Friday, 24 January 2014

More shit poetry

The Funeral Party

White is his features,
Cold is his fingers,
Lying in a box in funeral attire dressed.

Gone is the laughter,
Here is the sadness,
Offer condolence to a widow distressed.

Bear the man slowly,
Lift the man gently,
Take him to a place where he may rest.

Short was his passing,
Long is his resting,
Sing out his praises and tell it in jest.

Warm to his memory,
Mention him fondly,
And say all this about a man you detest.


  1. 'Are' his features and fingers, not 'is'!

    Your grasp of the concept of verb tense is so shite!

    Otherwise, the poem is nice, quiet, but nice

    1. Yes I'm aware of the 'verb tense' thingy. The great thing about poetry is that you can do away with this. Call it 'poetic licence', call it a pumpkin. Read it correctly and I don't think it sounds as good. My version 'jars'. Or am I being a pretentious cunt. innit.

  2. It seems that Max (Microdave) has banned me already!
    It only took a day of eviscerating him and his illiterate entourage. Not a record, but still, impressive.

    Is Microdave the epynomous Max? Or is he the Beta male tasked with charging-out and defending the Alpha (Max) and the other weaker members of the pack from the likes of me?

    I blame you! Had you not been nice to me and instead railed against me, I am sure I would have been allowed to remain at least for as long as it took for all the illiterates there to throw a verbal rock in my general direction.
    What's that old joke? "I've been thrown out of better places that yours".
    I'm glad of it though. They're all much to stupid for me and frankly, it was a bit of a chore.
    I did it for you!
    I did it all for you!!!!!

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