Writing poetry is awkward and fun. But it’s really awkward. So for this edition we are breaking down those barriers in a few ways. Enjoy some light reading and a hefty shit at the bottom to tune into. – Here’s the first edition
All my love – Pleb
Some soft shit poem
You arrive, often late than not,
Anticipating plans of the morn,
Before we can wake together for another hour
You have departed at the crack of dawn.
Shadow shifting through secondary access,
I leave my walls to your security, a promised embrace.
I was disturbed if only for a second,
Before I realised it was you.
Heavy heavy thuds, be still and slow,
Jaded eyes finding strength in in the present,
The clock ticks much faster, In a radiant presence.
First real feeling in a quarter of a decade,
Conveyed, understood, no longer withstood,
First real touch in a quarter of a decade.
Opened, bare chest, one-man barricade.
Allies are for the fall; we are one on one for now.
Superstitious encounters lead to exposure, my Achilles heel.
Strike and lash out to reach blinded dexterous evasion.
Impulsive to be carried by the tide of romantic persuasion.
Morning Poem 18/03/16
It was hard to lift from rest,
The fridge is not stocked,
There are, however, plenty of toilet rolls.
The Peroni is cold, that’s good enough.
It is rude to think aloud,
Or be too loud.
Or to be too proud.
Cover me in a shroud.
Be a public drunk,
And people love you.
Be a public house,
And they shut you down.
Keep it swigging, glug glug.
She goes down on everyone there.
It’s hardly like she can resist.
It’s in her genes.
She’ll fuck anything.
She fucked me.
She fucked me good.
For a year or so.
A while ago,
She sobbed on the last fuck.
I came, I conquered.
I cried, I died.
And left my corpse,
Rotting there with her.
I hope the stench buries her,
Floor the bitch.
Don’t pour your heart out, to or for, a woman.
It’s hardly a good glass of wine.