This poem was actually born as an email, written to Justin, who has now received so many references in my blog its not funny. He should defiantly comment this post. (hint hint).

What is good poetry and what is crap poetry? I don’t know. All I know is that this came out of me very quickly. And that is generally a good sign. And also, after reading it a few times, I do not hate it.

You might not like it. There is a rhythm to it. A certain pace to read it to. And you might not
pick it up by just reading it off paper (or a flickering computer screen). But this is the best we can do.

Dearest Justin.
I hope everything is fine.Please give Sarsberry my finest regards.
All is well on my end of scotland.
The telephones keep hanging up and this is regrettable.
All communications are down until the pope is crowned
This is tradition.
It is our tradition and you should have been there.
You should have welcomed me home with some sort of present between your legs.
I needed that letter, to give to my mother, to get the money i sent you on our birthday.
But you never replied.
You never even regretted not replying.
And now we have lost everything, the land, the promise, and some sort of hope for the children we would have had if you hadn’t of run out on me last year at age 16 with everything swelling up in my groin ready to explode.
I swear that was such a collision.
But i never regretted it.
I never told you how many problems I had floating in the proximity to death and how you could have saved me if you bothered to open you hands and repent and grow a mustache and some muscle and an ABN number for our trust fund.
But i could never trust you.

I think the key with this sort of poetry is to look at the emotions and general directions, rather than the specific details. If you try to work out exactly what is happening you will get confused, because nothing is exactly happening. But you can pick up the vibes in the poem. It is kind of broken hearted. A bit betrayed, a bit upset, a bit defiant.

Here is another one:

I love you Evelin.
Please don’t leave me for Alfred.
He shaves his arm pits.
I’ve seen him do it.
He is proud if it.
Just like he is proud of his tropical fish.
And if you fall in love with him and share his wardrobe etc,
you will never be able to go on holidays,
because his tropical fish have to fed EVERY DAY.
As often as he shaves his armpits.