The official poetry thread

[Harry Boyle]

Spulrt!!

A dose of the shits not stopping
I put in a butt plug but it kept on poppin'
my whities are ruined, stained in despair,
I'm waiting for the absolute all clear
sausages aren't right for your tum,
unfortunately they come straight out your bum
don't drink any vino like wine,
your body's in despair mate, it's a huge sign
can't trust a fart in the general area,
keep em clenched tight, take care yeah,
the booty is misguided, lost and for sale
ain't nobody goanna take this shipwreck out for a horrendously shitty tale.

Up there with Wordsworth.

 

[Kilworthcamp]

Up there with Wordsworth.

I know and she is a lady.

 

[Harry Boyle]

I would have thought the last word in this iconic poem would be "sail" instead of tale.

 

[Pooman]

I would have thought the last word in this iconic poem would be "sail" instead of tale.

Initially thought the same but he's already used "sale" a couple of lines up so would've jarred the ear when reciting.
Probably best not to question the genius of GBOS anyway .

 

[Harry Boyle]

Initially thought the same but he's already used "sale" a couple of lines up so would've jarred the ear when reciting.
Probably best not to question the genius of GBOS anyway .

You're right, a flawed genius but a genius none the less.

 

[Great-Bit-O-Stuff]

Bit of fun guys ffs. I'll post a serious one soon

 

[Great-Bit-O-Stuff]

Ghosts of Daylight

I see through people like they were made of nothing-
opaque meanderings masquerading-
in softly spoken serenades

Dim apparitions aimlessly muted-
in the shadows of another day

Careless soundless floundering indecisions-
of minutes caressing the midday turned clock
which hits the stroke deftly
defying time as meaningful
deep in the furrows of the thought
you imagined you had

Cradling seconds as imposters
crying for resolution in a tone –deaf answer

We weave as dancers with tangled phrases
Avoiding the real yet embracing the ghosts.

 

[Harry Boyle]

Ghosts of Daylight

I see through people like they were made of nothing-
opaque meanderings masquerading-
in softly spoken serenades

Dim apparitions aimlessly muted-
in the shadows of another day

Careless soundless floundering indecisions-
of minutes caressing the midday turned clock
which hits the stroke deftly
defying time as meaningful
deep in the furrows of the thought
you imagined you had

Cradling seconds as imposters
crying for resolution in a tone –deaf answer

We weave as dancers with tangled phrases
Avoiding the real yet embracing the ghosts.

Is this in reference to the noms?

 

[Great-Bit-O-Stuff]

Is this in reference to the noms?

No, it's a year old.

 

[Harry Boyle]

I like this part

of minutes caressing the midday turned clock
which hits the stroke deftly
defying time as meaningful