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Post by MichaelFirewalker on Feb 25, 2008 13:06:58 GMT -5
our legal eagle flies
above his communal
human pisspool
misses not one
contribution
to the pot
that holds its
deadly brew
and spots
every blessed
pisser too...
michael
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Post by mfwilkie on Feb 27, 2008 20:58:01 GMT -5
Some thoughts, johnny.
Stuck on a rhyme for valve
midway through an ode
to central heating
across the road I observed Mrs. Murphy,
the bee-woman,
across the road.
She's sniffing furiously
at the begonias
drooping over
the fence of Number 3
until shooed away
by a flustered Mr. Hunter
two or so years before
that same garden was excavated
and disgorged the three missing choirboys
all perfectly embalmed
with chat-show host grins
crimes for which poor Stanley Chivers
with his gargoylish leer
slightly spooky learning difficulties
and a damning penchant
for hanging round school playgrounds
had been previously jailed
and within short order
stabbed repeatedly
by a righteous fellow inmate.
Open and shut case!
proudlyannounced Inspector Bolsover
who, it was later bruited about,
could have got Mother Teresa
to confess to the Great Train Robbery
He winters now in the Maldives
sipping cocktails expansively
in the expats lounge—
thoughts of central heating
far from his mind.
Maggie
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Post by johnnysaturn on Feb 28, 2008 13:15:13 GMT -5
Maggie-thanks for some valuable suggestions. I have adhered though to my stream-of-consciousness presentation. For me, punctuation is the thief of time.
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Post by mfwilkie on Feb 28, 2008 14:46:22 GMT -5
Lack of it in some cases, John, robs the poem and the reader.
If no punc. at least think about line breaks and enjambment.
Maggie
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