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  Aug 2016 Nigel Finn
Rhiannon
He just sits there day after day,
A pensive expression and an ash tray.
His car of blue now smells of smoke,
His lungs are black and coughs are chokes.

He just sits there day after day,
A pensive expression and an ash tray.
Has no family so he works all the time,
And he always looks knackered but he says he's fine.

He just sits there day after day,
A pensive expression and an ash tray.
He finally got a promotion for working so hard,
Too bad it was made up of cigarettes and cards.

He just sits there day after day,
A pensive expression and an ash tray.
As he takes his final puff and teeth decay,
He just sits there day after day.
  Jul 2016 Nigel Finn
Essen
Let it be known throughout the land
From highest peak to wettest sand
With sharpened tongue and steady hand
The talking frog is in command

With belly white and skin of lime
A hero for the modern time
He uppered fun and lowered crime
His skillset includes pantomime

Of all the kings he is the best
A chiseled jaw and manly chest
We even put him on our crest
(He helped to found the turnip fest)

A friendly frog we all adore
With lots of fun and games in store
He'll make us smile, he has before
We thank you, frog, for this and more!
Sorry it's been so long since I uploaded anything! I haven't been feeling much poetic inspiration lately. Rest assured that more Fun Poems for Cool People™ will be coming soon!
  Jul 2016 Nigel Finn
Bo Burnham
The Squares lived happily,
in their square houses,
in their square yards,
in their square town.

One day, a family of Circles
moved in from the west.

"Get out of here, roundies!" shouted one of the Squares.
"Why?" asked one of the Circles.
"Because this is a metaphor for racism!"
  Jul 2016 Nigel Finn
Bo Burnham
I hung myself today. Hanged? Whatever, point is I hanged myself today and I'm still hanging.

I feel fine. Just bored. I keep hoping that someone will come home and cut me down but then I keep remembering that if i knew someone like that I wouldn't be up here. Bit ironic, right? Or is that not ironic? I read somewhere that, like, anything funny is, in some way, ironic. But I don't know if it's funny or not. I don't think my brain owns "funny," you know?

I feel taller. I like that.

I've never been away from my shadow for this long. It had always clung to my feet, parting momentarily for a quick dive into the swimming pool. But never for five hours. I like it. There's three feet of space between my two and the floor.

I wanted something this morning. I may be stuck. But at least I'm three feet closer to it.
I wanted the book to engage a wide variety of tones and feelings – from seriousness to silliness and from elation to melancholy. This particular poem is from the perspective of a man who has just hanged himself. I thought it was interesting to write a poem from the perspective of someone who has just hanged himself and is pretty nonchalant about it. That someone is /not me/, and that’s half the fun of writing – being able to put yourself in foreign situations and see things from others’ perspectives (and to empathize with them). The poem is definitely dark and a little unsettling but the page before this was a poem about flies buzzing around dog poo. The world is full of dark and light and I just wanted the book to reflect that :)
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