Spike Milligan, Bob Dylan, Noel Fielding, Bill Bailey and Emily Dickinson. When a shrinking machine is invented, these people will live in my jacket pocket -I will feed them biscuit crumbs and corn on the cob. I hope to infuse a spoonful of wit with a dash of profoundness and mix the contents of my disorganised mind together to make something both entertaining and thought provoking. more »
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Frances May Poems
Messy mess mess
My room is a mess, I must confess, and just like my brain it's disordered, I guess.
Like dodging raindrops from summer skies, we brush the tears away from their eyes, and we teach them to hide what they're feeling inside.
Rain on my window Rain on the ground
I seldom see those like you or me that is why we're meant to be
Blaaaah - my 10 second poem
Plastic grass and paper daisies. Painted nails and designer babies.
Be proud of your flaws for they make you You, That spot on your nose It's like morning dew.
Please don't clip my wings, Don't nail me to the ground. Let me fly far away Among the clouds
Get lost among the sandunes Whoever you may be The pebble clad beaches the soft, subdued sea.
I curl my hair on Saturdays
I curl my hair on Saturdays It stays straight on Sun On Tuesday I wear it in a bow and sometimes in a bun.
A bonkers poem
Why so? Said the elephant, chewing on some grass. Why not? Said the fairy, polishing her brass.
A nuts poem
The afterlife Is kinda shite All demons and angry souls.
An awesome poem
I'm just churning out the poems Like a crazy poem machine My fingers they keep on typing My eyes stuck to the screen
I sit on the lampost, and sqwauck with glee! I smile at you, you frown at me,
We English are drinkers of tea We like to play polo and speak eloquently.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Messy mess mess
My room is a mess,
I must confess,
and just like my brain
it's disordered, I guess.
There are shoes on the desk,
and socks on the floor,
books on my bed,
and in my clothes drawer.