Was there a clause in my contract of life
That said you could piss on my grave?
What were the clues that I left behind?
What was it you said I could save?
Who let this prisoner out of the cage?
How did they find the right key?
I thought that you had it locked up and secured
You really need not have passed that decree
Like the angel of death and the gypsy boy
You are the nightmare forgotten too soon
A nurse without a sick patient to tend
An open door to a dubious room
Gone are those days of your glory
Gone are the ties that did bind
Love can now come out of hiding
To this fact the culprits remain blind
Yet you pulled the cord then turned up the heat
But where are you lurking right now?
You sunk to new depths; marked all our cards
Little wonder you won anyhow
Shot from close range; a random bullet?
By the mute who had something to say
You are the Venus fly trap who has given up flesh
Yet still toxic in your own way
Something bitter for the masses, gotta love it!
Thank you. Bits of history; bits of bad things; bits of life – they all play on the mind as you, as a poet will know no doubt better than I.
a cautionary tale
Terrific. I’m running out of superlatives to describe just how good your poetry is.
Cheers – I just read your latest – bloody brilliant.
And cheers to you, Sir.
I have to concur with our future Nobel Prize winner…does the English language have supersuperlatives?
Thanks for that – means a lot when proper writers, albeit of different genres compliment thus. It helps on the days when the page is blank.
You’re very welcome. The outings of you and inspiredbythedivine in particular help me in my own writing (tomorrow’s post was inspired by you forgetting a password last week, actually;))
So you’re going the demented old twat route then? I only say that because that’s what Shirl calls me from time to time insofar as I can remember!
Well, not really. Tomorrow will be a post about how passwords evolved over the last 20 years or so (it actually sounds quite boring now that I think about it…but maybe it’ll be somewhat interesting considering it’ll be a beaver doing the talking;))
Sounds like a runner – I fucking hate passwords and will read your post with great interest.
A mystery none of the living or the dead could understand except the 2 Angles the one with the trumpet and the one with the Violin .Cheers.
Cheers Sir.
Zing!
Cheers.
Oh, I didn’t realize you knew my ex-husband so intimately. You’re got him pegged to a tee. Excellent poem!
Disturbingly good!
Thank you.