No not stupid
You stupid
Me learned.
No not drunk.
What about more lines
Than just four?
One more?
Two more?
Change in form and
Stanza size.
What'd your English teacher say?
**** you, **** off,
Don't care, won't listen.
You don't mean nothin' - nowt at all.
Oh look back to four.
What do people write about?
There's a girl here wearing heels
To a relaxed creative thing.
Do I write about that?
Do I write about 'love'?
But I don't believe in it.
Go on then: green fields, pretty skies, blue-eyed boy.
Melt my heart.
Or nature: the pastoral, eh?
A green thought in a green shade.
Be conscious of the spilled blood that went into the making of the wild sky.
Sheep and cows and trees and England and dear God what is that smell?
Dr Evans said the last thing is death.
To sink into the ground and be eliminated.
Forgotten and remembered.
I should very much like that.
Well, there you have it.
A poem about poetry.
Call it postmodernism
But really I'm just bored.