Poems for June 2019


June. Still no recollection of events from the month in question. Poems ahead might guide us. Probably won’t. It would be nice if they did though, for the sake of content.

A small bird flew into a window.
It smashed itself to pieces and died.

What an opener! A tragic tale, unless you happen to hate birds so much you want to watch them crushed by windows, then this will be right up your street. If you want to be up sad feelings street, then you need to hold more traditional feelings towards the death of animals.

She sat naked on the picnic blanket
The men were not naked which was a bit strange
But women look better naked anyway so it didn't seem like too much of a big deal
The grapes and pastries had gone everywhere

Now this I remember. It’s a poem inspired by a piece of art, one that looks a bit like the poetry suggests. For additional clues, look up Manet. If you happen to live in London, you can see a smaller, earlier version of the painting in the Courtauld Gallery. Google told me that. The first review that caught my eye suggests the entry price might be a bit high for the size of the gallery, but it’s an area worth visiting anyway. I think they do ice skating there in the winter at some point.

Luke Skywalker's lightsaber wouldn't power on.
This disaster was occurring in front of the whole class.
Had Princess Leia stolen the batteries again?
Luke was finding the whole situation rather awkward.

Big stilts.
Tall clown.

I checked to see whether anyone had ever ice skated on stilts so you don't have to. The answer is yes. It’s a lot like regular ice skating, but higher up. I suspect falling hurts more. I wouldn’t bother with it, personally.

The nanny locked herself in the closet.
She knew she wasn't allowed to lock up the kids.
But no one ever said she couldn't hide in there.

Imagine that, having to deal with children. I realise now that I also wrote a poem about looking after children in May, I’m not sure what was going on during this period of my life, but it certainly didn’t involve any babies. I’d know if it did, in fact I’m fairly sure they’d still exist. I recommend reading the May collection. There’s lots of Mary Berry in it. This one isn’t about Mary Berry.

The pen cap had been misplaced.
He fashioned a new one out of his nostril.
It was all going pretty well until he sneezed.

I must have been playing with a pen when the lightning bolt of inspiration struck for this piece. I’ve used several pens throughout my life, but I try to avoid them whenever possible. I know a person who loves pens, and the good thing about pens is they’re always running out for the people stupid enough to use them. You know what that means? Easy thoughtless gifts.

She climbed to the top of the mountain.
Breathed the fresh mountainy air.
Then gazed upon the journey back down.
She hacked her legs off with a shovel and called mountain rescue.

Likely written after I went on a walk and got tired halfway through.

I crossed the road at the zebra crossing.
I turned around and went back.
The driver looked angry.
I was letting the power get to my head again. 

I’d like to draw your attention to the poem above. It’s a very good one. I recommend crossing the road at a zebra crossing once or twice in your life. Just for the rush of power.

The man's moustache made him look like Hitler.
Oh it is Hitler.
The bartender asked Hitler to leave.
Hitler looked dejected but promptly vacated.
He didn't want to cause another fuss.

Never joke about Hitler. He was bad news.

Everyone said you have to believe in yourself.
Colton gave it his best shot.
He closed his eyes and imagined his flight.
For three seconds he really thought he had it.

Chocolate melted between his fingers.
He felt bad for the starving children who couldn't enjoy chocolate.
He cried about it for hours.
There was so much water going to waste that he felt awful and couldn't stop.
He stored his tears in tupperware and shipped them to Africa.
Concerned about the plastics ending up in the ocean he scrawled 'sorry!' on it in fish language.

Every single concern of humanity in one poem. That’s the good stuff. I suspect the weather was quite warm around the day this was written. I must have been having a nightmare of a time with some chocolate biscuits.

I rest my head upon a pillow.
Then I wait to fall asleep.
Then I fall asleep.
Then I am sleeping.

Do you struggle to sleep? I'm sorry to hear that.

He knew all of the alphabet.
From A to the other one.
He'd just pick a letter out of the air.
Like F or something and then immediately say the one after it.
Everyone thought he was a bit of a tosser.

There you go, the top ten poems of the month. I didn’t get an overarching story out of it. Did you know there are poetry collections that just rattle through the poems with no additional input from the author? Leave me alone.

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