Occupied... a poem

[Sir_Nigel]

Periodically, what with everything you take in,

and all the thoughts flying around in your head,

you get a build up

of literary matter

and artistic fluids.

 

This has to be expelled

or you’d die

or explode

in a messy shower of

pronouns, adjectives, apostrophes and puns

and,

well, thing is,

you can’t just do it anywhere

can you?

 

So you look for somewhere

where intelligent, creative and

articulate individuals gather

to expel and express.

 

And you do it

there,

communally.

 

 

Aaaah, that’s better, eh?

you sigh.

 

Better out

than in.

 

Phew.

 

More tea vicar?

 

Sometimes people even

poke about in other

people’s expulsions.

They delve

and leave comments.

 

Very impressive, they might say

Or

This stinks.

 

So why not just open the sluice gates of your imagination

Sit back, relax

and let it all go.

 

 

 

But I’d give it five minutes

if I were you.

[scotty225]

Ahh yes, er Sorry Sir Nigel I was just messing about a bit and got carried away, but your right/rite/write (delete as appropriate) I do feel better for it.

 

"But now, for something completely different"

[Tallyman]

Nice one, Sir Nigel

 

I was raised on the parochial exchange:

 

"More tea, vicar...?"

"No, but I wouldn't mind another f***ing bun"

 

I don't really know where that came from!

[coyleys]

I do like these occasional spontaneous outbursts of feelings when the mind feels it could explode.

It usually happens when you’re on a crowded bus and everyone is talking gibberish or in a quiet waiting room, you feel like jumping up and reciting a chapter from Shakespeare or a verse or two from Wordsworth, but we have to curb our inhibitions and blend in with the rest of the droids or risk being labeled “The weirdo”

Let it rip Nigel, we’re all weirdoes in this group.

Nice one