here's a reason why i should stick to prose and not attempt any poetry.
there must be a deep, intuitive reason why my parents named me what they did...by
virtue of some weird pavlovian conditioning... 'portry, pomes' and i dont stick...sigh
apologies for this pipsqueak juvenile attempt. blush.
be gentle my friends!
i am so bored i could throw a fit
looking at the calendar isn't helping a bit
each day crawls by annoyingly slow and deliberate
like the after taste of something nasty i ate
i twiddle my toes and sit and stare
but the day just hems and haws with scarcely a care
i try and give it a prod and a poke
hoping to jostle and rush the poor unsuspecting bloke
the day is as stubborn as a boulder
and gives me an icy shoulder
the clocks, the tv, are all in this as well
the cat, the stars, the moon and the doorbell
that line is just so completely arbit
i think i am going to have that fit
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1 comment:
Generally I do not post on blogs, but I would like to say that this post really forced me to do so! really nice post
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