SIX POEMS by JOE MOLANDER
DIY Poetry Kit (English edition)
Aa
Bb
Cc
Dd
Ee
Ff
Gg
Hh
Ii
Ll
Mm
Nn
Oo
Pp
Rr
Ss
Tt
Uu
Vv
Ww
Xx
Yy
Zz
0123456789
,;.?!—
Instructions
1.) Take the above characters and put them in such an order that you are satisfied they communicate a truth. You may use each character more than once, or not at all.
2.) If the poem is bad, do not discard it. Spend some time in contemplation, and reorder what you have.
3.) If the poem is good, you owe me royalties.
Big toenail clipping
Observe, crescent moon,
how easily I sever
that which moments
ago was part of me.
Bounce across the room
like sunset over a river,
it makes no difference to me.
I’ll put you in a bin
as soon as I tread on you
first thing in the morning.
Pray that it’s worth it
for the moment
I cry out in the dark.
Just before I went off to college, I would go out into the city and do stand-up at open mics. It took an hour to get there either way on a freezing cold train and none of the other comics ever wanted to talk to me. This one night I bombed so bad, I hid my head in my hands the whole ride home in case I saw someone from the audience. The next morning, I found my dad gardening, fighting a losing battle against Japanese knotweed. When he raised his arm in preparation to swing it back down, I noticed he wielded his machete in the exact same way I had held the mic stand.
Alternatively titled:
Haiku
The pink veins all know
you cannot destroy something
if it keeps growing.
My words are abandoning me
I am amazed I could convince
one as long as “abandoning”
to fly. The others are smoking
nervously around the airstrip,
content to let their joints seize up
and see their planes be gnawed by rust.
Soon I will be left with nothing
but syllables. Shrapnel-stanza,
fling yourself down this paragraph:
Even a Kamikaze flies once.
Black poppyseed for parakeets,
White knuckles for pigeons
My roommate and I stood freezing
as we waited to earn scratches
down our fingers. Yellow became
green as the birds learnt the struggle
was worth it. Their weight, about
the same as a hand hanging
off the edge of lonely palms.
Their beaks kept catching
on our skin, already stretched thin.
We were almost in hysterics that day.
Apple
You fattened yourself up
to guarantee
independence.
I can understand
being elated
when you left the branch,
but this is madness.
Here you are, fully aware
of what fate awaits
in my kitchen,
yet you still wear
the most colourful
clothes in the fruit bowl.
If you had hands,
I bet they’d be outstretched
as you screamed
I am alive!
Why should I fear
what comes next?
The only thing
In the dirt is my mum!
Joe Molander (he/him) ekes out a living as a journalist in London. He has been published in some of the most esteemed publications in Britain, but we've never heard of them. Over here, he's written for places like WIRED and The Doe.