dociledoodoohead - Hello Poetry

I have rasped to the cold A yearning for warmth The warmth of a love immolated Of forgiveness through flame And when it is loud I have screamed to myself A thousand pleas for a resting place, A soft soil to resign in And a burial of snow And when I’m feeling selfish I want only to indulge In the relief of my spite - That you may know how badly I wanted it, Oh, for how long I needed more than I could ask you for

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Feb 8

Feb 8, 2026 at 4:30 PM UTC

And when it is quiet

I have rasped to the cold A yearning for warmth The warmth of a love immolated Of forgiveness through flame And when it is loud I have screamed to myself A thousand pleas for a resting place, A soft soil to resign in And a burial of snow And when I’m feeling selfish I want only to indulge In the relief of my spite - That you may know how badly I wanted it, Oh, for how long I needed more than I could ask you for

15

I’ve been trying to write a poem for you, and failing Flowery words and sentimentality Fall short I miss you so much I miss looking down into your big brown eyes And smelling your shampoo Which would become our shampoo And kissing you I wish you were still sobbing into my chest, Soaking my shirt with tears I wish we spent less time being scared I knew I loved you For so long Before I said it I knew it at the barrier of Enogra, on the rocks at Cedar Creek And in my living room At your feet Crying over a movie that most of our friends wouldn’t even like Remember that Easter weekend When we watched the sky Waiting for a shooting star I wish I convinced you to lie there a little longer I wish we had seen one Maybe we just weren’t sick of each other yet Maybe nothing lasts forever anyway And I wouldn’t ask you to uproot your life for me But I’d give so much for another hour Just to hear your problems Your ****** day What you had for lunch What happened at work Last night you were in my dream For the first time in months You were back only for a weekend We just sat together on the couch We just did nothing We didn’t even kiss I hate myself for waking up How’s the weather in London? Just kidding I know it’s **** I’m sorry to tell you so many things you already know I would’ve kept this private But god know’s if you’d ever hear it otherwise I love you too much to ever shut up about it And I’m still missing you Obviously I keep thinking of that Leonard Cohen poem Darling, I now have a butter dish that’s shaped like a cow It seemed silly when I first read it. But now I understand. I’d do anything to tell you about my silly butter dish. How I got cut off on the way to work. What the last thing that made me laugh was. All that ******** But you’re not here So I’ll tell the walls about all the moments we shared Regale them with stories of us, To spare my friends the boredom I’ll journal all your favourite things I’ll keep your old clothes, And if we don’t speak again, I’ll leave them with your parents. I’ll return that 600-page book too; it’ll only take me a week to read. I’ll stay in touch with your friends, so they can let me know you’re happy - I’ll only move on, so that you can too. But there is nothing I could ever be bitter about. You were it. Thank you.

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Feb 8

Feb 8, 2026 at 4:25 PM UTC

It's Impossible

I’ve been trying to write a poem for you, and failing Flowery words and sentimentality Fall short I miss you so much I miss looking down into your big brown eyes And smelling your shampoo Which would become our shampoo And kissing you I wish you were still sobbing into my chest, Soaking my shirt with tears I wish we spent less time being scared I knew I loved you For so long Before I said it I knew it at the barrier of Enogra, on the rocks at Cedar Creek And in my living room At your feet Crying over a movie that most of our friends wouldn’t even like Remember that Easter weekend When we watched the sky Waiting for a shooting star I wish I convinced you to lie there a little longer I wish we had seen one Maybe we just weren’t sick of each other yet Maybe nothing lasts forever anyway And I wouldn’t ask you to uproot your life for me But I’d give so much for another hour Just to hear your problems Your ****** day What you had for lunch What happened at work Last night you were in my dream For the first time in months You were back only for a weekend We just sat together on the couch We just did nothing We didn’t even kiss I hate myself for waking up How’s the weather in London? Just kidding I know it’s **** I’m sorry to tell you so many things you already know I would’ve kept this private But god know’s if you’d ever hear it otherwise I love you too much to ever shut up about it And I’m still missing you Obviously I keep thinking of that Leonard Cohen poem Darling, I now have a butter dish that’s shaped like a cow It seemed silly when I first read it. But now I understand. I’d do anything to tell you about my silly butter dish. How I got cut off on the way to work. What the last thing that made me laugh was. All that ******** But you’re not here So I’ll tell the walls about all the moments we shared Regale them with stories of us, To spare my friends the boredom I’ll journal all your favourite things I’ll keep your old clothes, And if we don’t speak again, I’ll leave them with your parents. I’ll return that 600-page book too; it’ll only take me a week to read. I’ll stay in touch with your friends, so they can let me know you’re happy - I’ll only move on, so that you can too. But there is nothing I could ever be bitter about. You were it. Thank you.

65

Darling I cannot close this book I’ve been learning how to lucid dream So that somehow I might fly, bird-like, Over London And roost in your apartment. When I awake, tears arrive in a great migration South I’ve been living in a quaint town called denial From which you departed months ago. Our crops are failing, and this current rain-dance will be as fruitless as the last. I’m riding this sinking vessel straight through the iceberg, and all twelve winter months. An Italian Riviera awaits me with wide, apathetic arms. I hope I die making the wrong decision, because I can’t live with the consequences anyway. If I’ve conned my way into heaven, it only makes sense to do penance until I reach hell. Plummeting from the pedestal I placed you on. I hope my safety nets tear wide open. And that the king's horses trample me. And that the king's men trample me. And that Putting myself back together again is a labor worse than the trampling itself. But I don’t know if I believe in all that anyway It’s like some kind of nursery rhyme. Or prayer. Or mantra. And as I go to write it down, I can’t find the bottom of the page. Are we both forgetting to forget? Or is it just me? If you were here, I’d ask you how your day was, until my skin wrinkled and my jaw locked. I’d smother that banality with a hug that was too tight. Let’s both hold our breath and see who passes out first, just promise you’ll wake me if I win this stupid contest I invented. I’m still writing this just to lengthen the time you’ll allow me to stay in your thoughts. I think if I stopped I’d cease to exist. But why dwell It’s impossible to keep my head down and my chin up at the same time. Grinning like a great-white politician, selling myself the lie. Swimming out to sea. Or at least to other lands Where the grass is greener but the sky is greyer When will this end? How long is a piece of string? I just ******* miss you, there’s no way to be poetic about it. I might as well be an oracle to clichés This might as well be braille, Morse code, Thieves can't, A romantic language that I’ve been practicing since the 17th, century… Darling I cannot close this book I’ve been learning the dark arts That I might conjure a memory in corporeal form. That she may cradle my head in her lap. And let me wipe my tears on her thighs. I feel like an infant being rocked nauseous. I just want to sleep, 12 months minimum. Tell me our love's not comatose, but if it is, cut the cord before I come too; If I’m a ghost to you, let me pass on. If not, say the incantation anyway. Echo those three words into the void, Make up for lost time when we bit our tongues. Make me into a mantra Or a prayer Or a nursery rhyme Any myth that helps you believe Because I promise I’m true. And the ocean is just a big lake And the time between us is only a dream That I will forget about In the mourning Whatever that morning may bring

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Feb 8

Feb 8, 2026 at 4:14 PM UTC

Section of a somewhat Infinite poem of things I want to say to you

Darling I cannot close this book I’ve been learning how to lucid dream So that somehow I might fly, bird-like, Over London And roost in your apartment. When I awake, tears arrive in a great migration South I’ve been living in a quaint town called denial From which you departed months ago. Our crops are failing, and this current rain-dance will be as fruitless as the last. I’m riding this sinking vessel straight through the iceberg, and all twelve winter months. An Italian Riviera awaits me with wide, apathetic arms. I hope I die making the wrong decision, because I can’t live with the consequences anyway. If I’ve conned my way into heaven, it only makes sense to do penance until I reach hell. Plummeting from the pedestal I placed you on. I hope my safety nets tear wide open. And that the king's horses trample me. And that the king's men trample me. And that Putting myself back together again is a labor worse than the trampling itself. But I don’t know if I believe in all that anyway It’s like some kind of nursery rhyme. Or prayer. Or mantra. And as I go to write it down, I can’t find the bottom of the page. Are we both forgetting to forget? Or is it just me? If you were here, I’d ask you how your day was, until my skin wrinkled and my jaw locked. I’d smother that banality with a hug that was too tight. Let’s both hold our breath and see who passes out first, just promise you’ll wake me if I win this stupid contest I invented. I’m still writing this just to lengthen the time you’ll allow me to stay in your thoughts. I think if I stopped I’d cease to exist. But why dwell It’s impossible to keep my head down and my chin up at the same time. Grinning like a great-white politician, selling myself the lie. Swimming out to sea. Or at least to other lands Where the grass is greener but the sky is greyer When will this end? How long is a piece of string? I just ******* miss you, there’s no way to be poetic about it. I might as well be an oracle to clichés This might as well be braille, Morse code, Thieves can't, A romantic language that I’ve been practicing since the 17th, century… Darling I cannot close this book I’ve been learning the dark arts That I might conjure a memory in corporeal form. That she may cradle my head in her lap. And let me wipe my tears on her thighs. I feel like an infant being rocked nauseous. I just want to sleep, 12 months minimum. Tell me our love's not comatose, but if it is, cut the cord before I come too; If I’m a ghost to you, let me pass on. If not, say the incantation anyway. Echo those three words into the void, Make up for lost time when we bit our tongues. Make me into a mantra Or a prayer Or a nursery rhyme Any myth that helps you believe Because I promise I’m true. And the ocean is just a big lake And the time between us is only a dream That I will forget about In the mourning Whatever that morning may bring

62

The raspberry coloured leaves on my centre table have sprouted New life through nurture A cutting I gave to you The very man Whose *** I smashed all those years ago I remember you came in. Not concerned about the expensive *** The mess The water on the carpet But instead of the poor plant, laying to die With pointed finger and stern brow You told me that it is stupid to let anything die The following year, when your devils Ivy was overgrown. You gave me the cuttings Grinning Gold tooth glowing warm Put it in water, that’s all it needs Keep it somewhere dark I’d killed every plant I was ever given. But this one’s easy, you said This one Easy It lived at the apartment And when I moved, it propagated again These days I have More plants than I can count on my fingers Less than on my toes I’ve no green thumbs But when I look at the plant's new appendage I think of you If I lose this job, I’ll miss your broken English

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Feb 8

Feb 8, 2026 at 4:07 PM UTC

Ode To Ranjeet

The raspberry coloured leaves on my centre table have sprouted New life through nurture A cutting I gave to you The very man Whose *** I smashed all those years ago I remember you came in. Not concerned about the expensive *** The mess The water on the carpet But instead of the poor plant, laying to die With pointed finger and stern brow You told me that it is stupid to let anything die The following year, when your devils Ivy was overgrown. You gave me the cuttings Grinning Gold tooth glowing warm Put it in water, that’s all it needs Keep it somewhere dark I’d killed every plant I was ever given. But this one’s easy, you said This one Easy It lived at the apartment And when I moved, it propagated again These days I have More plants than I can count on my fingers Less than on my toes I’ve no green thumbs But when I look at the plant's new appendage I think of you If I lose this job, I’ll miss your broken English

29

Come here When the Bruce is backed up It becomes a shimmering creek Honking and carrying on You ******* goose, give him the bird Come here When the cyclone bullies the palm trees Stretch out by the electric fan Chuck on a dry flannel And hear the wind assault the windows Come here Lean on the beams of a Queenslander White paint chipping Gander out at a back yard barking with love And snags on the webber Come here Bathe in the city green Sink a couple cones, then jump in the neighbour's pool Let the lorikeets shriek at the mango sky Four X and Vegemite, brown like the river Come here Watch the summer rains from the bar on the corner Drown in torrential conversation And when it stops ******* down We’ll sit in quiet and see the tungsten reflect off the bitumen Come here Feel that hole in the ozone Sunscreen-stained skin on skin Sticky sweat on your limbs Drape yourself down off the hills hoist Come here Acquire the taste Old utes showered in falling jacaranda petals Give it a hot crack Tell me you’re true Like a big blue flag and some southern stars When you’re here Wash up along the shore Wrap your coastline arms around me Kiss my salty face Make me homesick, for a place I never left

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Feb 8

Feb 8, 2026 at 4:04 PM UTC

Ode to South East Queensland

Come here When the Bruce is backed up It becomes a shimmering creek Honking and carrying on You ******* goose, give him the bird Come here When the cyclone bullies the palm trees Stretch out by the electric fan Chuck on a dry flannel And hear the wind assault the windows Come here Lean on the beams of a Queenslander White paint chipping Gander out at a back yard barking with love And snags on the webber Come here Bathe in the city green Sink a couple cones, then jump in the neighbour's pool Let the lorikeets shriek at the mango sky Four X and Vegemite, brown like the river Come here Watch the summer rains from the bar on the corner Drown in torrential conversation And when it stops ******* down We’ll sit in quiet and see the tungsten reflect off the bitumen Come here Feel that hole in the ozone Sunscreen-stained skin on skin Sticky sweat on your limbs Drape yourself down off the hills hoist Come here Acquire the taste Old utes showered in falling jacaranda petals Give it a hot crack Tell me you’re true Like a big blue flag and some southern stars When you’re here Wash up along the shore Wrap your coastline arms around me Kiss my salty face Make me homesick, for a place I never left

41

I was appointed whipping boy In your absence, a flagellant Please don’t set my heart aflame I yearn to self-immolate I’ve finally done something to justify that loathing Let me wrap this putrid vessel in distractions And from the decades' chrysalis emerge anew Bright Red and deep blue Cynical and feminine Self-assured by you My glowing dress and vacant gaze My carapace of chrome My indignation in its grave My god, let me atone. And despite the beating wings Despise my bold disguise See my inner sinsect soul See through my butterfly My worm My grub My maggot rot My leech My larvae too My love, tell me I love you not My god, I hope it’s true And if in fact I haven’t changed, you can say I told you so I’ll crawl back to my chrysalis I’ll stay in there for you

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Feb 8

Feb 8, 2026 at 4:00 PM UTC

The Bug

I was appointed whipping boy In your absence, a flagellant Please don’t set my heart aflame I yearn to self-immolate I’ve finally done something to justify that loathing Let me wrap this putrid vessel in distractions And from the decades' chrysalis emerge anew Bright Red and deep blue Cynical and feminine Self-assured by you My glowing dress and vacant gaze My carapace of chrome My indignation in its grave My god, let me atone. And despite the beating wings Despise my bold disguise See my inner sinsect soul See through my butterfly My worm My grub My maggot rot My leech My larvae too My love, tell me I love you not My god, I hope it’s true And if in fact I haven’t changed, you can say I told you so I’ll crawl back to my chrysalis I’ll stay in there for you

29

Mum looked at me with heavy eyes ‘He used to think very very deeply, a bit like you’ The recognition is a curse. Her words stain my peripheral thoughts for days; Nonna’s pasta sauce down my whitest shirts. And other things passed down. She told me he was ‘Cleaning a gun, when it went off by accident.’ I was too young then, But I know now I know now It rings in my ears like shrapnel My sister says she’s glad that I’m not fooled by the idea that you’re ‘Not supposed to need anyone’ But I don’t know how to need anyone else, without hurting them too. The knowledge that it gets better plagues me with the knowledge that it also gets worse. Alfio, where did you find the courage?

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Nov 4, 2024

Nov 4, 2024 at 6:46 PM UTC

Ode to a man I never knew

Mum looked at me with heavy eyes ‘He used to think very very deeply, a bit like you’ The recognition is a curse. Her words stain my peripheral thoughts for days; Nonna’s pasta sauce down my whitest shirts. And other things passed down. She told me he was ‘Cleaning a gun, when it went off by accident.’ I was too young then, But I know now I know now It rings in my ears like shrapnel My sister says she’s glad that I’m not fooled by the idea that you’re ‘Not supposed to need anyone’ But I don’t know how to need anyone else, without hurting them too. The knowledge that it gets better plagues me with the knowledge that it also gets worse. Alfio, where did you find the courage?

15

From my bed Now that it’s much larger, and facing the window. It’s empty, no hair to breathe in, no legs to tangle, no blanket to wrestle. I focus on that glowing orb, proud with solitude. It gives me something to aspire too.

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Nov 4, 2024

Nov 4, 2024 at 6:41 PM UTC

I can see the moon

From my bed Now that it’s much larger, and facing the window. It’s empty, no hair to breathe in, no legs to tangle, no blanket to wrestle. I focus on that glowing orb, proud with solitude. It gives me something to aspire too.

5

Close the door. Put in your IV, dopamine drip With sympathy blaring like a trumpet through your ears. Down the staircase. wait by the road, Spare the commuters the trauma. Creeping across the bicherman, walking dead. Reanimated by duty, or was it instinct. ‘I look good disheveled’ haircut screaming otherwise, clothes hanging off of you like a bad omen. Shuffle into the car, driver already half infected, indifference swearing as an old drunk would. I care because I’m paid to. I’m very co-operative when I have no other Choice. At the workplace, brutalist demeanours, menial brutality. Welcome me back to reality with plastered smiles, they smell your ambivalence. Shelter in the breaking room, delay the inevitable. punch into the machine ‘64’ ‘D7’ coffee and confectionery like rudimentary medicine. Collapse at the desk, you skin loosens. Falls off. a slow 37.5 hour decay begins.

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Nov 4, 2024

Nov 4, 2024 at 6:36 PM UTC

Monday

Close the door. Put in your IV, dopamine drip With sympathy blaring like a trumpet through your ears. Down the staircase. wait by the road, Spare the commuters the trauma. Creeping across the bicherman, walking dead. Reanimated by duty, or was it instinct. ‘I look good disheveled’ haircut screaming otherwise, clothes hanging off of you like a bad omen. Shuffle into the car, driver already half infected, indifference swearing as an old drunk would. I care because I’m paid to. I’m very co-operative when I have no other Choice. At the workplace, brutalist demeanours, menial brutality. Welcome me back to reality with plastered smiles, they smell your ambivalence. Shelter in the breaking room, delay the inevitable. punch into the machine ‘64’ ‘D7’ coffee and confectionery like rudimentary medicine. Collapse at the desk, you skin loosens. Falls off. a slow 37.5 hour decay begins.

9

Cursed with freedom My soles drag like burning cigarettes Asphalt kissing rubber And sent to heaven Wiping my cheek, blessing my breath Outside myself Untethered Kicking cans Smelling blinkers Taste the railing, looking over the go-between Wishing To float down Untethered Clutching for a warmth a smirk Cosplaying as a confident man Airing out my forced laughs into void Untethered Sinking higher Balloon chasing the atmosphere Escaping hands I held Head ringing Phone undead Untethered Five months Southside Open world purgatory Office building obituary I’ll be on the other side of the globe soon And still won’t elude My tether

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Nov 4, 2024

Nov 4, 2024 at 6:23 PM UTC

Untethered

Cursed with freedom My soles drag like burning cigarettes Asphalt kissing rubber And sent to heaven Wiping my cheek, blessing my breath Outside myself Untethered Kicking cans Smelling blinkers Taste the railing, looking over the go-between Wishing To float down Untethered Clutching for a warmth a smirk Cosplaying as a confident man Airing out my forced laughs into void Untethered Sinking higher Balloon chasing the atmosphere Escaping hands I held Head ringing Phone undead Untethered Five months Southside Open world purgatory Office building obituary I’ll be on the other side of the globe soon And still won’t elude My tether

30