Over Sharing

This piece is inspired by Baker’s Introduction Poem

The meetings
The idealists
Oh how annoying
Hands waving
Pick me, me , me
Machine gun firing ideas
Who is gonna get down
and carry out the plan
And who will pick up the pieces
scattered around the finish line

At least
I have control over poetry
I started one
and I definately finish it
Even sometimes it reads rubbish
I may not get recognised for brilliance
I certainly get a medal for persistence
I ranted
like bursting a pimple
What a relief


Kitty is rubbing himself incessantly
on the corner of my mobile phone.
I am holding tight to stop sending
the sandwich text prematurely.
It will be bad, very bad
if you only get the flimsy bun
and the brunt of the meat
without the spongy esteem.

Kitty doesn’t like me ignoring him.
No, no, not a bit!
He progresses to lie between me
and the phone screen.
It’s hard to perfect a message ensemble
while ducking my head left and right.
Gone the message with scramble words.

Opposite Genres

Reading biography and erotica
is the polar opposite.
The former
condenses a whole long life
into a bound book.
The later
inflates a five minute act
to an eight pages ramble.

You now see
why I love reading biographies
why I feel so ripped off
by erotica.


AFP agents were listening in to that pair of suspected criminals.
All they were hearing was about domestic cleaning.
Agents were frantically decoding.
The report read,
‘The perfect strategy to thoroughly clean up the nation’s financial mess is to progressively detoxify its people using abrasive ethnic cleansing.’

The pair stood in trial in High Court.
They were confronted with the sole evidence of live recording of their bedroom conversation.
‘The best way to clean up home kitchen is to clean as you go by using vinegar spray.’

Bad Advice

This little poem is inspired by My Writing Routine by M L Woldman

The sexy therapist suggested me
to masturbate
to be in touch
with myself

I refused
How could you expect
splendid firework
if you wet the fuse




iโคu to the moon and got lost on the way back

iโคu stacks like maple syrup pancakes

iโคu squillions into the dark roast coffee beans

iโคu bunches scrunched up toilet paper sudoku

iโคu heaps in summer heatwaves exhaustion and profusely sweaty stink