In the future I'd quite like to be the proud owner of several poetry collections. I think it'd be pretty cool. In fact, I've already started thinking about what these collections will consist of. One of my ideas is an anthology called 'Disappointments'. Here are three poems I've written that I think would fit quite nicely into the collection. * A haiku for the London bus driver who drove past me Wait is this a joke?
If I see you on these streets- Nah I swear down fam
* Mushrooms Little buttons of doom Grandiose greyish hellish helmets Spores make my eyes sore Spongey skin deceiving; soft to touch like it's well-meaning. Weight next to nothing, God I wish they'd turn to nothing. Those stringy, hairy follicles of the Portobello variety stare me down in the supermarket and I feel it in the back of my throat. The gag reflex. Walk away
walk away walk away walk away
Slippery, oil-slicked fungi ruin delish breakfasts nationwide
People laugh and like to say
'Your tastebuds are immature!'
Honestly, I wish they'd grow up
And understand that there's
'shit' in shiitake for a reason
Many a time I had stalked this man
On Snapchat, Facebook and Instagram
His pictures were dope, he looked like a Greek god
Was a fan of the gym - and I a fan of his bod!
One day into my DMs he slid An epic somersault my heart then did
Alas, his opening line was poor
It was plain to see he had misspelt his 'your'
Your pretty My pretty what? Pray tell My pretty has lost its noun, oh well
It seems your sentence will always remain A riddle, lest our noun should run back again
If your latest squeeze cannot even bring
Grammatical accuracy to his flirty opening
If he don't treat his letters right He won't treat you right either
It's the classic red light