It’s been a while since I’ve written poetry, so I’m taking this chance to get back at it even though I am as lyrical as wax right now. With eggnog in my egghead, here are some lazy quatrains for the lazy holidays! Enjoy!
A Quarter To Quatrain
At a quarter to quatrain I sit in my desk
A shot of sky juice to prolong what’s short
As my brain plunders eastwards my mind travels West
A quarter past quatrain and I’m reading this tort
Ini lah Nietszche/This Is Nietszche
God is deader than dead
(Sial lah bro don’t talk like that can?)
But your kiss is heavenly and divine
(Christ almighty this is haram bro!)
“Let’s talk about our feelings,” she said.
BANG! I shot myself in the head,
Thus ending my life and rendering myself
Incapable of completing this quatrain.
It is not my fault
That when you touch me, I think of roses
And I feel sad for those roses
Because you’ve touched them too.
She wants to disappear
Into the Grand Canyon
And I have the knife wounds
To prove it (they’re in my back)
You’re the best girlfriend a guy could have
And I say this in poetry with all my love
It has nothing to do with the cocked gun
You’re holding to my head.
The biggest heist of my life
Is when I stole your deeply vaulted heart
Where I play the guard bound and gagged
And your getaway car.
You’re either the shepherd, saviour and protector
Or one of the sheep, a follower through and true
Or a wolf, pillaging and taking what you want.
I am the walrus.