Electro-Cursive Therapy 





Electro-Cursive Therapy 

There used to be a beat, 

at the back of my head

A song that went somewhat awry 

And the words that used to dance 

At the whim of my demands 

Decided that they needed to fly 

So a-one a-vowel went up, 

A few inches ascent  

The other three slipped a verse or two 

And I told myself no, 

It’s internal, not infernal 

And well, poems don’t have to 

Always rhyme, you’re just learning

Your style’s still disconcerting

so what if the endings don’t match 

And fist meets pissed just fine 

No serious writer minds 

A sonnet that’s slipped off the tracks.

Well, now,

screw that. 

The problem with prose is 

It’s more ‘lose’ that rose, it’s 

Pretty, but just so wafer thin 

And I miss poetry 

The kind that sustained me 

Verses deep enough to drown in 

Of balls and ballads, I 

Cannot more defy, my

Visceral need to straighten, organize 

These six line limericks, these 

Odes epileptic 

Today, this rebellion dies! 

So please do forgive me 

if my renaissance is clumsy

My syllables are a little slow to revive 

 

But I’m treating this first 

This arrhythmia of my words 

Because- how else is a poet to stay alive? 

©yusra 

24.08.2017 

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Day 25- A Thousand Years Of Potatoes 

*ahem* 

For day 25- the double prompt ‘the night you gave me your wing’ and a potato sacrifice at the Altar of rhyme- A Thousand Years Of Potatoes. 🙂
I don’t know how, every NaPoWriMo I end up writing at least one Potato poem. Go figure! 😛

Day 25- A Thousand Years Of Potatoes 

Day 25! For the prompt ‘the night you offered me your wing’, and a double prompt- potato time!- A Thousand Years Of Potatoes! 

I don’t know how, but every NaPoWriMo for the past four years, I’ve done at least one Potato poem. It’s a spudtastic coincidence!

Satan’s Spittoon (And Other Things Rant-worthy)

See, on your day off, you want to do the opposite of things. You want to do NOT things.

 

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Things include parties. Parties are fun when they’re gatherings of like minded people, together for laughing and joking and sometimes, for showing off the new furniture- sometimes. Parties are not fun when you have to endure them for any reason. Which is why I  flopped down on the ground in front of my mom and threw a loud, wailing tantrum about how I don’t want to go to my stupid cousin’s stupid house and be nice to stupid people.

 

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But, as expected, I wore stinking pretty clothes and went. At least there would be cake, I consoled myself.

There was no cake.

Five hours of talking about clothes, husbands, and the weather later, I have survived, and I am home.

There is a special place in Hell for cousins who hand you their squalling toddlers and run away, leaving you to wrestle a baby you haven’t seen since his intrauterine life.

Satan will bathe in the contents of his spittoon the women who chase you around parties asking why you haven’t gotten married yet.

I’m going to put my pjs on, then I’m going to go sterilise my face because someone’s kid BIT MY FACE. While the mother watched. And then she told me how precious it is that he learnt to that, while the kid hopped off my lap and chewed her toe. My dogs are literally more well behaved than that.

 

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Parties like these are why I have a bottle of whiskey hidden under my bed. I need a damned stiff drink.

 

I like kids, but if you’re raising brats, remember- they’re not ah-dawwrable to anyone except you.

 

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On that note, I’m going to pass out. And if any of you haven’t read this yet, I highly recommend you do. The Oatmeal is always good for a laugh. 🙂

 

headerv

 

 

Cheers,

Cookie ❤

Bugs 

 

Stupid bug
On my bed
Go crawl on the
Floor, instead.
I already have buzzing
Inside my head

Burrowing beetle
arguments
Thoughtflies hum and
Make no sense
Buzz buzz buzz
Incoherence

Twinkling lights-it’s
Almost dawn
Neighbor’s cat yowls
On my lawn
-You’re nearly in my hair
Come closer if you dare
Ill squish you, bug, I swear

Sigh
Carry on, bug
Carry on

©CM
09.10.2016

 

I actually don’t mind bugs, but when you’re trying to fall asleep, a green yellow beetle who wants to sing you the song of his people is not a good roommate.

To Catch A Thief, You Need A Shoe 

 

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To Catch A Thief

 

To catch a thief, you need a shoe
And maybe some blueberries
Skim milk, cereal-oh wait, that’s for
Breakfast- no, get cherries

A pair of socks will do you well
A bed head is a must
An itchy toe is just the thing
A sense of self robust

Spirit, willing, determination
To go get yourself shot
At least, get 1-2 fractured knees
Work with what you’ve got

To catch a thief, you’ll need the shoe
Berries are for a distraction
The pair of socks to help you creep
Up closer, ninja action

The bed head so your silhouette will
Strike fear in the hearts of men
The itchy toe will keep you awake
Where courage fails; then

Surprise the bastard in the dark
Pelt him with fruit unseen
Let him feel the point of your shoe
Poking his neck, lean! Lean!

Put your weight into it, if
You only stretch up chest high
And keep the will to get shot handy
Thieves tend to be ready to fly

Between the milk, and the stabbing heel
You’ll have a thief ready to be caught
Good thing you saved the milk for breakfast
– look at that, didn’t even get shot.

©CM

05.10.2016

My bedroom’s the one closest to the door. So at 4 am today, when the light outside flickered on and off for a minute, being the raging insomniac I am, I bolted awake. I listened very, very closely. There seemed to be some sort of scuffling near the gate. My dogs are on the other side. After a few moments of crippling sleep paralysis, I somehow moved with leaden limbs and dread pouring through me.

There was a thief in the house. 

I got out of bed, looked for a weapon, and picked up a heel off the rack. Then I picked up the blueberry jar in front of my door and tiptoed out very, very softly- Bruce lee would have been proud. In the span of two minutes visions of my dead family were dancing in front of me. It’s a wonder I didn’t flat out run or wobble in the dark- I’m one of those people who can trip on thin air. And I knew it- the front door was open.

I crept closer to the door from the darker side, just in case the burglar was standing on the outside. Still holding the heel- in retrospect, not a bad sleepy choice – and the damned blueberries. There was a steady clack-clack-clack coming from the yard- was he trying to get into the shed? Why did he leave the door open and go into the shed? Had he run out with something?

I did a quick survey of the hall. All the bedrooms seemed peaceful enough, all the doors shut. Swapped the berry jar for a torch on the counter and sneaked out into the yard, going barefoot and slowly because ninja and all that, but I didn’t want to surprise the man and get stabbed. I went around the house- he was there, a dark shape, washing something on the outside tap??? I froze, confused as hell. Suddenly he swung around and started walking towards the house, in my general direction. Now or never!- I let out an almighty shriek like an avenging banshee and jumped out onto him.

Hopped out, more like. Dad screamed right back at me.

He’d got an emergency call at work and was leaving. All the sneaky fuss had been to make sure he didn’t wake us up- mom had already gone back to their room. He was waiting in the yard for the cab to pick him up, when he noticed the dog’s dish was lying in the grass and went to rinse it. Which is when I came charging out from the side of the house in my pajamas, holding a high heel aloft. And all the screaming woke the dogs up, who, bless them, had slept through every scrape and rustle we’d made till the surprise-surprise!

I mean, my response isn’t completely kooky. This exact thing has happened before when I was little. One of the nights when dad was away, mom got up next to me suddenly and walked straight out to the living room and chased a burglar out. She’d counted an extra head, and instead of screaming, in a fit of adrenaline fueled courage, gone after the thief before he went into our rooms. She actually did chase the man out. And he was so shocked by this charging specter out of nowhere that he ran for it. He took all the VCR and the speaker system with him though. Mom chased him into the street, and then he just ran for it. It’s weird how almost ten years later, I did exactly the same thing.

And if you think I’m making any of this up, think again. It’s now 5 am and I’m writing this down because I can’t sleep, and what the actual fuck, I nearly my stabbed my father with a shoe.