I Wrote 10 Poems in 20 Minutes

Well, some are so bad I’m not sure they qualify as poems.

Poem 1:
And he smelled like orange. And that was enough. I was enough.

Poem 2:
Can I have someone to talk to
Who will tell me if I’m racist.
Because I’m uncertain.
Can I stop saying, “that’s racist,”
And figure out the whys and the hows.
That way I won’t be scared when the black guy starts yelling outside my house.

Poem 3:
You may not share my wheel
It is mine.
It is no toy.
I’m stuck for life.

Poem 4:
My brother told me
He said that he likes football
He gets to hit some guys.
He said
When he went away that he missed
Hitting people.
Why can he hit people with his shoulders.
When I can’t hit anyone with my words?

Poem 5:
I’d like to be funny.
It shouldn’t take so much work to be funny.
I’m just mean instead.
Mean on accident.
But I mean,
I’m not trying to be mean.
I just want to seep out my misery, and the words seem to be the best way.
I was wrong again.

Poem 6:
I’ve moved back home.
I also answer my phone as though I am the directory operator for the rings of hell.
For the first ring of hell, you want to speak to my mother
For the second circle of terror you want to press the number 3 and you’ll reach my brother
The place I was once stuck has changed into a different type of prison.
Now I want to leave, and can, but I can’t,
I have a piece of paper that says where I was once trapped I now trap myself.
I’m going to make some pasta. Then cry in a ball. Like I do every day.

Poem 7:
Everyday, I ask myself, will I be like this forever?
I hope not.
But there’s something wrong. And I haven’t changed anything. So it will keep getting wronger.
And I’ll keep crying.
I’m sure that will help.

Poem 8:
My father weds the couples.
My mother gets money when they split.
And they always do. Or they should.
In all my years I’ve never seen a happy pair.
No, that’s a lie. I’ve seen two patients with dementia who couldn’t remember each other’s names, but they looked happy. And there was applesauce on their shirts.
No love for me.
No passion here.
The closest I come is bagels.

Poem 9:
My dog Ashley can’t get up the stairs.
So she sits at the bottom and cries.
She looks at me as though I should be able to fix it.
She puts her head on my hand.
Cold nose.
Then goes to stand under the case.
And she looks at me.
And I see her.
The gray in her fur.
The rippled veins on her slim face.
The cloud in her eyes.
The limp in her paw.
And I say, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to help.”
I tell her I don’t know what I can do.
And she puts her nose on my leg.
Walks over to the stair case.
And looks up.

Poem 10:
Do I really want to be better
Or do I want to have more to talk about
And a place to go
And someone who’s waiting for me.
I don’t want to wait on another person.
Because you know what that means.
That the person you’re waiting for is more important than you.
That they have the power.
You are subject to the clock and whims.
Here you are sitting down. Staring at air.
Waiting for the day.

35 thoughts on “I Wrote 10 Poems in 20 Minutes

  1. whimseytopia

    So now we know you won’t pick up the dog and carry it upstairs; your father is a minister or judge, and your mom is a lawyer. But my favorite is #10. They don’t have more power; they’re just less organized.

    Actually I like them all. You’re very prolific.

    1. some bad plankton Post author

      Your assessments are correct. To respond to your comments, I certainly didn’t intend to be so wordy when this started; everything just, sort of, bubbles out. I think that perpetually late people do have a certain kind of power. It probably wasn’t collected on purpose. Being able to make someone else wait says a lot about one’s status in a family/friend hierarchy. But, yes, he/she is probably unorganized as well.

      1. whimseytopia

        Not to belabor the point, but I feel like I am very powerful because people KNOW that I am always on time – or early – so they’re always on notice to also be on time. When someone has initially kept me waiting, I have responded with how they “worried” me. …that I was concerned about them.” Then they feel badly for scaring me, and that usually nips it in the bud. No one’s feelings get hurt, and problem solved.

  2. charlypriest

    You had me laughing out loud with this. You´re a great poet. Forgot, I myself don´t know if I´m a racist I guess we´ll just have to wait if we see the black dude outside our house.

  3. Pingback: Prompt #70 “Speed Challenge” | Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

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    1. some bad plankton Post author

      Thank you for taking the time to comment. Yes, I’ve been writing quite a bit of poetry lately. I’ve categorized them under the “Writing” section on the right hand side of the screen. Sorry you couldn’t find it easier.

  5. Outlier Babe

    Wow. Amazing. Poem 6 with the phone circles of hell after moving back “home”? Brilliant concept. Poem 1 and its Asian-style minimalism succeeds in twelve words at making the reader as complete and content as the narrator. In Poem 2 you found a novel way to express that unsurety and fear so many insecure whites feel (i.e. It is perfectly logical to be afraid of a stranger shouting outside your house, but if he’s black: “Am I being racist?”) And if you meant Poem 3 the way I take you meant it–that the narrator holds tenaciously to the hamster wheel that traps her/him–well, you certainly said a lot in four lines, didn’t you?

    Re: Poem 8: I have seen happy couples. Some do exist. Let’s see how many I’ve known personally: Nan and Dave, Ruth and Joe, Phil and Becky, Roger and whats-her-name, M and J, Marsh and Gale, Win and Jay, (three J names–guess we women should look for Js)…

    That’s seven so far, and that didn’t take me very long. And I don’t know many people. So, they’re out there, here and there. Definitely the exceptions. And in five out of seven of those cases, from what I saw, the women did the bulk of the giving in in order to achieve that marital bliss.

    Your doggie Poem 9 is too sad. And another good poem.

    1. some bad plankton Post author

      How flattering. Yes I check the clock pretty religiously. I try to just get one idea out per poem. But, that doesn’t always work. Reading over these again, I’d like to go back over the idea with more time and write something a bit better. Especially poem #7 here, I don’t like the way that one ended; it feels curt and ill expressed.


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