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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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.

Dream Psychology (My Apologies to Freud) 

Dream Psychology (My Apologies to Freud) 
I don’t suppose you could put

The meaning of life in a nutshell

– the meaning of life in a bookshelf, though… 
Seems an entirely plausible venture 

After all, you can only study human anatomy 

Best, in the city of bones 

It’s not even tunnel vision, in 

Keeping with the fundamentals of physics, when 

You focus solely on that, of mice and men

– and what then? 

A treatise of biology? 

The surgeon, the apprentice, the fallacy?

The third twin, the imposter, a philosopher’s stone

Seen through a golem’s eye, a man made of stone 

Lemons and lemonade, defiance 

The Bible, the Quran, and Science

The ideal woman, Karl Marx- a feast for crows 

The art of war, the centaur, and selected prose 

Salome, Wuthering heights, the picture of Dorian grey 

The haunting of Alaizebel cray?

-Whose image can I find? 

What is the sum of these stories,

The damned recollections of all lost

Human kind? 

Nested upon each other, dimensions, ideas 

Instigate 

The meaning of life is hidden here, in this

Wooden house of pomegranates 
©CM

10.04.2015 
Day Ten! Today’s prompt is to make a poem out of the titles on your bookshelf. My apologies for the higgledy-piggledy write! Got a bit tough, too many textbooks. And nothing about ISC Mathematics is poetic! 😕

Caught Grey Handed

Caught Grey Handed

I saw you, I saw you
Did you think no one knew?
When you’re in line, you can’t hide
The things that you do
Everyone has to wait their turn
To stay occupied
Some talk, some play games
Some whine and gripe
And some, like you, think no one knows
That they’re digging for gold
Inside their nose
And you pulled it out and stuck it there
Under a chair
With a sideways glance
She didn’t see you, but I did
Although she would’ve been rendered askance
If she’d known
She carried your dirty deed away
On the seat of her pants

©CM
25.03.2015

I saw you, Mister Guy-In-The-Line. And I’m telling… :p :p