Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken

John the copywriter’s recipe for frozen poetry

John the copywriter’s recipe for frozen poetry

North Pole holidays in Amsterdam

A’dam [n] poem by John C Richardson

Brouwersgracht-on-ice2

Hypnotized by the ice
I was told not once, not twice
You’re out of your head
You’ll end up dead.

For the first time in 15 years
I put away all my fears
And stepped gleefully unhinged
Even though something deep inside me cringed
On to the frozen Brouwersgracht
My common sense sacked

What happens if I fall though?
CRACK. PANIC. RELAX. PHEW!

Frozen poetry

I waddle out like a constipated penguin
I dream of walking all the way to Breukelen
But I get about 100 yards
Then my toes fall off and break into shards

It’s colder than a polar bear after a Brazilian wax
Then I hear the distant cracks
Louder and closer rumble the herd of stampeding skaters
Hands behind their backs, eyes colder than an alligator’s

They seem to glide though me
Like a warm whisky
Like a pack of huskies towing a fond memory

I remember it now like it was 15 years ago
With a single malt in hand and a gangrenous toe
Too cold to drink, too frozen to care
Even though I was about to eaten by a polar bear.

It was the North Pole on holiday in Amsterdam
And a Dutchman skating on the canal, with a pram
The Netherlanders have ice in their DNA
If they could, they would, skate all night, and day.

Adam[n] poem by John C. Richardson