King's Gardens

In a quiet sylvan glade, amidst beauty, charm, and grace a new poetic force emerges to dance words wanton and chaste I caught him walking alone, On a path in my garden the gentle poet does not reflect me so I scream despair and rip out his throat With blood and tears dripping my hands clenched and gory If I can't write free and creative I must take infamous glory...

Monday, December 27, 2004

Post Christmas Post

Post Christmas blues stuck in the office nothing to do all the real accountants have the day off too but their bitches are here singing to you They paid for lunch It's so great! Thanks a bunch! I'll picture you sitting at home while I munch. Hope your heads in a vise....Crunch!

Addendum-the preceding lines have been reformatted to reduce the impact to poetry sensitive individuals. All of me here at Kings Gardens strive to prevent materials or situations that can make anyone feel uncomfortable.

Thank you for your time.

3 Comments:

  • At 3:08 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    wow, poetry. Ok, I'll forgive you, because it was pretty funny.

     
  • At 3:21 PM, Blogger GoodKing Alan said…

    It's not really poetry so much as a caffiene induced rhyming rant

     
  • At 5:14 PM, Blogger sex scenes at starbucks said…

    rhyming rant. that sounds like a good name for a blog. of poetry. that no one would read. ok, maybe a good name for a band, then.

     

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