so carefully-
and touch the pre-licked glue
just lightly with my lips.
Today, it’s self-stick all the way –
and smudges on the screen of my computer.
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Those who can they say
they sit back and teach.And they think they shouldlook at poems and critiquethis would need talent.I know a famousand also infamous onewho took his own life.His book did sell welland it was not self-publishedpublishers vary.I think that poemsought to be well consideredon their own merit.So stay away nowyou are not ever welcomeyou have no talent.
From the top of Niagara Falls,
jumped a tough-talking birdsoon her screams could be heardas she banged on those rocks her big balls.There are women, genetically tough,fully able to fight and play rough.Though they may play with dollsthey are fitted with balls,be advised that they do strut their stuff.So the one who had jumped from that heightgave the onlooking folks quite…
I do consider
I shall not share them.Those of poor mannersjust stay away you wankersyou are not welcome.It’s strictly envyyou know that you’re inferior,consumed by hatred.To me you’re nothinga windbag full of flatusand diarrhoea.
You can’t cook with it.
Useless for dishes.Goldfish don’t like it.What makes you thinkthat lukewarm kisseswill warm my heartsoothe my soulsmooth my wrinkles,light my smile,feed my ego,make me happyandprolong my life?Well?
A recalcitrant poetry critic
was the colour of custardbut the hot taste of mustardI prefer either Jack or Glenfiddich.He produced a great poem or twowhich gave all the poets a clueand they figured him smartbut he was an old fartI’ll go back to my digeridoo.
Have you ever Sir, found one who had it all?
It may be Nature’s ‘save the species’ urgent callbut I decline because perfection is my niece.