Sitting in the sun,
Watching old movies,
The Australian heat
Washes up against my feet.
The dog shakes off the afternoon
And snoozes by the couch
And all our troubles melt away
Like the ice cream now resting
In our stomachs.
The ignorance of it all.
Only at the cost of our minds
Do we chase our tails and sunbathe
On the crisp autumn grass.
And so, my Tweet Verse reaches its sad conclusion.
My characters, though they double in size,
Are fed to the wind,
And a new chapter begins.
Due to the changes to Twitter's character count restrictions, this will sadly be my last 140 character Tweet Verse. I'm not sure how comfortable I am doubling the restriction in poem format. We'll see what the future holds.
Dancing salsa in a cave
Makes it harder to behave,
But it's easier to repeat
Your footsteps in the Cuban heat
With kisses, as I feel brave.
Poetry shouldn't be sipped with a fine wine
on a late Sunday afternoon,
It should be crunched;
Snorted off a ****** late on a Saturday morning,
Because we don't dine when we're content,
But when we desperately crave food.
Poetry should be grimy
like we feel,
Powerful, like we're not,
And stuffed to the brim with sustenance.
Love is perhaps the most important ingredient.
Love is the difference between someone
who likes pizza and has been to Italy,
And someone who read about them both once
on a takeaway menu, which happened to drop
in through the letterbox.
This isn't poetry. But she ******* is.
Even though I fear that I'll never see you again,
That your memory of me will fade into the wind,
My determination; my love for you resists.
Desperately failing to forget you.
It's hard to look forward to
The blue Cuban seas as they part
When you're a Caribbean sunset in my heart
I poured my words into a letter,
Made sure I got every drop -
That was the easy part -
Saying how you make me feel.
The hard part is waiting