Tag Archives: comedy

A Love Poem

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I want to show you
just how much you
mean to me.
I want to prove to you
that all will be fine.
I want you to say
that you’ll always be mine.
Because I love you
like Optimus Prime.

Now, I know what you’ll say
with that look of dismay
on your face, your eyes rolling
‘Well, that’s romantic..’
(When what you really mean is
You’re sad. Grow up.)
But hear me out!

See, if love poems should always start like this:
Roses are red
and violets are blue..
Well, Optimus has those same colours too!
So, believe me, please do,
when I say that I love you
like Optimus Prime.
And that this is my poem to you.

And if in any way I’ll hurt or wrong you
I swear to you I’ll change…
into a truck
and with some luck drive us away
from this place where we’re stuck
and we can…
Love each other.

And even if we hit a rough patch,
there is nothing that can scratch
the body of our alliance.
Because we’ll be fully equipped
with hidden arm cannons and a laser gun
so no-one will question us. No-one.

See, I know that I’m lucky
to have you by my side,
as I realise that you may come from Venus,
but I am definitely from Cybertron.
And that’s a lot to take on
even without Megatron.

And it doesn’t harm
that even at this speed I can
easily read the signs:
Danger! Curves ahead.
Because when all is said and done
I know that you love
and I love that you know
how to have fun.

So come on.
Admit that you love
that I love you
like Optimus Prime.

And that there is no doubt
that all will be fine.
And when this is over
we’ll talk spark to spark.
And without a word or without a sound
we’ll transform, and roll out.

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Plastic addiction

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It first started when you were a kid
but you didn’t notice it seeping in.
It’s a phase, they say, he’ll get over it
and they turn their gaze onto their own little things.
You remember the first time you held one
the car, the truck, the wheels turning
and something stirring inside of you
gears and cogs, clicking and whirring
something shifting, ever so slightly.
But still, you didn’t notice it seeping in.
How could you, after all?
All it was, all they were, just toys.
Yet something more,
beneath the surface, always
more than meets the eye.
And for a while they became
your fantastic friends, guardians
of plastic memories, unscrewed pains
and loosened joys of coloured limbs.
All that time, it was seeping in.
That was then. Now, at twenty-two,
you dive your hand into
a sea of phases, fading into
an ocean of childhood obsessions
of a kid’s achievement and parents’ despair
in the shapeshifting forms
of cars, trucks and planes.
With care, you choose a fraction
from his collection, it becomes
a subtraction from your brother’s
affection as it joins your faction,
an addition to your own collection.
Although there are millions
in hiding through the world
this one is yours, and yours alone.

But all in all, as in any addiction,
one shall rise and one shall fall.
It’s either you or your plastic creatures.
You notice a change in their plastic features,
they’re begging for more, more comrades,
more plastic, my god it’s fantastic!
Is this what the matrix of leadership feels like?
Do I have the touch? I feel just.. prime!
I want more I need more they need to be mine!
As the frenzy builds up, you scour the net
you bet you can find one to complete the set.
A final addition, you promise yourself,
but in fact, as you look at the shelf
it’s just another token
of your plastic addiction.
Since it started, since the beginning
it’s always been either you
or your plastic creatures.
So far, they’re winning.

(Not) the End of the World

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As I wake, the sun shines
on our bed, an early rise
for a Saturday morning.
But I smile, and look
at your shoulders, facing me.
And fall back into the pillow
sleep crawling into my head.

I dream of wings
rushing outside your window
in a frenzied shower
of white and grey and black.
Hosts of feathers clashing
armies colliding like
the aftermath
of a heavenly pillowfight.

I wake again
as the sky’s court
a parliament of rooks
passes its judgement.
I have slept through
most of it
with you by my side
your shoulders still facing me.

After a kiss on your cheek
I rise again, walk
out of your door
and my day starts,
through libraries, walks and
chattering of voices.

I walk, I tread common
paths, see familiar faces
and the day goes by,
uninterrupted, stubborn
as only days can be.

And inevitably, evening comes
and with it, you.

I sit down again,
you put some water in the kettle
get the biscuits out
and make a cup of tea.
Ready for another night
and another day after that.