Help!
Have a six year old child for the week end.
Save me.......................
\fip/
I usualy like your stuff Edgar but that dosen't even rhyme
It was a plea for help - not a poem.
Written by a grandpa on his fourth "Game of Life" game.
Story for a six year old:
Onceupunca time
When ogres ruled the realm,
And Stevenson wrote rhyme
in the land of counterpane,
There was a six year old
Who must be entertained.
The story master comes and sits the child on lap,
and starts the magic spinning
With elves and gnomes and gremlins,
And fairies and the such
For one small naive mind,
It really don't take much.
It's a mock complaining, actually. I miss the boy sorely when he's not here. He spent his first three and a half years in my home.
Hey, edgar. I totally understand what you're saying. Right now, I am babysitting my grandson's corn snakes.
Corn snakes come and corn snakes go,
and shuffle off their mortal coil,
but nothing makes a boy snake smile
like slipping corn to their snake goil.
I'm cringing in the rain
Getting pelted with the pain
What a storm I'm feeling
It's nature's disdain
Still see him singin
And dancin
In the rain...
and see him weaving baskets,
When Francis spoke to him,
and see his fun expressions,
Though they're now a little dim.
O'Connor and Gene Kelly,
Irish do you think?
What magic they did garner
From the fields of laugh and wink.
The sky wore blue today,
A cheery sun and love birds in twos.
It lifted the planes in play,
Like a child in brand new tennis shoes.
The bolts in my brain
The screaming against the rain
Toxic mold
In my soul
Edgar has
a spritual side
his center burst forth
he can no longer hide
a misty white steed
into the heavens
he rides
Hi. Gelis.
I like your way with words better than mine, generally speaking.
a poets heart is a poets heart my friend
We both have something to say
"My baby be workin'
9 to 5
At the local Waffle Dive...
While my love for my kitty,
Has turned oh so shitty,
The kitty has turned...
To Kiddie I've learned,
So happy we've been blessed,
To our child who won't be dressed.
Oh, lordy won't you repaint my old T/A!
She promises not to hurt me in any other way.
The bottle's on hold,
Promises that 'til she's old,
But dammit, my friends are cold.
Out of the ashes our love remains,
A Firestorm I've been told.
And my Rain just fuels the flames"
Call me 