NaPoWriMo 2013, Day #10 – Unlove Poem called ‘I Need You’

The prompt for Day 10 was:

“Many of us have read and even written love poems. But have you written an un-love poem?

You Fit Into Me

You fit into me
like a hook into an eye

a fish hook
an open eye

–Margaret Atwood

An un-love poem isn’t a poem of hate, exactly — that might be a bit too shrill or boring. It’s more like a poem of sarcastic dislike. This is a good time to get in a good dig at people who chew with their mouth open, or always take the last oreo. If there’s no person you feel comfortable un-loving, maybe there’s a phenomenon? Like squirrels that eat your tomatoes. (I have many, many bitter feelings about tomato-eating squirrels). There’s lots of ways to go with this one, and lots of room for humor and surprise as well. Happy writing!”

One of my favourite love poems/songs of all time is this one by John Hegley, so I thought I’d do one with the same title but going in the opposite direction.

I Need You

I need you like a camel needs a coat.
I need you like a whale needs a boat.
I need you like a singer needs a strep throat.

I need you like a robber needs a chase.
I need you like an agoraphobic needs space.

I need you like a spaceman needs a jigsaw.

I need you like a zoo needs a chicken.
I need you like an ear needs flicking.

I need you like Genghis Khan needed a girlfriend that was after some monogamous love.

I need you like an ice cream needs a bee,
I need you like Ray Winstone needs green tea,
I need you like a hippo needs a wet wipe to freshen up.

Like teenagers need acne, I need you…ooh yes I do.

Like an ice cream van needs fruit,
like a rock band needs a flute,
like humans need to know when they’re going to die,
like horror films need a black guy.

I need you like a melon needs a straw,
I need you like a felon needs a law-book for light reading.

I need you like Snow White needed those Dwarves, just to make housework.

I need you like dogs need deckchairs.
I need you like men need neck hairs.
I need you like a fillet steak needs something else on the plate before it can participate
in what you might describe as a decent meal.

I need you like a filofax needs love.
I need you like like Michael Jackson needed his other glove
if he hadn’t lost it like so many of us’ve.

NaPoWriMo 2013, Day #06 – Valediction

The prompt for Day 06 of NaPoWriMo was:

“This might seem like a bit of a downer, but I challenge you to write a valediction. This is a poem of farewell. Perhaps the most famous one is John Donne’s A Valediction Forbidding Mourning, which turns the act of saying good-bye into a very tender love poem. But your poem could say “good-bye” (and maybe good riddance!) to anything or anyone. A good-bye to winter might be in order, for example. Or good-bye to the week-old easter eggs in your refrigerator. Light or serious, long or short, it’s up to you!”

Farewell, Welfare

We know you’re feeling hungry.
We know you’re sleeping rough.
But the country’s in recession,
and we haven’t got enough.

We know you’ve lost your house, Sir.
We know you need to sleep.
But we need to pay for Trident
and it isn’t coming cheap.

We know you’ve got no money.
We know you need to eat.
But I’m sure there is a food bank
just up off Market Street.

We know that you’ve got nothing.
You had none; now have less.
But funerals are costly things,
even for a Baroness.

Flip-Flop

I lost a flip-flop.
Now I must flip-hop.

NaPoWriMo Day #11 – Sensory Memory

Day 11’s prompt was to write a poem using all five senses, so I tried remembering all five senses from what I think is my oldest memory. The memory is pretty personal, and I normally think about it once every six months or so, out of nowhere. I won’t tell you any more about the memory, so I hope the poem does it justice.

I can hear you, Mum.
I am in my room, I am three years old.
I don’t know where your other three boys are,
or where Dad is;
in this memory there is only us.

I don’t know what to do.
I am not used to hearing you like this,
I thought adults didn’t cry.

You told me, years later, that I was the only one of us kids that felt sadness,
that the others didn’t really understand it.
I don’t know what made me different.

I get off my bed, open the door, see you on the stairs, and join you.
You have your head in your hands,
you shake.
I know you have seen me cry a million times,
but this is a first.

I can only smell dull smells,
the carpet, the wooden stairs.

I do the only thing I know to do,
and I offer you a cuddle
the way you taught me.

You squeeze me hard.
It feels like the harder you squeeze me,
the more your troubles ooze out of you.

I can still feel that hug.
It was comforting, but it was pretty soggy.

Our faces are pressed against each other,
and I can taste tears.
Some of mine, some of yours,
it is sorrow’s cocktail.

I hold you tightly,
I don’t want to lose what you lost.