How many poops, Are you going to have to do, Or all the other visits, To the bathroom, To use all that paper, You stock pilled, While thinking about yourself, And no-one else, How many visits, To your overstocked loo, Will you have to do, To clear that conscience, A stain that even tissue paper, Cannot wipe away.
Paraskevidekatriaphobia, Is a hard word to rhyme, A word which I’ve never found the time, But it is a real issue, That appears, At least once a year, That suffers find, Hard to hide from, For should the thirteenth day, Fall on a friday, As it does today, On the twelfth month of the year, People begin to run in fear.
Poetry is fun, Poetry is silly, I can feel poetry in my… hand. *** Poetry is a goose, Poetry is a duck, I can feel I don’t give a… hen. *** Poetry is a hit, Poetry makes me sit, Some people couldn’t give a… verse. *** Poetry can be blunt, Poetry can be a stunt, Poetry isn’t a… hard thing to write.
Has anyone ever stopped to think, How a Friday both is good and stinks. It starts the weekend and resting, But all best laid plans end up festering. You put your feet up and have a drink, And then you close your eyes and blink. When you awake it’s Monday again, Signalling for another week to begin. Do not fret on the new week in the end, Because in five days there will be another weekend.
I plant my seeds with great care, And lay my time down everywhere, Make time to love and share, And foster growth in my field there. *** Sadly the crop doesn’t grow, No-one sees and no-one knows, Around my feet nothing moves, No fucks are growing beneath my shoes. *** Not for lack of want or care, I can’t find a fuck anywhere, Not a care in the air, I don’t have a fuck to share. *** My field of fucks is running barron, Due to many years of caring, I would not want to keep carrying, Other people’s wants and burdens. *** So when you ask for a fuck from me, There is nothing in my fuck tree, Try next season and we will see, If a fuck will grow for you and me.
A name holds the key, To another persons ID, The information you need, If you want to succeed, A way to know someone, Out of a crowed of everyone, And importantly it’s you, When you are asked who, And to me it denotes, I’m the Pesky Poet.
There is a cat upon my garden wall, I don’t know why, A garden wall is there. * Why is that cat upon the wall? I don’t know why, I can’t help but stare. * Is the cat even there? I have no proof, But should I care? * Oh, there is no cat upon my wall, It was just a mountain hare.