[Janet Kenny]

Too long again. It was late. I'll try again ASAP


Dear John, you're done

Go and catch a taxi now
Pack your bags and take a hike
Tell me where the car keys are
You can keep your motor bike.
Get out of here with your singing
I can hear the doorbell ringing

I find
Your mind

Typical of a certain kind.

After I’ve born deranged fights,
Things invisible to me,
Fighting all the days and nights
All over ancient history;
Next, you bring your friends to tell me
You’re a wonder. Try to sell me

Hot air.
Take care

That’s a line I will not wear.

Now’s the time for you to go;
Get your boots on, move your feet,
One more thing; you ought to know
If we two should ever meet.
Don’t try to speak. You’ll soon get a
Summons and a lawyer’s letter.

Just see
You’ll be

Hung out to dry, and I’ll be free.

[Janet Kenny]

Here's one I wrote quite a while ago:

Edna St Vincent Millay at the Supermarket
“I, being born a woman and oppressed”


I, being born a woman and oppressed
By endless preparation of huge meals
Am forced to heave this shopping cart on wheels
That contradict my will as though possessed.
I bear this load to stimulate your zest
For amorous adventures; shopping steals
My energy for better things. It feels
As if I have to pass your mother’s test.
Don’t think that I can be a cook and whore.
One or the other is your option here.
I doubt that when you ask the cook for more
The whore will be dessert for you my dear.
I find your gluttony a frightful bore
The parting of our ways is very near.

[FOsen]

Forget Not, Yet

Forget not yet how we have striven,
Though many times our hearts were riven,
Through fights and breakups, all forgiven,
Forget not yet.

Forget not yet our happy days,
Before you seemed to change your ways,
Your doctor says it’s just a phase,
Forget not yet.

Forget not yet the night I went
To pay your bail, the money spent,
They said you’d loitered with intent,
Oh, Hell. Forget.

-- Frank

[Jim Hayes]

Love that Frank.

[Marion Shore]

From Lucinda, To Her Lover at the Wars

Tell me not, Sweet, thou think to find,
Should thou return to me
That my chaste breast and quiet mind
Are still a nunnery.

And since thou seek the battlefield
And shun the wedding bed,
Take thy sword, thy horse, thy shield,
And marry them instead.

Yet know 'twas not alone the war
To blame for such an end.
I might have loved thee, Dear, much more,
Loved I not thy best friend.

[John Whitworth]

Comp 2593: William Shakespeare’s Dear John

It’s not because you’re bald (though hair is good).
It’s not because you’re fat with all that drinking.
It’s not because you can’t do what you could
Before, before you messed it up with thinking.
It’s not because you make a lot of noise.
It’s not because you like a bit of rough.
It’s not because you fool around with boys
And then pretend you don’t – the usual stuff.
I’ll tell you what it is. It’s all this ART,
It’s all this POETRY, it’s all this SHITE.
You like it better when we stay apart
Because it gives you extra time to write.
I’ve found a guy who’s culture-free and funny,
A simple guy who’s into making money.

I think there are a lot of reasons why this will not win. One is, of course,that it's not good enough. Two is that the rude word may be too rude for Lucy. And three might be that I have entered it for a competition before. I think I may have, but I can't remember what competition that might have been. Any of you help here.

I have sent this in but I think I might try again under the name of Phoebe Flood.

[Maryann Corbett]

Marion, I laughed out loud.

[Marion Shore]

Maryann, glad you liked it. I blush to admit I laughed when she tells him to marry his sword, horse and shield.

John, I love it. Can't imagine "shite" is so naughty these days--especially since "shite," to me, anyway, sounds more poetic than "shit".
Do people really use pseudonyms? Go for it, Phoebe!

[John Whitworth]

This is a limerick by Bob Conquest. I assume other Spherians agree with you about these being cuddly words

A usage that's seldom got right
Is when to say 'shit' and when 'shite',
And many a chap
Will fall back on 'crap'
Which is vulgar, evasive and trite.

[FOsen]

Don't worry, John

Whether it’s dried out or puddly,
Is flushed or thrown out or tracked muddily,
Is oblong or balled,
Whatever it’s called,
We’ll never regard it as cuddly.

Frank