I thought in neither ribaldry nor play


I caught those   ten fried  rhymes on dying ebb
And so I would not jump nor fight today.
But  then I thought of Adam’s  folding rib,
And how the hard enjoy a lady's  fry

I believed  scored rhymes  were  left  for dead.
My incompetence was on its languorous bed.
But then we  felt  old  fleas that bit us good
And lo I  sought to  buy piss off the  web.

I thought no bird could ever  click  its beak
And so I fell into a writer’s wok
Bad eyesight made  the   grilling chickens leap
While I prised  the deadheads  off  the crocks.

I thought I’d incite ribaldry  or play
Dutch cows I love, and I  am thrilled by hay.

I welcome comments and criticism

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.