Wakes up bleary in the muck
Amongst the bleating sheep he shags.
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,
And yet, when the Raelians say they’ve cloned Britney,
We scoff, and deem their claim a lie.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre,
Turning and turning in the widening gyre,
The tetherball swivels and swings on its wire.
I would to Heaven that I were so much clay,
As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling –
I’ve had the most rotten and terrible day,
That my wrists are well cut and are bleeding.
>> sorry to be morbid. <<
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, which I gaze on so fondly today, …
Were known of, I’d be sent to prison straight away.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediment…
Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediment
Lest I stand immobile as a twig mired in sediment.
Next:
Give us this day our daily bread…
Remember, what the Dormouse said, Feed Your Head! Feed Your Head!
I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy, A Yankee Doodle do or die…
Or to “do”, at least, then I go bye-bye.
'Twas brilling, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe
My sister used to gimble with a carnie, name of Abe.
(from the first page)
Not now, it’s too damn hot. No way!
There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold,
There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold,
You’d think those pervs would go inside and get out of the cold.
A Bird came down the Walk
He did not know I saw
There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold,
But stranger still in the cheesemaking mill where they mix the milk with mold.
The boy stood on the burning deck when all save he had fled…
…Crying “uh oh, cornflake’s writing more dreck. Wish that I was dead!”
I am Sam.
Sam I am…
Of Hobbiton, my father Ham,
Lingering over pints at pubs
with Boffins, Bagginses, and Chubbs,
and wandering with wizards far
from West Farthing to black Mordor
But now my travels are no more,
Home with sweet Rose, and Elanor
The road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began
That’s it! The morning commute has gotten
Absolutely out of hand.
(Forgot to add a new poem.)
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame
you get burned at the lake, you have yourself to blame.
I saw this morning morning’s minion
I saw this morning morning’s minion
On the rides at King’s Dominion.
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond