Old poem

The idea that it’s just there

Just around the bend it bent.

Half-way yo discovery, and you sit and stare?

Lend him a pen, let the ink spend like love spent.

Splash, scribble, screw, scrawl.

Touch for a six pence.

Putting pen to paper, a panting pant-less crawl.

Swim away ideas, gullies guide defence.

Like hare, we thrust and leap

So many birds have left me sore.

At last we end up, in a heap

Flesh laid waste, ghost and spore.

Our big idea

With wit and rolling rhyme

Overcoming fear-

Butt half of the time.

Brooding, grooming oozing.

Get away! I Hyde from what you’ve heard.

Your beard is all confusing.

You aren’t my little bird.

The sun is out and up

Never tired, I’ve tried you know.

Drinking from this holy cup.

Sing little bird, let it flow.

Left grasping right

With only your pen-

hands out of sight.

unfolding as men.

Black coffee

Day off, for a treat.

Forgetting what I do.

Chocolate-orange punch.

Bitter tasting sweet warm blood.

I thought the fall, this test, would be harder.

I studied love. I thought it would be harder.


Content, mild themes.

Like this one cattle.

Down by the watering hole, away from parental guidance.

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