I live in North london with my pet iguana called Apocalypse. I dont profess to be a poet of any substance but every now and again i put pen to paper and voila! ! more »
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Bridgid Patrick Poems
.Rhyme Is A Crime
Since rhyming and rhythm are terribly boring They must now be barred from all musical scoring; Those poets employing these rhythms and rhymes Should pay with their lives for committing such crimes!
A Woman's Handbag
The handbag is a rare delight, it's like Aladdin's cave, All sorts of things are hidden there, that females like to save, It's black and big and heavy, with a nice long shoulder strap, Its weighted down with odds and sods and other stuff like that.
Six weeks old today mamma a birthday gift for me, a pair of big brown eyes through one day i will see.
I was walking down the river bank it was just the other night When a vampire with a fishing rod gave me a real bad fright 'I haven't had a bite all day' it said and bared its drooling fangs 'A pint or two of your cool blood will cure my hunger pangs'
3 Stages Of Grief
The Torment Sorrow swalowed me into the cruel black sea, The icy cold water washed over me,
She looks like a hooker, regular tart, Owes her face less to nature than cosmetic art. 'Prostitute' or 'loose woman' are terms that might irk her, So in sanitized speech she's now called a sex worker.
Starkle starkle little twink who the heck you are I think I'm not under what you call the alcofluence of incohol
Alice In La La Land
Ding dong the witch is dead The wicked witch is dead. Somebody filled her brains with lead and now the wicked witch is dead.
Whenever you would call me, I'd always be right there, When i really needed you you didnt seem to care. I'm a stranger in your world, I dont know where to turn, You like to watch me waste my tears, and then to crash and burn.
I shave my legs, I sit down to pee And I can justify Any shopping spree.
Eye halve a spelling chequer It came with my pea sea It plainly marques four my revue Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.
An Old Mans Lament
Just a line to say I'm living, that I'm not among the dead, though I'm getting more forgetful and mixed up in the head.
I dreamed a dream in bed last night, Of places most bizarre. Of ponds of liquid lemon pie, And ducks that played guitar.
Good morning! Thanks for calling us! We're pleased to hear from you! Your call's important to us So we've placed you in a queue.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
.Rhyme Is A Crime
Since rhyming and rhythm are terribly boring
They must now be barred from all musical scoring;
Those poets employing these rhythms and rhymes
Should pay with their lives for committing such crimes!
Some nut must have thought that by using good meter
A poem with tempo would sound so much sweeter;
With stresses or accents to make the verse flow,
It's just a fine way to put on a good show!
The best of all verses, as anyone knows,
Are big healthy portions of random-thought prose;
Without rhyme or rhythm to get in ones head
It's easy to know what the ...