the poetry I really feel
remains inside,
unrevealed.
on occassion, if they decide
these words themselves
no longer hide.
but if they choose to not be free
please do not think less
of me.
for one day soon as you will see
they’ll all come out
eventually.
Write every second line for me
[insert line two here]
help me form myself anew
[insert line four here]
out from half ideas come I
[insert line six here]
with your words I will complete
[insert line eight here]
Up in snowy Poetland
the trains don’t run on time
because each station’s timetable
by order, has to rhyme
at ten past six each morning
the first express train runs
but doesn’t leave the platform
at least ’til half past one.
Up in snowy Poetland
for education’s sake
the local college campus
is built from angel cake
that a pastry chef from Paris, France
was architect for schools
is likely the main reason
all the students there are fools.
Up in snowy Poetland
a walrus is the mayor
his chief of staff’s a carpenter
(is there a reference there?)
and council meetings make no sense
in fact they often fail
with points of order hammered home
without the use of nails
tbc.
the blighters rock 