It takes 30 cigarettes to write a poem

You don’t write a poem
you carve it
sentence by semi colon;
lovers lost
colour your daydreams
and time irrespective
rolls quietly on;

You abandon phrases
that fit perfectly
your first three paragraphs;
you close your eyes and
search and search for words
that make you cry or laugh;

You scribble out;
you screw paper
tight in your angry little fist;
Thirty cigarettes later
still no more the wiser
you wonder if
Shakespeare
smoked like this.

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011 

Even Shakespeare had bad days

Roses are red,
violets are blue;
life’s too short
show me your tits.

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011 

This is how wars begin

Just because you can’t spell
favourite,
neighbour,
colour and
centimetre;
every poem I have to tag twice;

one for you,
one for the Queen,
one to be wrong
and one to be right;
not rite!

Irony is not a metal
you drop two letters at the most;
put them back and acknowledge
what the rest of the world
already knows.

I must take deep breaths now,
relax and read “The Wife of Bath”;
“Bright Star” will calm my soul,
Spike Milligan will make me laugh.

It is my duty
as an English Poet
to make Shakespeare
even greaterer;
now I have to go
I am going with no apologies
out to the Royal National
THEATRE!

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011 

16.10.11 Spot the change. I elevated myself a little too high me thinks.
Thanks to Miss Audrey for making me think.