Friday, 29 March 2013
The problem with some poems
Is you don't know where they end.
I hate the awkward pauses
That can drive you round the bend.
They become a slight distraction
And you don't know your reaction
Is quite the right action to gain satisfaction.
A fraction of the time I applaud too soon
I feel like a loon
Like there's an elephant in the room.
But it's not my fault, it's the poet
And he knows it.
The false ending is even more mind bending
It seems to be trending
And is frankly a little offending.
It needs mending
And I feel like spending some time sending
A letter to my MP,
And John Hegley.
Or paying a visit
And if there is a happy ending
Then this is it.
(pause, look at woman in audience)
Sorry that wasn't the end, missus.