I was looking at a ‘humour’ poetry competition today and thinking about entering it so on the 20 minute bus ride from my work to the train station I decided to jot down a few words.

This is the result:

They want me to write humour, well that’s a bloody joke;
like finding an old Tiger Snake and giving it a poke.
If I start writing humour, venom will start to flow
or into some weird fantasy my twisted mind will go.
‘Cos writing bloody humour is not my stock in trade,
my pen’s more like a rapier, a honed and sharpened blade.
My rapier runs opponents through, my pen’s for a tirade.
Don’t expect some poncy humour when I lay pen to pad;
but rather you’ll be torn to bits – you’ll know that you’ve been had.
And up above my mantle piece, there mounted as a prize
will be some literary judges head – still with vacant eyes.

Maybe I’ve got a way to go!