My poems
are at that difficult stage
teenagers.
They sit around in my mind
all day
doing nothing except
lying there.
I remember
when I gave birth to them
they were so
cute
now they are just so
annoying
scoffing biscuits
over the computer
so the crumbs
get stuck between the words
leaving their dirty
metaphors
scattered all over the sofa
borrowing my similes
without telling me
corrupting words
too young to know better.
I long for them
to leave home
go find a book
of their own
live in a little
poetry magazine
or the tip of
somebody’s tongue.
Instead they go
to all night raves
stagger home
their adjectives
all wide-eyed
their nouns
intoxicated
(I just hate it)
misquoting themselves
or thinking
they were written
by someone more
famous.
“We wish we were
Onelia’s babies! ”
They scream & holler!
“Well...you ain’t! ”
I scream back at them
screaming back at me.
So now I have left
my brain
upon the coffee table
with the dirty magazines.
They’re welcome
to it.
“I’ve given up
the ghost! ”
“You’ll be back! ”
they boast.
“Don’t you use that
easy rhyme on me! ”
I laugh at them
floundering now
not knowing where
the next line is...
...coming from.
Huh! Poems...who’d have them!
Too great to even comment on. I laughed, I cried and then kicked myself for not being able to write anything like this. Well, at least I read it and loved it, crumbs but participating in the whole loaf anyway.
I enjoy the image of the poems in a difficult age - teenagers so annoying doing nothing... just love it! ! and thank you Sir...
Ha ha.... this is superb! I love your imagination.... it's the best! ! ! HG: -) xx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ha ha, this is a perfect response to the subject: publishing a book. It's a wonderful, playful and a bit sad, even not a bit, bitter sad, although very entertaining sweet piece of poetry. Thank you for your unique response to my question. (I still do hope your poems will find their book and will settle down there and live happily together) I long for them to leave home go find a book of their own live in a little poetry magazine or the tip of somebody’s tongue.