There once was a writer from Cincinnati /
whose prose was laced with profanity. /
Damn, shit, hell /
often started the tales he’d tell. /
Mom never let me reach their finality.
***
A wise person once said:
We all love to spend money buying new clothes but we never realize that the best moments in life are enjoyed without clothes.
Filed under 2015, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author
I stand on the ramparts of tautology
Forever eschewing any hint of scatology.
But don’t ask me this fine day
To bind my obfuscations away.
For where o’ where would I be
If I could not in confidence convolute thee?
Oh, where o’ where, pray tell
Would my alliterations have place to dwell?
I am but a humble servant of words
Trundling through this world of the absurd.
A land of regret full of monsters who fete
On a mind that will now be quiet.
Filed under 2012, Freeform Friday, poetry by author
Booker's Blog 