Short Poems: Volume VII

Hello again! More longer poems will be forthcoming as I try and get my arse in gear with this whole thing (it took me ages to write that rap, you see - This One that is.

Here are some tiny morsels of poems.

68. Oh crap, thought the crap pedlar, that’s good.

69. Dave spewed vomit all over himself. ‘Lol,’ he said, before puking himself into a coma.

70. Herbert the Sherbet Dip Dab Dipstick coated his head in the sweet, sweet dust. Crunch. His brains went EVERYWHERE.

71. An ocelot raced down the motorway, going much, much slower than the cars.

72. Thomas Leslie parked his car, desperately sadly. His handbrake was sodden with tears. His face was strewn with mascara.

73. Graham marched across the open field. Unbridled joy! Glorious summer’s eve! He cried. An Owl swooped down, picked him up, dropped him on some rocks and ate his corpse.

74. Carlos then spat his words into a cup.

75. Insert poem.

76. He slunk into the haunted house. A ghost popped up instantly! But he wasn’t scared. The ghost possessed him. But he wasn’t scared. The ghost that was possessing him walked him into a room filled with corpses or something. But he wasn’t scared. He was blind; I forgot to mention that I think.

See you soon!