INTO THE POT OR LOST THE PLOT
if I was into canabalism,
Wonder which of mine
Poeteers would taste.
As delectable fine,
Fine foods F.i.i.N.E Moods
Saintly--ness is next to godly-ness,
Yoonoos Peerbocus or uncle meridian.
There sure to taste extra spicy,
In a sweet not sour saintly stew.
Even a pesketorian the taste,
Of vegetarian would add.
That something new to show,
So my friendly griffonner.
With screaming carrots,
Into the pot you go.
And then again my dyslexic friends,
If you wish to taste something new.
Would you like to share with me,
Ken D Williams in a hot pot,
Or a stew.
What's that speak up
I think I'm going deaf I said.
"A STEW, A STEW, A STEW!".
"Bless you" was all she said".
I think Marie Cadaviac
Will go down quite well
With jam and bread
Although a few I would decant
Shell's and Elle to name a few
Afrodite Stath, All considered as my
Friends, as well as lacyxdevine,
Are sure to make a full bodied wine.
I might with D G Moody,
Try something new.
Keep me and other friends,
In a well pickled stew.
With Carlos, Duck an Jim,
One trick pony, Metapoetics,
Would fill the pot to the brim.
You may think I'm rotten,
I'm certain some if forgotten.
There's bound to be a few,
I'll round them up next time,
When I make a homemade
well balanced stew.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 180 times
Written on 2022-05-19 at 00:01
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