I’ve never claimed to be any good at poetry, but I’ll try anything once several times. Here’s my attempt at a poem for Ali’s Poetry Challenge.
It was like that when I found it, son, I promise that it was,
I don’t know how his head came off, or what happened to his claws,
I’m not sure why his leg is bent, or why that arm is snapped in two,
Or how those plastic shards got stuck to the bottom of my shoe,
I’ve no idea how his paint got scuffed, or where he got that crack,
And your guess is as good as mine about what happened to his back,
I know I’ve sometimes mended toys you’ve broken in the past,
But I fear that bobbly-head wee guy has bobbled his very last.
13/04/2009 at 7:08 pm Permalink
Very good, Baz. Blusterfart liked that, too. He’s currently curled up laughing … at least I think he’s laughing. Unless your poetry is as powerful a weapon as Ali’s that is!
13/04/2009 at 7:12 pm Permalink
Could he be crying? Mourning the painful and untimely death of poetry, perhaps?
13/04/2009 at 9:06 pm Permalink
I was moved. Very definitely moved. Which was quite a relief because Blusterfart’s snotburgers on a bed of lice had seriously bunged me up.
14/09/2010 at 4:43 am Permalink
poetry is the thing i like, i create poems during my spare time’-`
13/10/2010 at 3:30 pm Permalink
Q:.-
21/12/2010 at 6:52 pm Permalink
poetry has the power to affect our emotions by using words alone, i really love poetry `~-