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Friday 1 September 2006

Silly, Pissed Poem...

She knows, I think
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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8 comments:

  1. A beautiful poem Bobster. I thought it was lovely.

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  2. fer 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.

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  3. Oh 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.

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  4. Shit!

    That 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!"

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  5. You've written a poem for Rock Mother!

    (Mo-Rrow = Ro-Mo, yeah?)

    Awww.

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  6. Ah ha - I just *knew* the Klingon-esque literary wordplay would throw all the ain't 'arf been some
    clever 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?

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  7. It is definitely not sillyxx

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  8. How can this undo the year's hard work?

    Think of El. and how she would be proud.

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