The 2nd Royal Guards Artillery (Poetry Division) wipe their cannon muzzles on the poetry towel of destiny and
the Sergeant-Major hollers "More, Go at 'em you damn poems" right in the face of the enemy.
All
poems should be read out loud accompanied by the sounds of nearby explosions and distant screams
Its Awesome, its great,
Its feckin fantastic,
Like knicker elastic,
Phenomenal.
It's awesome, groundbreaking,
I'm sick of you raking
the dregs from the barrel
For your self-justification.
Goodnight
(Applause)
Left a bit,
Just there,
No thats fine,
Keep going,
Shit, did you leave the microphone on?
[SHOUTING] Can you hear me?,
I refuse to Capitalise,
though I'm surely sure we are all for the flames,
one way or another,
hey I like the warmth,
toast is still tasty (I don't mean to be hasty)
And its not like anyone can really care,
coz we're just here and there,
and the structure isn't always easy to replicate correctly (or incorrectly), end.
But we're still just there, here and there, doing our thang,
trying to be happy, pretending we're snapping,
toe-ing the line like all will be fine,
and being rightly ashamed of the things that mustn't be named like the forcible overuse of rhyming couplets.
Its not that the whole thing is without any merit,
So I will defend the right to continue to try,
even in the inevitable face of the glaring deficiencies of skill and talent that prevent any particular poetic idiom to remain consistent throughout the piece.
And for that
I will peal my eyes out.
again.
Rebecca,
She's an animal when not pleased,
Like a bag of cats, plague of rats, scabby and diseased.
Rebecca,
is looking at me sternly, and words have been spoken,
I must shut the feck up says she, or both my legs be broken.
