Existential Crisis 


Existential Crisis

‘Poetry doesn’t exist,’
he said sadly
He put his hand on my chest
Soft fingers that still smelt of whiskey
‘This.’ He whispered. ‘This is real.’
‘This imaginary dialogue in your head
This narrative, descriptive of he said she said
-It doesn’t exist.
I know you want it to
I know it makes the world more beautiful
To you
But it’s not real,’ he added,
with the air of someone breaking bad news
‘Poetry doesn’t exist.’
And he lay down with me under the moon
In the wet grass that needled my back with
Its tiny points
And his arm was under me
And we kissed

‘Stupid man,’ I thought languorously
Stretched out next to his chest, damp
With dew and sweat
He slept, and I watched him

My poetry




There is no home for us until we first find one within ourselves. 
I hope you are all on your way home. <3 

Cookie <3 

Ps. If you haven’t found me on Instagram yet (because I’m lazy and irregular in posting), follow me at @calliopes_lyre! :) 

Duet Duel: Line Two

Here’s what Jaeger at ohellino.wordpress.com had to say in response…. and here’s mine!



Line Two

Borne of mutual appreciation
Is a very nice thing

(Yes, yes, very nice indeed)

But you’re looking to rub my face in dung

(take heed, take heed)

I bolt up the rungs
Like a bottom feeder unsung
I thrive on the dregs of poetic charity

(oh, well said!)

And the effervescence crows
In triumphant, bubbly rows
I’ve rendered your barrel all soapy

Have fun putting me over that
Can’t keep a good girl down, and
Can’t keep us nuts bolted down like that


(c) CM
15. 09. 2016


Dum diddly um pum pum dum diddly um- lightning round!