Today The Mister and I were lazing around, luxuriating in just having completed our second-to-last practice LSAT ever, when I asked him what I should blog about today. He got a gleam in his eye like he always does right before he says something mischievous (which, if you know The Mister, is pretty much about 93% of the time), and he said he thought I should write a poem about this house (house pictured above) that we saw while on a walk today.
A poem.
Me.
But, he asked, and I cannot deny him what is in my power to give.
For your consideration:
Old house
How nice you look
And so very blue
Like a smurf.
Or Mountain Blast Powerade.
Or, if that isn't your liking, how about this one:
Door.
Lovely, weathered, sun-bleached.
You open in the middle.
That does not seem convenient.
Unless your inhabitants are very skinny.
No? Try this.
Textured walls.
They look pretty.
But they are tricky to swat flies on.
All poems copyright to moi, all rights reserved. Dedicated with utmost affection and a mischievous twinkle, to The Mister.
based on the ease in which you write terrible poems, I'd wager that you'd be pretty good at writing good ones...
ReplyDeleteHouse of blue
ReplyDeleteYou look so quaint
But you'd look better
With a coat of paint.
@ Jacob - thanks! punk.
ReplyDeleteAnonymous - now that's the spirit!
I'm all about the first one - the smurf reference was brilliant. Lol
ReplyDeleteDon't give up your day job to become a poet! Ha!
ReplyDelete