Sunday, 10 February 2013

I'm so hungry I could eat a horse

I wrote a new pome on Friday night. It's only my second pome in the last ten years. And in fact it more or less wrote itself in a moment of ennui during the very early hours when I couldn't sleep as a result of kicking cigs a week ago and all the usual existential malaise. I'm publishing it here really due to the overwhelming support it's had from a few kind folk who've already seen it and, not least, we poets live for our audience of course.

Here's the pome, in its original form (but with an early spelling mistake corrected):

SHITTINGTON FUCKINGTON BASTARDSHITFUCKINGTON 

SHITESHITTINGTON FUCKINGTON BITCHINGTON FUCKINGTON 

FUCKINGTON FUCKINGTON FUCKINGTON SHITTINGTON 

ARSEHOLIAN PISSFLAPINGTON SHITFUCKINGTON FUCKINGTON FUCK 


Stuff people said

England by train
— Angela Nunscunt

Domo Arigâteau (the poets' poet) moved me to tears. Ahead of his time, 
a master of meter
— Gary Lowe

My kinda poem
— Trudi Scrivener

What a great poem!
— Eileen Ryan

No comments:

Post a Comment