sinking ships
with
stout fat pricks
that
never know why
they're
dying just shy
of
moatfuls of gold
that
wait since old
for
pirates to lay
their
metal and clay
on its
shining studs
and
clang their buds
and
dance and swim
in
bottles of whim.
oh!
i know why
the
moat went dry
on
them so close
with a
cruel fire hose
and
burnt them toast
just
beyond the coast
of
murmurs and riches
hidden
doors and switches
scary
invisible ditches
and
mad barking bitches.
the pirate dead
had
an artist's head
it
loved to write
sure
however trite
an
inspiring sight
but
an awful plight
for
the pirate himself
as
he sought an elf
to
get his sock
out of
the writer's block.
the pirate's men
the
stout fat hen
had
no great ear
but
when they hear
the
pirate screech
his
romantic streak
in a
poignant pose
on the
mast when those
poor
souls would scramble
and
stumble entangle
then
everyone knows
its
poetry not prose.
one fine eve
with a
heart in bereave
the
pirate got out
and
made a pout
in
thoughts so deep
he
struggled to keep
his
head afloat
and
about the boat
when
then his thoughts
made a
U-turn to trot
and
hop and jumped
at the
sky and pumped
such
divine kicks
to his
soul in licks
that
he joyously jumped
and
.. fake humped
and
went inside
in
powerful stride
and
came out in tights
with a
handful of kites.
the stout fat pricks
then
didn't know the tricks
that
love plays on men
and were
happy by then
that
poems weren't kites
though they
hated the tights
but the
pirate didn't care
and he
flicked his hair
and
cried like a man
for
his sweetheart susanne.
the pirate thought
he
had to, he ought
to
confess his heart
lest
the moment depart
and he
got out a ring
with
finesse and zing
and
pouted to kiss
his
ring for the miss
and with
an intense fight
tied
it to the kite.
The rest is easy
the
gods went sleazy
at the
man in tights
a
pirate flying kites
and
touched the ring
with an
electric thing
that
touched the ship
in a
crazy trip
and
the poet and kin
got
kicked in the shin
and
burnt to toast
well
just beyond the coast.
lovers, amen.
