I Wrote her a love letter but she dropped it.
No money for the metro so we hopped it.
No money for the petro so I hocked a loogie
Then pawnshop hocked it:
Spitting that sick **** for profit.
We sat prostrate in front of our profit, then,
With her wet wig at the end of my mop-stick.
Check her prospects, then, blurry her optics.
We fly out in a flurry of topics.
I'm the nit-wit in her twit-pics:
The photo-bomber.
But she stopped its clock-ticks when she cropped it.
I should have told her,
I'm so fly she would die in my ****-pit.
And the Black Box is,
The love letter in her back pocket but she dropped it.

Dashing hither, dashing thither,
Dashing in the winter weather,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a hat upon his head

Not some lace cap fit for ladies,
Nor a bonnet stitched for babies,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a top hat there instead!

Never had a hat so fine,
So tall and silken, so refined,
Regaled upon the daily grind
Of prince or pauper in the Strand

Ladies stalled to see it's lustre,
Swooned and swayed before it's bluster,
Fell and fainted in a fluster,
Startled by a hat so grand!

Children screamed in dreadful fright
And yelping dogs began to bite
As crowds began to brawl and fight
And riots claimed the London street

In the chaos thus ensuing,
Folks began to run, pursuing
John the dashing haberdasher
Chasing him from Strand to Fleet!

John was taken to the prison,
Chided by the crowds derision,
There to wait the Mayor's decision
On his wanton heinous crime

Charged with breaching lawful peace,
He paid a fine for his release
And ordered to desist and cease,
He left his top hat well behind

Thus is told the tale of John
Who dared to bravely dash and don
A silken top hat high upon
His noble head in London town

Heed his tale and take this warning,
When you wake one winter morning
With desire to be less boring,
Careful how you dress that crown!

My poem, my poem it's a poem about my poem.

A man looses his hat

You said my hat was snazzy
and wonderfully fun, one day
you came to see me and took my black hat
out to play ...

With in the distance of paradise
by the light that lines my vision
I saw you skipping down the path
you had my black hat in hand ...

Hurrying down the road
rising my voice just a touch
'stop my friend,' i yell
'what about my hat' ...

You played and felt my loving hat
calling me teling me you wish I was in it
like the dawns of moonlight
You stood my hat in hand
I really like my hat ..

Debbie Brooks 2014

Consumed with thoughts of innocence, youthfulness and vigor
Never understood the attraction between a boy and a girl
Never understood for I was just a slender spoon...
Writing, playful - never thought I'd act the fool.
In my heart there was nothing.
Nothing of substance, thought, not even a care.
There was no one…
Just a slender spoon living just to survive and not to be seen.
Then I traveled and laid bare my eyes intertwining with yours.
Never a word... a word we didn't say for you were strange...
Strange to my eyes and I was too strange for yours.
So we looked on, clueless of the storm we'd cause today.
And so under that hat you smiled at first glimpse of my beauty.
A black woman, innocent but not without fault.
How could that be...ahhhh?
Then you became curious...
Curious about that slender spoon and what she was capable of.
You now know her thoughts and I...and she knows yours.
Unaware... that man under the hat, that black felted hat would later be a man with a ring...
That slender spoon... the beauty that shone under the sun would no longer be naive, indifferent… but she later became someone who had your interest at heart.
....that slender spoon later became a woman with a ring and the man under that hat became the one… the one who gave that ring,

That man under the hat....
The masculinity who wore that hat
…It was the man who wore that felted hat.

I'm a poem, I like bats named cat.