Liz's writers' group
Were you impressed by Malcolm and Deek's attempts at creative literature on Tuesday? Liz might not have been but Malcolm's limerick certainly gave us a laugh.
I think it's only fitting that their efforts are preserved here for your future pleasure.
Deek's poem:
If my soul had walls it would be a prison.
Cold and dark.
My sentence long and harsh.
My crime despair.
If those walls could talk no-one would listen.
So none would hear.
And none would know, the loneliness, sharp as a cross-bow's teeth...
(I fell asleep here so I don't know the middle bit)
...And so with solitude as my companion I wait.
And I listen for the footsteps.
Of my jailer.
With her keys.
Poor Deek! And now for something completely different...
Malcolm's limerick:
There was a young man named Gilfeather.
Who streaked naked in all kinds of weather.
In the snow he got numb,
from his toes to his bum.
Sure you'd never've guessed he's a fella.
Think you can do better? Post your contributions to Liz's writers' group below!
© MMIX~RS~q~RS~~RS~z~RS~16~RS~)