The Peculiar Poetry Point
Welcome to the Peculiar Poetry Point, where pointless and peculiar poetry comes to life. Today we have three offerings from writers who, wisely, wish to remain anonymous in order to avoid being burned at the stake. Poetry is a punishable offense in Luxembourg, you see, and we don't want Ammel Smitch and Glonnia to... Oh, I have said too much.
Little Jack Horner Returns...
Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner
Eating a Christmas pie.
He stuck in a spoon
And pulled out the Moon
And said "Right, that does it. I'm not putting up with this level of surrealism" and wandered off in a huff.
The Glass Hand
An incredible new-found land
Has, instead of a normal brass band,
Made from sand, a pleasant glass hand,
Which glows like a rainbow and
Makes a sound like a piano, baby grand.
And now for something completely unpoetic:
What are you making?
I'm making a mess.
What's MS?
Multiple sclerosis.
More peculiar poetry to come, folks!
Little Jack Horner Returns...
Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner
Eating a Christmas pie.
He stuck in a spoon
And pulled out the Moon
And said "Right, that does it. I'm not putting up with this level of surrealism" and wandered off in a huff.
The Glass Hand
An incredible new-found land
Has, instead of a normal brass band,
Made from sand, a pleasant glass hand,
Which glows like a rainbow and
Makes a sound like a piano, baby grand.
And now for something completely unpoetic:
What are you making?
I'm making a mess.
What's MS?
Multiple sclerosis.
More peculiar poetry to come, folks!
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Comments: 5
3 March 2005 at 23:58
...it'd likely feel unfulfilled as I don't have any nails.
Blue tac is a wonderful thing
It cannot ever fail
For who would want to be putting up
A poster with a nail?
*
(To the tune of Yankee Doodle)Lucie is a special girl
And she really likes killing
She's trying to take over the world
With merriful blood spilling
ChorusKill the people, kill them all!
And make the world a shrine
I'll start it all out with Sparkle
Then Carol will be mine!
Now that all the world is dead
Or at least in agony
Lucie still has Imogen
So she will not get lonely!
ChorusKill the people, kill them all!
And make the world a shrine
I'll start it all out with Sparkle
Then Carol will be mine!
The little badger needs a friend
To make sure her life's painless
Though soon enough she will get bored
And we'll need a replacement
ChorusKill the people, kill them all!
And make the world a shrine
I'll start it all out with Sparkle
Then Carol will be mine!
Lucie's shrine of death will thrive
With such a vicious leader
She will kill most stealthily
They will not even see her
ChorusKill the people, kill them all!
And make the world a shrine
I'll start it all out with Sparkle
Then Carol will be mine!
*
Just thought you might like some more strange poetry songishness... Hee hee hee...
Lucie
4 March 2005 at 17:07
5 March 2005 at 09:01
As a Cat
Caught in a tree
'cause he was fat.
When all at once
I saw a cow.
You should not ask
I don't know how.
Beside the lake
Beneath my knees
Fluttering and dancing
As you please.
Continuous as the stars that shine
Along the trail of spilt milk
They slept in never ending line
Along the margin.
10,000 saw I.
It made me moan.
Please do not try this
Blog at home!
beastly blogging
by Bill Wigglesword
22 March 2005 at 10:01
As a Cat
Caught in a tree
'cause he was fat.
When all at once
I saw a cow.
You should not ask
I don't know how.
Beside the lake
Beneath my knees
Fluttering and dancing
As you please.
Continuous as the stars that shine
Along the trail of spilt milk
They slept in never ending line
Along the margin.
10,000 saw I.
It made me moan.
Please do not try this
Blog at home!
beastly blogging
by Bill Wigglesword
22 March 2005 at 10:01