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The Sincerest For Of Poetry
Apprenticed To My Mother
Walking Into Trouble
Dead Flies and Sherry Trifle
The Last Will Of Sven Andersen
Booms And Busts
Buster & Moo
My Father and Other Liars
Life In A Conversation
Life, in a Grain of Sand
Life In A Flash
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Tag Archives: poem
Esther has prompted with ‘neck’ and this is the result… A furious God held the first scrotum In front of his hapless factotum. ‘Why didn’t you check? They’ve used turkey neck. And what use is an opposable bum?’
Chel Owens is back on her terrible poetry schtick with accidental love. This is more accidental poetry… She elbowed my nose Trying to make sourdough. It broke. My nose, that is. ‘It’s just a dent…’ An accident She took the … Continue reading
This week’s prompt from Esther is ‘fell’ At his first appraisal, long after he fellLucifer stood before the Hounds of Hell:‘How am I doing, throw me a bone,A bit more fire, a smidge of brimstone?’And Cerberus slathered: ‘It’s too early … Continue reading
Esther’s prompt this week is ‘Blind’ ‘Buying fruit,’ young Thomas opined,‘Is a risky business if you’re partially blind;The staff all think I’m utterly hopelessAnd one old woman told me to grope less,Cos I can’t tell ripe melons from a pert … Continue reading
To me, it’s neither here, nor thereWhether people feel the need to swear.They can call me poltroonOr odious buffoonAnd I’ll barely turn the odd hair. When young, with nary a careI had little need to swear.But as I developed some … Continue reading
Based on Esther’s prompt, here – this week Joke As an elderly, colourless blokeI’ve become a bit of a joke;But since I’ve found my lost youth,Wrapped up in its own truthI’m mindful and just a tad woke.
Gym Nastic found that working out,Left him tired with a permanent pout.His hopes of love, barely a glimmer,Became as naught, as he became slimmerWith perfect abs and the face of a trout. Based on Esther’s Limerick prompt gym
A comic, when young and quite greenThought nothing of being obscene;But a life so spleneticCan become quite frenetic.Sadly his act is now clean.
Belinda Blande was an Olympic Class boreWhose monotone chatter made Norman’s head sore.Even in bed, with all limbs gyratingHer passionate cries, he found enervating.So he covered his head and pretended to snore.
Norman Concrete possessed a talking spleenWhose patter was clever rather than clean.He answered Mark, a bit of a joker,Who accused our hero of being mediocre:‘I may be average, but at least I’m not mean.’