I recently wanted to challenge myself, so I decided to try my hand at poetry. Since I’ve written a few poems, I’ve really wanted to get some kind of feedback, I’m not sure if they suck or not. So I’m creating this discussion in the hopes people will share their amateur poetry and stories. Only constructive criticisms guys, not everyone is literary genius. I’ll share a poem, if you want to here another of mine, just ask.
An Explorers Ode to Earth
As I see her from afar,
I obtain an inkling of who we are,
Here I sit in this frigid waste,
As if running from her warm embrace,
Just as children must move from home,
Here we travel deep into the unknown.
Here’s my contribution:
The Greener side
Looking on the other side and there is still no vibrant green light radiating from the ground. Why? Because there is no grass! I see scorched pavement riddled with cracks and holes. Now I look back and because of whats behind me I gotta go forward. Damn…. The thing is I’m barefoot so this is way worse. After running so much I need to stop for a breath but thats counterproductive since failure is now so close. Winded and exhausted I continue but the lack of oxygen causes disruptions in my judgment. too bad there’s a rock in front of me… too bad I’m blinded by the survival instinct of just running…and consequently I trip over the rock. Finally able to breath I can only use it for my last thought. So I think to myself what is readily apparent: That’s It!
One of my latest. I honestly didn’t realize the irony until the next day, and subsequently renamed it.
A philosophers job is to see,
All the apparent fallacies,
A job I envy not,
For the penchant to be forgot,
And yet there is a certain allure,
One which shows I’m immature,
Questioning existence is a childs game,
And yet I only feel a childs shame,
None at all that is,
For one thing has kept me enthralled,
That is the “high” recieved from a problem solved.
This is the outline of a short story I’ve been meaning to write. Bonus points if you can tell what inspired this story.
Two warriors of great skill promise to meet for a duel. They are two warriors of great renown and their duel is being recorded by a scribe. The first warrior, Samuish, arrives on time, but is disturbed to see his opponent is late.
Samuish’s opponent, Kassai, is busy getting a meal at a nearby peddler that may be his last.
After slowly eating his food, Kassai goes to the dueling ground but find Samuish has decided to write a poem commemorating his life, should this duel go against his favor. He asks Kassai to give him time to finish and he agrees. Samuish spends almost an hour trying to recall his life and put them into their proper words.
He finishes and goes to find Kassai, but he has decided to meditate. Feeling it would be rude to disturb him, Samuish let’s him finish. Kassai is using a meditation to focus his mind. He imagines a single bird flying from a tree. That single bird becomes a flock and through this, Kassai’s mind is now clear.
He stands to meet Samuish, but Samuish is now sharpening and cleaning his sword. Kassai decides to let him finish. Samuish take exquisite care of his blade. It has been passed down in his family line for generations, and requires care and patience to maintain properly.
Samuish finishes and goes to meet Kassai, but he finds that Kassai has gone to a nearby river to wash himself. Samuish waits for his return. Kassai realizes this day may be his last, and feels it would be a true shame to be killed with his personal hygiene a mess.
Kassai returns and finds Samuish is painting a landscape of the dueling ground. When he finishes, Samuish and Kassai look each other in the eye. The two smile and turn to go their separate ways. The scribe who has been patiently waiting for their duel smiles and writes in his records “On this day, a duel was had by Samuish and Kassai. Both duelists achieved an excellent victory.”
I wrote this during my passion for slam poetry, so excuse the grammar… This is called Honey…
i heard you talkn sweet on some honey
but baby you see im a queen bee
what she can do I can do times three
-plus i dont sting
but these tu-lips are the only thing
that stay with me
these tu-lips are a promise that sticks
by design in the winter time
most of the garden dies with no remains
but these tu-lips always kiss the sky in the springtime after it rains
only tu-lips will hold on to their foundations of veins
veins are pumping, pumping through my grounds
soils rich in soul
fluttering pumping beats through my heart
my power is abundant
a tower that does not cower
because my foundation is a nation of indestructible beams
and i am free
i dont need you to support me
your frame is weak
condemned in a week
if your levees can fail, why is you place for sale?
maybe it time to grow some veins
stay rooted to the power
that even after the winters will still be a flower
i heard you talkn sweet on some honey
hive hopping looking for sweet new honey to eat
you risk a disease with promiscuous desires
you lack of power
a queen will never hire
loyal to the lady
she will always make sure you have everything you need
a lover and a mother
i give you all of me so you can live and breathe
with honey so sweet i know others would love to taste
but you get so greedy
you will always be needy
that bear who’s always getn all they honey he can eat
he forget he eats honey because it is so sweet
but if you dont feel empty
how will you ever be full?
you need the bad times to appreciate the good
so dont turn left when the light is to the right
im shining a light so you can see the rocks at night
honey’s sweet because it’s for you to eat
if there is no reason
then there will never be me
and without me you would never be
so give me some of that nectar and get that honey so sweet
I’m gonna share something that… basically made me who I am. It’s about a girl I liked, but never wanted to be with. :) Sorry, world. I did not want to stop loving her, even if that hurt her – nothing ever happened. But expectations and fantasies can ruin your life, folks. :) Don’t complicated it. Live. It doesn’t even rhyme, so I’ll translate it how it is. :)
I looked deeply.
It was my goal.
Until now, I was looking from afar.
But I wanted to understand her.
And I don’t know why I am disappointed.
I wasn’t expecting anything.
It is what it is.
I did not suffer. She was always the same.
Nothing complicated. Nothing simple.
She’s a window.
Behind another one.
Another slam, I wrote this after I was raped at 18 to feel empowered again while feeling angry and vengeful at the same time. Its called The Deadly Sin.
Pride Greed Sloth Envy Wrath Gluttony Lust
Trust you must fear me
I am the devil who will deliver Shivers through your spine
Call me Superbia
I’ll whisper sweet nothings in your ear
You’ll think you’re special you’ll think you’re hot even though you’re not
Got to be a god
The principle is you’re invincible
But what you dont know is I made you give into Pride.
Avaritia is now my name
Watch as I tame
I’ll give you a little kiss
Diss and dismiss
Walk away and go to another
Others but you? how can this be true?
Punch him in his face making hast to be in his place
Little did you know i made you give into Greed
I am Acedia
You’ll listean to what i say to ya
Please me love me give me everything
Walking all over you
You dont know what to do you cant prove in your groove you got moves
Saddend and depressed
Stop being so Slothful.
Bow to me i am Invidia
Your boy is my toy
I glance your way as i sway on top
Lay a kiss on his lips
I look to see I turned your eyes green with Envy.
Simply I am Ira
Pittiful sad weak thats what you are
Far from a man
So i’ll call you out and shout you’re a fucking bitch
Did i put a dent in your manhood?
Fire searing through your veins
I turned you into Wrath.
I am now the wild girl Gula
Clubbing partying having a great time
Tequila in lime? x 10
Feeding your addiction this affliction of hugs not drugs
You give in to this sin of Gluttony
Finally I am Luxuria
Easy I pie
Grab your tie rub your thigh
And just like that you give into your own Lust.
Call me what you want I will always taunt
I was the secret in pandora’s box
Unleashed the beast commonly known as a Woman.
title: I would strangle the rainmaker to give you a sunny day
placed on the splintered edge of a dreaming mind,
I spit and sputtered, like the dying wings of
a dragonfly on a cold cappuccino morning.
She called me in the dark moody blue hue of early morning
as if to steal the broken moon from the attic in my chest.
So early I could hear the creak of spider legs
inching for a place of warmth.
Still in dream logic, she was crying so quietly
Melted spoons for a brain, I could only hear
the groans and pains of
the pet spiders on my ceiling,
their so cute and pissy in the morning.
She muffled “I need help”
I snapped awake as if a reflex to fight a charging train wreck.
This time advice came direct from my dream landscape the truth served dark black
and without the vanilla flavor.
I focus and get in gear “Hey girlie I am here, whats going on?”
An hour goes by a like a cat sneeze on a stormy day.
Again she laughs if I could see her, her smile would be wide tired and tear stained.
I laugh with her, while aching at the corner of my eyes ” well hey try that tomorrow and if it doesn’t work we can brainstorm to try something else. Call me tomorrow my sleepiness is welting my consciousness, I am not much use now except maybe for some mad hatter talk.” A pause she sighs as if pushing of sleep. I wanted just one more smile to be sure” Stand strong if you can survive this hit the sky will clear for you. We’ll strangle the rainmaker if we have to”
parting jokes and the call the ends, my moon back in my chest
content spiders basking in rays of light I can almost hear the hum of the morning sun.
I smile fading with the ceiling tucking me in, I can see her curled up with her stuffed animals half crying half terrified she falls to sleep drooling on her long time best friend
Finally the purr of happy spiders lulls be back to sleep.
I wrote this a few years ago, it’s one of my favorite pieces.
In A Moment
There is one thing I hate about commuting. Traffic when it is raining. You are behind and in front of whatever cars happen to be around you and the weather gives you a depressed feeling. You can’t go too fast, because you might skid and hit the car in front of you. You can’t cut into another lane, because another car might skid into you. Those who drive trucks and off-roads do not have to worry about that though. Only sports cars and some sedans that are not made for rain have that problem. And that’s the situation I am in right now. In a car that’s meant for open, dry road with wide turns and straight-aways cruising at ninety miles an hour.
Ok, so my car can’t do that. Not anymore at least. No, my 1969 Mustang has seen better years, years of which I was not alive. Damn thing is older than me. I bought it off my neighbor from down the street for two grand. The new black paint job with white racing stripes caught my attention, driving it for the first time on the highway made me realize my mistake. The transmission does not like to go into 3rd gear at times, so I get stuck going about 36 miles per hour pushing 4000rpms and get to feel the entire cabin shake while the car tries to do what it was made to.
I pushed the brake ever so slightly so my car would inch forward as the traffic moved slightly forward. I looked up and across to the other side of the highway, which was elevated by the ground four or five feet, or this side was going down four or five feet, regardless of which was the case there was a drop between the divider. The cars on the other side all drove quite fast, happy that they finally got out of the traffic. It was always like this, where one highway ended and merged into another. Pushing 3 lanes of cars coming from New York City during rush hour into 2 lanes and vice-versa will create traffic for miles. I rarely put my foot on the gas during this; simply letting go of the brake for a few seconds gets the job done.
Sometimes I don’t really mind the traffic much. It gives me time to think. Think about things that will most likely never enter my mind before they occur. Like what am I going to eat for dinner, should I do my laundry, things of that nature. But most of the time I just listen to music. Music that reaches deep into my mind to the point of where there is no thought at all. It is a moment of true peace that few people in this world ever get to experience.
I stared out my windshield while in this moment of peace. For the past 20 minutes of slow moving traffic I have finally reached the merging lanes. Directly to my left is that little hill and countless cars driving out of the same situation I am in on the other side of the highway. I press the brake slightly and come to a complete stop once again. I let go of the wheel and sit absorbed in my music for the length of another song.
Then I see something large and white move erratically on the other side of the highway. I can only see the top due to the divider blocking most of my vision. To my left, the man in his jeep gets out of his car and runs forward. I look at my rear view mirror and see the woman with her friend in the car behind me do the same. I look back to my right and see why such strange behavior ensued. A large eighteen wheeler was going too fast around the turn after the merger and lost traction, sliding it into the divider. The divider stopped the trucks tires from moving, but the momentum went unhindered. I saw that in only a few seconds time the cargo section the truck would land completely covering my car. I had no time to do anything. By the time I opened the door I would be crushed. The elderly man in front of me would most likely be spared, only having the rear of his vehicle crushed by the semi. I would be the only one to die in this accident.
It is very tragic for anyone to die in an accident. Say five or ten people die in a boat accident or car pileup, it is just a number. But when only one person dies, it is their face, their name that is used in the reports. Sympathy and pity are not spread through the number of casualties; they are focused into the one death. This makes the impact of the tragedy so much more. Because these people see the face of the victim and that victim is me.
But I do not want to be this victim. There is so much more I have to do. Only a freshman in college, looking for a dream job to hopefully move out and afford a new car. Start a family, have kids, and see them off into the world. Maybe own my own business, or work from home. If I was successful I could retire early and end with a relaxing life. Or maybe I would not be so lucky, and be unfortunate enough to have to work until I am ninety years old just to pay debts. Who knows what the future holds. Or held, for me at least.
I started to think about the things’ that I have left unfinished. School, for one thing. My current terrible job where I barely make 50 a week. Those things will not be missed. I still had a cell phone bill to pay. Do I have enough in the bank to cover it? I honestly cannot say. I do not ask for my balance when I pay for things with my debit card or take cash out so I can avoid seeing how poor I am. The car I am driving isn’t actually mine, now that I think of it. My father put the two grand for it, and constantly reminds me that it is his car. But then at the same time, He tells me to take my car, bring my car up into the driveway at night, take good care of my car, etcetera. So whose car is it? Whatever, that does not really matter anymore.
So many of these real world things and world issues seemed so trivial and meaningless all of a sudden. I watched the semi fall closer and closer to my car at such an agonizingly slow rate. It seemed that time gave me some sort of reprieve from a quick and cruel fate, that it felt pity for my helpless death. I looked past the falling semi into the trees that surrounded the highway. The rain fell so slowly that I could see each drop clearly. I noticed that in each there was a tiny rainbow caused by what little sunlight got through the clouds. It was probably something you would never see in life, but here in the warped ending I could see in such a new light.
It made me think of the beauty in nature that everyone takes for granted. The fields of grass swaying in the wind, with the pink petals from trees flowing through the air around me as I walked through them. I remember standing on the edge of a cliff and seeing the countryside stretch for miles in all directions. Buildings poked through like ugly wounds but the trees did what they could to cover what has been done to their once natural home, before man came and replaced the fields of dreams with urban jungles and called it progress. I see the earth crying for what its’ children have done to it. Sucking the lifeblood of the planet dry called oil, laying waste to the air purifiers called trees. I search for places in my memories that were untouched by man, but wherever I look there is a building or a road or an electrical line. These moments of natural beauty are a dying breed, and there is nothing we can do about it.
I noticed that the truck has finally made contact with my car roof. It is falling at such an angle that it will crush the drivers’ side first. I see that my spine will probably be crushed vertically into itself. My legs will be pinned under the engine and steering wheel and will probably never be recovered. I wonder how my funeral will happen then, if only, well, no real part of my body will be recovered. I will just get a picture taken some time ago perched on top a coffin that supposedly has my body in it. My family will be there, but the only ones I really care about are my younger brother and sister. I look after them and make sure they make the right choices. I care for them; I want to see them succeed. I do for them what my parents do not. I could care less how my parents are affected by this. One is too stubborn to take me seriously the other is too stupid for me to bother. Years of anger and frustration swelled inside me thinking about them. To be told by your son’s dying thoughts that he does not care for you must be the cruelest thing that could happen to a parent. But in all my rage I do not care. They can wallow in despair for the rest of their lives and it will not affect me. Because I will be dead, dead with this rage and hatred of them.
Suddenly a long, slow, and yet very loud crack disrupts my thoughts. The windshield cracked diagonally down towards the right of the car. The metal frame in between the windows started to buckle and snap. I see the physics defying shapes that it is compressed into and the shockwave the ripples down the entire body of the car. I hear another pop from my left and see the drivers’ window crack like spider webs instantly. It looks quite beautiful, and then the glass starts to shatter piece by piece as it can no longer hold its form under the pressure of the semi. The roof starts to buckle and come closer to my head. I cannot move, only watch. At this moment I regret having been granted this time anomaly, because it will be some time before I will die, and I will feel every bone crack and muscle rip slowly until I do so. I imagine the pain will kill me before the semi does.
All of a sudden I see her face. How could I have forgotten? The guilt of it alone almost tears me in two. All I can think of now is her. I am once again swallowed by anger, frustration, and now sorrow, regret. I am leaving her alone to live without me. I am putting her through the worst pain for someone to feel. I want to survive so I can rid her of this pain, but I see none. Almost instantly my anger and sorrow disappear. All I feel now is love. Beautiful, pure, faithful love. All I can think of now is her. The first time I saw her, the first time she kissed me, the happiness that swelled in my heart when we came together. I could feel a tear forming in my eye. If I had the time, I would cry. Not of sorrow, but of joy, of happiness. The blessing that I had to experience with her is unforgettable, unregrettable, and something that I think every person needs to experience in order to truly value life. That last thing I will think about is her, the only thing I will think about now, is her. She saved me from a life of loneliness, anger, and failure. She helped me spread my wings. I know that death will not end us. If there is something after, I will find her, and I will be with her again, not just because I love her, but because she loves me.
I feel the roof touch the top of my skull. I feel the pressure increasing in my neck. I feel it about to snap, but for some reason, I feel no pain. The only thing I feel, the last thing I feel, is holding her in my arms. Then time returned to normal, and I felt no more.
Not sure what this would be labeled as, but it’s something…
And yes scrame is a word..kind of. http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=scrame
Was flyin round down by the astral plane, a girl who was found down by the castle rain, took her to a cool town where we sat ‘n sang, didn’t even know her name, looked into her eyes and to me they scrame, into my heart, one look and she pulled me apart. She took me down to the ocean now, soft breeze make me start slowin down, breathin in and out, feel it like you’re bleedin out, now your seein now.
Butterflies in the air, just like in your gut, not even a care but to me I’m what? Fuzzy flowers creating the moment, coming down from the gods, and to me I own it. So I broke off that flower, put it in her hair, I gave her the power, and at me she stared. Might as well of been wearin a flair, maybe a couple, and maybe we can be next to the puddle, just forget about your life and the wrongs you’ve done, the vibes were so subtle and at me they run.
Rhythm tent next to me, the way she moved was wreckin me, the way of the mood was let it be, got her number started textin me, after a while we started to move like the nile, 60 miles per hour on the freeway, every moment was sweet, no sour that’s what she say. Now what he say? That’s me, must’ve said something subliminally, cuz she frontin now and never lookin at me….But I guess that’s how it goes, to every start there’s an end to the show.
if you want to write serious poetry, IMHO it should not have a singsongy cadence and rhyme. rhyming poetry is so hard to do well. there are things like “Goblin Market” that get away with it because it is trying to sound childish. Read people like Anne Carson, Elizabeth Bishop, and Sylvia Plath. Bishop is an absolute freakish master of form. Her poems are like drum tight.
I don’t want to seem rude, but i think a lot of people think they can just put fragmented thoughts in singsongy rhyme and call it a poem. i feel like a poem should instead be this kind of small, alluring, insolveable pearl.
@geryon89, While I actually agree with you concerning the greats, I feel you’ve lost site of the essence of poetry. The outpouring of the soul, exploring the common factors that govern are impulses, the stimulation of emotion. This should not be left just to those with great skill, but anybody who love’s poetry, that’s what this threads about. In plus, I have to assume the majority of us are amateurs, so I would really appreciate some advice on improving writing. Don’t tell me what doesn’t work, tell me what does. As I’m sure you know writing is a process of practice and improvement. Thanks for your polite criticism, and thanks for participating.
here is a something; “this is hard to say sometimes”
bearing anemones is inefficient
as hands grow eyes that
wince at the thought of
and passivity encompasses
process, slowly as if
dragging bodies to stasis;
the eyes blink before
blinded by tentacles.
I wrote this in response to everything happening in Syria, but really it can be applied to any social impediment.
“How many have to die before we get help?”
I wish I could give her an answer
I wish you could give me an answer
They’re denied their rights
And for what cause?
It’s another Holocaust
Then there was a target
Then we knew specifically who was in danger
Then it was discrimination
and then annihilation.
Now, it’s devastation across the nation
They need alleviation
We need emancipation
And its not just in Syria
Every part of the globe is aching
Civil unrest and our hearts are breaking
Such a heavy burden to bestow on our Mama Earth
Children in our own neighbourhoods povertized since birth
And what is it all worth?
Deny the man on the street a dollar
He walks home bare with nothing to feed his child.
Why do we act that way?
Why do we think it’s okay
to let somebody suffer?
“As long as I’m fine”
and we don’t care
And while we try to mask it
The rich collect cards
and the poor collect caskets.
It’s how they raised us;
You’re on your own
and only known
by what you own
these unsaid laws
Are what we grow up on
We live this corruption
And suppress the eruption
of humanitarian aggression that we all so desperatrely need to release
‘Cause who needs world peace?
it’s too naive a goal
Something we believe in until we get old
and start to live for ourselves
Something we believe in until we understand what they want from us
Bring us money
Bring us that insensitive, meaningless coin
Bring us that fragile piece of paper that determines your importance
Let us put you in the trance
The trance of finance
Where sustaining the economy is the only “dream” we have
We get rich and disregard the morality of our actions
The only papers that matter are the ones that show our bank transactions
We’re just like them
Prisoners on our own land
But they’ve realized it and request a hand
to pull them out and help them succeed
If only we agreed.
I just started writing what is probably best described as bad poetry. I basically write about an idea, condense it, add some metaphors, and hope some kind of easy cadence comes from it. They are largely brain vomit.
The Clarity of Being
The body and mind are by design
The tools we have for being
Without the use of both we are
A river that is not flowing
To lay to rest the mind we have
A dam construct do we
The river no longer passes by
But poisons in stagnation
The mind can build a mighty dam
Or anything it chooses
But equally adept are we
At razing it to ruin
As mountains run down river beds
The same as much are we
To recognize the way of things
Is to free oneself to be
Kyle Koala was your seemingly average, loving marsupial. He was a peaceful creature who could often be found conversing with his marsupial buddies, snacking on the leaves of eucalyptus trees and exploring the world with an adolescent sense of wonder.
Indeed his actions could be attributed to a lapse of good judgment and an undeveloped frontal lobe in his brain, but what if the explanation is simpler than that? Koalas are fairly simple creatures with fairly simple emotions that can be evoked fairly easy, and just like other young animals, adolescent koalas emotions are fairly unbalanced. What if something happened to Kyle? What if one day, Kyle simply snapped?
Kyle awoke that morning and rolled off his hammock. He stretched, scratched an itch on his backside and wandered onto the balcony of his tree house to greet the early dawn. It was a new day, and Kyle felt great. He moseyed into the kitchen, poured a glass of orange juice and fixed himself a hearty bowl of eucalyptus leaves. After he’d devoured his breakfast and swallowed his ADHD medications Kyle cruised down from his tree to the forest floor below. He met up with his friends and they spent the rest of the day shooting dice and basking in the sun.
That evening Kyle returned to his house. He took a shower and prepared himself for the events to come. Him and the homies were hittin’ up the club scene and he had to get fresh. After taking a swagnificent shower and applying Old Spice to the underarms, Kyle went to select his footwear. As he laced up his pristine, white Nikes he checked out his reflection in the sliding glass door. He looked fresh. Hella fresh.
Then it happened. He noticed something stir in the darkness beyond the door and as he looked on a figure emerged out of the pitch black. He watched, as it pressed it’s horrible, disfigured face against the glass and smiled a wide, yellow-toothed grin that stretched from horn to horn. Pure terror shot through Kyle’s body as he starred into the sickly eyes of a goat. It starred back menacingly. Blood dripped from its unkempt hair and ears down to its horrible toothy grin that encompassed most of its face. The thing stood on two hoofed feet and had the torso of a well built man. Its hairy arms led to hoofed hands that it pressed against the glass. It starred down at Kyle with its vacant eyes and a smile that continued to stretch forever. The little marsupial had never felt so small. He looked back upon this figure of evil and could see its lack of respect for humanity and the well-being of others. Summoning the little courage he had, he asked, “What do you want?” The smiling goat looked at Kyle. It said nothing, only winked its right eye. And then, never breaking eye contact, it walked off into the night on its hoofed feet.
Kyle felt better as he stepped onto the dance floor at Club Primate. He had just eaten a burrito laced with the highest quality, medical grade ecstasy for medicinal reasons, and as the synthetic chemicals began to bind receptors in his brain, a heavy euphoria washed over the little marsupial’s body. The black lights illuminated the room and an eerie glow shined over a floor crowded with color changing chameleons and kangaroo prostitutes. It was wild. He lost all control and found himself grinding with a lady orangutan. The pulsing music synchronized with their gyrating hips and the little koala groped the unnamed ape with no thought of the deformed creature he’d seen earlier in the evening.
Kyle awoke the next day in an unknown hammock, in an unknown location, next to an unknown animal. He glanced over at the sleeping kangaroo and a sly grin crossed his fury face. “If you’re feeling like a pimp then go and brush your shoulders off”, he whispered under his breath. He did just that and stretched contently. What an excellent night he’d had. Again he looked over at the motionless kangaroo. His gaze dipped down from her sleeping face, past her tiny kangaroo paws and came to rest on what should have been her kangaroo pouch. But the only thing there was a gaping hole and a bloody mess of fur. Kyle let out a horrified cry and put his paws to his to face to shield his eyes before letting out a long scream. His hands were covered in blood. Kangaroo blood.
Kyle continued to scream as he ran along the forest floor, back to his home, as fast as his little legs would take him. His pristine Nikes had become soiled and dirty but he could care less. He has just cut off a kangaroos pouch. Something was wrong with him.
He climbed the tree to his house and collapsed on the couch. The TV was on. Tired, confused and scared he numbly stared at the Teletubbies as they ran down a steep grassy hill. He heard a vacuum in the background and the look on the Teletubbies face was one of sheer terror. The vacuum grew louder. It was getting closer and the Teletubbies knew it. He watched as they ran in all directions, arms flailing, screaming at the top of their lungs. He watched as a new figure emerged on screen. He saw the horrible yellow grin and watched as the goat creature walked down the green hill, pushing a vacuum it clutched in its dirty hooves. Kyle Koalas blood ran cold. The goat creature grinned at him and Kyle starred into its vacant eyes.
“What are you doing Kyle” it asked in a low, monotone voice. “Watching PBS” replied the small marsupial, trying to sound as big as possible. The goat creature’s smile grew even bigger and it squinted its vacant eyes. “So go eat your ADHD medication”, it said. And then it walked back over the hill, pushing the vacuum, trailing the Teletubbies. Kyle Koala sat there and then dumbfounded and deeply disturbed; he fell into an abysmal slumber.
Kyle Koala awoke the next day. He stretched, scratched an itch on his backside and wandered onto the balcony of his tree house to greet the early dawn. It was a new day, and Kyle felt great. He moseyed into the kitchen, poured a glass of orange juice and fixed himself a hearty bowl of eucalyptus leaves. After he’d devoured his breakfast, he swallowed his ADHD medication but something on the little orange pill bottle caught his eyes attention. It was a warning sticker and with closer inspection he discovered that it read, “Should not be taken with eucalyptus leaves. Side effects may occur”
Kyle Koala screamed a long scream.