That every word that's uttered
Is for her.
That when I speak,
I speak from heart direct
To like of her's.
And every time
Her name floats up my spirit
Does the same
And feels that cloud
Of pixels reassemb-
Ling fuel its flame.
She knows, I think
The pleasure and the pain
That strew our path
She knows, I think
What flames today The Mo-
Rrow lines the hearth.
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A beautiful poem Bobster. I thought it was lovely.
ReplyDeletefer fuck sake get a grip man. Just tell her yer goin oot teatime tommorer to watch the football. no need to get all puffy and poetic.
ReplyDeleteOh that's quite good bob. Puts my stuff to shame. hence why i havent yet enrolled in the Art Blog. I'm trying to convince myself to go for it...but havent quite yet.
ReplyDeleteShit!
ReplyDeleteThat was meant for Recovered Notebooks!
(Does that mean I put the New Ariels MP3 up there by mistake???
To quote the late, lamented Brian - "DAMMIT!"
You've written a poem for Rock Mother!
ReplyDelete(Mo-Rrow = Ro-Mo, yeah?)
Awww.
Ah ha - I just *knew* the Klingon-esque literary wordplay would throw all the ain't 'arf been some
ReplyDeleteclever bastards off the scent....
(makes pathetic attempt at Family Fortunes-type URGH-URGHH noise...)
We just *love* a scandal, don't we???
It's like me trying to winkle out of you whether you'd humped Old Timster. Just wouldn't lower myself Spin, frankly....
....
well, did you?
It is definitely not sillyxx
ReplyDeleteHow can this undo the year's hard work?
ReplyDeleteThink of El. and how she would be proud.