Family Fortunes

There once was a man with a game
Which required an innacurate aim
So he played with his sister
But the broomhandle missed her
And rendered the sad bugger lame.

Enforced Independance

Far away from those on whom I depend
Living with a woman and a man
(Not forgetting his girlfriend)
My life now seems to have no plan

There is thick glass in the shops
Separating the servers from the guns
As the wind wrestles down the street,
I think: "I'm going to have some fun..."

And as the gangs gather for the night
Members united in their anonymity
All following the direction of the fight
Leaders planned in their community.

I stand proud in my own little world
Whilst those around me are unhappy
As their big world becomes unfurled
And all they can see is anonymity.

I may be odd, I may be different
But thank fuck they're not like me
My soul is still independent
For the whole world to see.

Nemesis Watson

Here's a little poetic gem generated (fashionably enough) entirely online.

imbiberamus

> > If Its after drink you hanker, don't stop to think go out and get
> wankered.
> What a shame you arsed the scansion
> You broke the fine poetic tension.
> In making such uncalled for haste
> Your rhyming skills were put to waste.
> Ben
>
> In reguard to non-scanning poetry.
>
> Whether or no my tallents are wasted,
> can only been told if you have tasted
> the finest of delghts;
> Miss Jennifer Bradshaw's poetic tights.

I have to say that I've not tried
I'll have to journey deep inside
The facts I find I shall report
With furrowed brow and questioning snort

I'll fill out forms in groups of six
While Jen performs exotic tricks
The crowds will cheer, the dogs will bark
To see this foul and senseless lark

The priests will toll the chapel bells
And witches cast green-eyeballed spells
The courts of law will empty out
As Bradshaw's tights just scream and shout

An army tank and three batallions
Three score and twenty charging stallions
Deployed with haste unto Iraq
Return to quell this deadly lark

And when the smoke has thinned and lifted
What shall remain of this most gifted
Ably hosiered Bradshaw lass?
She'll be stone dead, the silly ass.

Variety Club

A poem must offer/not offer choice
Because openmindedness is/is not a vice
So make up your mind/bed
Keep your morals defined/well-fed
And the words will then always be nice/nasty.

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