be content about,
but being bipolar you don’t see that.
You mess things up really bad.
I costed you friends.
Your whole world is crumbling,
and you are falling
in the rabbit’s hole.
You won’t find your way out again.
Not without any of them.
A mad hermit you’ll become,
Is this your future,
or can it still change.
Not if you and reality aren’t on the same page.

Life is no cake – a poem

Forget licking the chocolate frosting of the cake,
it isn’t so amazing in everything’s wake.
You don’t get any,
friends, you got some got good ones but there aren’t many.
Bless you two, who are far away in the US.
I didn’t forget about us.
If I upset you through my poem,
then I’ll take full responsibility,
I didn’t mean to hurt you.
I only want to go home.
No sir, life isn’t a cake,
the dough is raw,
poorly did it bake.
There is nothing sweet about it,
I am bipolar and try to commit,
but in the end, it’s serious shit.

If I could tell you… – a poem

If I could tell you how much I love you,
you wouldn’t feel so blue.
We would dance on rose petals.
Better than bashing against metals.
But I would need a bookcase to make me understandable,
to prove my point, I’d require a library.
And to persuade you of my devotion no supercomputer would suffice.
So, I kiss you and hug you tightly.
We say nothing,
we know what we have on each other.

Punishment due – a poem

I recollect every hit my dad gave me,
whenever I got too wild to his idea,
I got a wallop.
He was the bad cop.
But the one that will always haunt me,
was the postponed one.
‘When we get home, you get yours, I am done;’ he said menacing.
We left granny and went to our backyard. I pointed in the air,
we stood their gazing at a hot air balloon.
Then he hit me on the back of my head and got his way,
to my dismay.
From then on, I knew you can’t avoid punishment.
To my upbringing it was a nice, painful supplement.

Horse of mine – a poem

In full galop we traverse the meadows,
we are fearless like lions.
in search of a pot with gold.
We dare to be bold.
The leprechaun said there was one,
at the end of the rainbow.
I believe I saw the coins already in the distance.
You carry me faithful.
I give you a pull.
After an hour I let you eat and drink,
while I catch a wink,
the gras is juicy,
aren’t you a doozy.
it’s to your liking.
this hiking we undertake.
I pet your head,
Softly I said,
‘heed my words,
you are the most beautiful steed.’