Bees weave webs of silk
trapping unwary sailors
"drunk and asleep."
Oh, you thought it was spiders
trapping unwarranted sailors
with salt in their veins?
Oh, you thought it was spiral
but the staircase was a straight shot down.
With saltpetre in their veins
they shat on virtue,
but the strums were straight thoughts.
Thus the gods of flamenco decreed.
They shat on virtual lawns,
bees warning of webelo stirs.
Thus goons of Flanders repealed,
drunk in their boots.
1 comment:
I like this one.
In bad poetry was thinking about the category of hokey rhyme ... I think you have covered this, but still. Now on the radio in the car they were singing:
Trying to get
O-ver you
Not be-ing
A-ble to
I am so rusty at music that I have not figured out what this compás is, maybe 3/4, but it is something with the rhythm and the enjambment that makes it so bad.
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