Poetic Madness

Friday night is sound because it’s Saturday tomorrow and that means no work. Brill. And in the spirit of trying things out, I mess about with poems. 

I know, right? Poems? Who bothers with that rubbish these days? well, I do. And I’ll tell you why—

—What have a told you about writing that crap?

—Ah, Arthur, please sod off. I know you want me writing a column.

—Aye, happen I do. This arty-farty rubbish has no purpose—

—Ah, but it does, Arthur. Shut up for a minute. I’ll explain. 

The reason I write them is this. it’s another way for me to mess around with words. I like usng words the way other folk use water colours to paint pictures. 

Without any further pissing around, I present a crafted, stunning, utter shite poetic example…

SONNET 1

I wrote this verse with a poetic whim,
My usual style did make my editors doubt;
I gathered courage for the public hymn,
And felt I must attempt to sing it out,
So sitting down and thinking of a thought,
A hundred lovely concepts came to mind;
I felt my nervous little heart was caught,
With rhymes of merriment for all mankind,
I played the bard inside a castle grand,
Within some island, peaceful and serene;
At some great banquet in that storied land,
Where royalty observed my spoken scene,
But a guest threw a turd in a huge fit—
A real shame; it made my dream stink of shit. 

I had fun writing it. That’s the main thing. I hope you enjoyed reading it. I can’t promise there won’t be more.