"inexpensive" poems
a) i am the mortar incurring blow after blow
from the abrasive quality of your negligence.
no, i am herb between pestle and mortar
the full realization of 'rock and a hard place'
b) i am the mortar between each brick you lay,
in blue collar glory, or rock star slumming,
to bind shaky corridors of past serenity
and bear indiscretions on my limestone shoulders
c) i am the mortar you fire before crawling under covers
for inexpensive *** and trashier beer
by a lake on a camping trip where tents trump love
like the queen of spades in a hand of hearts
d) in fact, these are false, merely possibilities --
actuality: you were never enough
to make me spew homonyms in metaphor
because you were nothing like them,
always appearing changed but monotonous in meaning,
and if you're so into contraposition,
are we not but names for each other?
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
I. the smell of sad
odorless colorless like ***** similar familiar sidewinder effects,
musty invasive, it has no specificity, no locale centrale, well closeted,
saddling sadding, in place, plain sighted better to toy our lives,
pervades persists, worse lingers, impervious to sprays
and even everyone’s good literature (even Will S’s),
good wishes good intentions and mood prayers
to the nearest lay god
on duty at the spiritual emergency room on weekends,
still stink
don’t think that this poem is for you; solely for the writer,
your doppelgänger ****** your mirror’s inside hiding out place,
I,
who has your sadness smell into my skin cells creepily crept
waft woof and warp wet weft-woven
into the sad receptacles hidden in my
head’s cubbies and the palms of my tree hands-covering face
there are cures so wonderful and inexpensive but unavailable
at the local Rite Aid, though they are the right aid recoverable,
so closer than close, so close that the internist
cannot prescribe them because he must inject himself first
because the live bacteria in the antidote can **** all
this odor lays down bamboo-strong roots;
to eradicate you must dig down deep,
six feet perhaps more, with heavy earth moving equipment,
uproot at the source, follow sad always all-the-way down and the root
great god gone,
but the saddest truth
stench odor yet present***
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC
The old saying talks about
Being snug as a bug in a rug
But how can you feel that way
If you never ever get hugged.
If you hug your loved ones
They may not need drugs.
It’s an inexpensive medicine;
The basic household hug.
Worse things could happen
Than to catch the hugging bug.
It’s a better remedy than you
Can find in an apothecary jug.
It doesn’t require prescription
And is no big weight to lug.
You always have one handy,
The standard loving hug.
A hug can be the cure for you
When you are in a purple fug
And your face begins to look
Like a rather dyspeptic pug.
Somebody wonderful arrives
And gives your heart a tug
By giving you the all-time best
Wholehearted, loving hug.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
every man for himself--am i a man or a self?
wearing long suspenders and
smoking my tonsils raw
a handful of questionable virtue
and inexpensive self confidence
i am no longer your folk hero,
but rather a jolly youth that hates degenerates
i'll fall out of my chair to keep
my ear to the ground
i must listen for change
yes, and between the mattress, shrieking
and the myterious column of faces
appears the fog in twilight, swallowing
***** tonk doors and vagabonds whole
i am a strange left handed moon man,
i'm high
i have that paralyzing lonesome feeling
i have nothing new to add, that feeling
i am an ambassador without *****
almost pornographic
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC
Sitting on this addictive desk
Staring at the wonders of the world via the internet
From the modesty to the grotesque
It's funny how they all forget
The life outside of this intoxicating bottle of wires
But who am I to complain, for I am one of them
Lost inside these eccentricities that I admire
Wondering, conjecturing all about the beautiful eerie emblem.
What if just one day, one day we all stood and went outside?
Smell the breeze of the isolated air
Feel the earth, the dirt, that we denied
The earth we wear and tear
And yet, the ungrateful spends no time to relish
What we have, inexpensive
But all the care is for the wires; hellish
This is the mysterious truth
Of the brute
Of mankind and their neglect
Of a life that may never resurrect
-fir.m
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
every time a woman met her husband
looked at his eyes and stayed for a word
he didn't say it he as he has got tired
he went asleep without saying that word
except good night and morning may be good
the woman was pretty ,the woman was youth
the woman wanted to be heard, she wanted to be fold
when she went a walk , one comes along
he was a strange, he had bad heart
his heart fill of hate ,his heart like an art
extracting by devil extracting by hard
now the angel went away and the devil brought
the strange went in hurry and he looked
at her face with only big smile
he said to her one, two ,three, all words
how attractive are you? Why aren't you touched?
How are you walking on foot? you must ride!
Inexpensive car ,or high rank plane in its ride?
If they were not, you must ride
A good horse spread wide
If it was not that, you must ride
A strong camel wearing a beautiful dress
Its colors gain from your cheeks red in appearance
And green as yours ,the shinning of your eyes
And yellow in above as your hair colors
If it was not their, you must ride
A man who carried you without any pain
He can traveled with you , felt with gain
Happy ,strong, eager and you would be his woman
Come with me and you would be heard another
The woman lost her mind , the woman appeared another
Woman had not seen, a strange in her thought
As she heard what she wanted for time. She went blind
She obeyed him and let him ride
They took his car ,it was not unlike
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 5:40 AM UTC
I want to tell you the story
Why I cannot sing the blues
I want to tell you the story
Why I cannot sing the blues
It’s because I’m a white guy
And I wear inexpensive shoes.
I went down to the crossroads
To learn to play the guitar
I went down to the crossroads
To learn to play the guitar
When I walked into the crossroads
I got hit by a car.
I went back to the crossroads
I wanted to have it all
I went back to those crossroads
I wanted to have it all
When I got down to the crossroads
They turned it into a mall.
So I am done with the blues now
I need to change my style
I am done with the blues now
I need to change my style
Goodbye to the blues
I’ll try hip hop for a while.
... Yo!
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 5:39 PM UTC
The land of the free
The huddled masses
Salute the flag and
Raise your glasses.
Just going along fine;
You never had a hunch
And then America gives
A sneaky sucker punch.
With malice toward none
The land of equality
Everyone the same
Just like you and me,
Unless he is black
Or some other non-white.
Then, not really equal.
No, sorry. Not quite.
The rules are laid out,
Not in the constitution.
To be okay in the USA
Is an ironclad institution.
You don’t make waves,
Or rise above your station.
A handpicked few white men
Are in charge of this nation.
The land of the free
The huddled masses
Salute the flag and
Raise your glasses.
Just going along fine;
You never had a hunch
And then America gives
A sneaky sucker punch.
So, don’t start whining
About equal opportunity.
That really isn’t for you
Only for the likes of me.
I’m a rich white man, you see
I control most of what there is
Which is almost everything.
Tell you when to take a whizz.
There are haves and have-nots
And you know which you are.
If you’re lucky you get to own
A TV and inexpensive car.
But other than voting for
The two parties we allow
You just pay taxes, that’s it.
Nothing else, not ever, not now.
The land of the free
The huddled masses
Salute the flag and
Raise your glasses.
Just going along fine;
You never had a hunch
And then America gives
A sneaky sucker punch.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC
I am usually an amnesiac
Which is why there is always
cheap stationery in my pockets
- "An inexpensive set from Faber-Castell"
I look to my scribbles when I'm lost
unless an unexpected shower
has been tasked to ruin them
- "Pages stuck together, smudged and stained"
Three monsoons have come and went
I don't carry an umbrella or run for cover anymore
I stand in the middle of the downpour, drenched
But I guess some inks are just too hard to wash away
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 8:17 AM UTC
HANDMADE CHRISTMAS
Do you remember back when
Christmas was making things
Out of stiff colored paper
Like chains of slim paper rings
That were so long we took them
And wrapped the a few times
Around the tree as pretty trim?
We made angels and snowflakes
From something called shirt boards;
Cutouts covered with aluminum foil.
They didn’t need extension cords.
And Mom showed us how to starch
String we dyed. We wrapped it
Around some inflated balloons.
When each dried, we popped it.
We made reindeers and Santas
Our of wooden clothespins
With pipe cleaner antlers or
Cotton beards for Santa’s chin.
Mom dyed an old sheet green
For under the Christmas tree.
Prettier than the store-bought kind
It has always seemed to me.
In school we made Gifts too
Things knitted or made of clay
To give to Mom wrapped up
With great pride on Christmas Day.
And that wrapping paper was
Was all Christmas color tissue.
It was inexpensive to buy, so
Using a lot was not an issue.
Some gifts were appreciated
Some maybe not as much
But in every case, we were
For the most part very touched.
You knew for sure just by looking
What care and love went into
The handmade presents that were
Made totally and especially for you.
Brent Kincaid
12/12/2015
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 6:39 AM UTC
I can see through your eyes
Dark pigment
Surrounded by a colorless horizon
Lids and lashes act as curtains
But as you become surprised they rise
...
Your eyes are wide
The reflection I get makes me think that I'm in the picture
But reality tell me that everyone else sees themselves within you
I can see through your eyes , but I can't tell who you're looking forward to
Contenders
Applicants
Aspirants
Do we all make your eyes sparkle or is that just the only thing that divorces me from the other prospects?
The other prospects keep looking just as I do, so I know that it is something that they want
...Your eyes
Your eyes become my shining gold when your cheeks elevate and suppress , leaving wrinkles right next
Your upside down rainbow, I mean ... your smile
So kaleidoscopic and polychromatic
Dynamic and emphatic
What creature wouldn't be attracted?
...
Umm
Whatever natural specimen with a good sight that can see through your eyes.
Someone with similar vision, but nonidentical decisions to I
I know your smile is moody
Your heart is choosy
And your eyes are gluey
And yet I dissociate myself from your gallery
Believing some day that you'll just shut your eyes and become blind to all the other guys
How do I disregard the signs that I'm instructed while seeing through your eyes
The signs that show me how you flourish off of all the concentration that you get
I'm posing inside of a picture that I know is framed by faces that do not have placement
Your art steadily draws attention
so as soon as you get glimpses
You start your bidding
Your craft is so worthy but so inexpensive
As if you put your body up for sale and mark down the price, only to stay top seller to the cheap consumers
How do you allow to have a allowance upon yourself; moreover, place yourself on clearance
The real question is why do I window shop knowing that the quality of the product is so unreliable
I don't think I really wanna see, what I really see when looking through your eyes
Wishing you weren't so prideful about your high demand of men
If yu weren't so disdainful maybe you'll blink more often and try to
Shun from keeping eye contact with me
Instead you proudly advertise yourself as the best deal yet
I hate that I can see through your eyes
Because I hate to witness a beautiful woman with such a bargaining mind
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
Sometimes,
I wish I were a plastic toy.
Inexpensive, but cheerful.
Why did we outgrow those things?
I would trade the pricey seriousness of my pearls
Any day now
For some cheap happiness.
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 1:11 AM UTC
Shaking the fur
off the holes in my skin,
microscopic, little dens
for every fox that comes my way.
They release,
instantly,
and I stand in the room,
bare and naked and bleeding and screaming
for the whole ******* world to
hear and hurt and hug and help and
love
me.
I'm crying and laughing and singing and dreaming
for the whole ******* school to
stop and see and sting and string
me
up
into the jewelry
wrapping their pretty,
little necks.
I am
inexpensive jewelry
to give to your
finest French *****
Read me like
one of your nudey books,
I'm just a spreadshotted eagling on the
bareskin rug,
bearbottomed with the brutish blues
of the bruises and the bites.
And maybe I
want to hide,
to run and whisper myself
into the secret,
hidden spots behind every
shadowy curtain--
but when you're up and out
and over and through
and wrapped around their evil,
little eyes,
there's nowhere to go.
You're trapped in
every word they say,
the kind,
the cruel;
you're trapped like a rat
stuck inside a cat
stuck inside a dog
which was eaten by
a North Korean man last Kim Jong-il day.
You know,
they call that day
the
Day of the Shining Star--
and maybe the man
plastered on every poster,
draped carelessly on the street signs
and erotically fixating a nation
didn't want to be the Star, either;
maybe he never wanted to
be the constant, single thought
on each of their hateful,
dreadful little minds,
dredged into the
swamps and mires
of their moist
and
sweaty
dreams.
Maybe,
he, too,
didn't want to be the
*****
drunken,
distasteful
STAR
of their hate.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
It’s a wonder to me why my heart keeps beating…
I see it as a burden most days…
I cry,
I scream,
I grieve,
I hurt.
I have no idea what happened to my mind…
I think perhaps I left it in the freezer behind the frozen pizza.
I realize everyone has sorrow and hate and rudeness in them
We are all capable of doing things we never thought we would do.
I also understand that we all have kindness in us too,
And that's the part we have to hold tight to when the pain feels all-consuming.
I know that life is not fair, or just
I know that, like last night, even though I rant and rave and scream and cry;
If I just hang on by my pinky nail,
I can get through it without hurting myself
Because as hurt and angry and confused as I feel most of the time,
I do not have to hurt myself like he hurt me.
I’ve realized that crying is a pretty inexpensive hobby.
I live with ghosts
Ghosts from my past that haunt me every night.
I used to not believe in ghosts
But the truth is,
I see them at night…
Sometimes out of the corner of my eye,
Inching toward me
As I curl into a tight little ball and hide under the covers.
And I know that ghosts cannot hurt me
That I cannot ignore them,
But instead, I must face them...
As painful as that continues to be.
And therapy…God!
Therapy!
One of the things that surprises me is that it doesn’t get any better…at least not so far. The further you dig, the more you reveal, the worse the wound hurts. But I've learned that if I want help, I have to trust my dear therapist, and I have to be willing to share things that hurt and bleed, things that are full of shame and pain. Before this “round” of therapy, I used to view the world surrounded by a sea of apathy. I could always keep up appearances but as for feeling? Well, all feelings just fell into the sea before reaching me. And now I am surrounded by a sea of pain and grief. It’s a strange realization, after spending so many years not feeling anything at all. It’s like looking at your hand and discovering you have an extra finger; it must have been there all along, but you’ve never noticed it before.
I sit here at gloomy grove,
Crying my eyes out from the pain,
Screaming my head off from the betrayal.
And I tell myself over and over,
“Things will get better – just hold on – you will see a light, you will find some relief.”
I have cried enough tears to solve any water crisis!
I don't understand
I don't accept it.
I don't know if I ever will.
I spent today alternating between crying and screaming
And I am still screaming, silently:
Help me find my soul.
Tell me I have a heart.
Tell me I am not crazy.
Tell me I will be okay.
Please…someone HELP ME!
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
Paper notes are nothing without the air that fuels their journey
From hand to hand, money to palm, no, I want that inbetween
That fair exchange, that feel good feeling.
I have faith in that ease.
But you are blind to what I see
You believe it's brought everything, this paper wrapped in thorns.
Independence, equality and within us, no judgement or scorn
I laugh even though it hurts from the lungs you've torn
Your air isn't fit to breathe anymore
From firestarters to materials, from nowhere at all to experiences
The answer lies not within the devious
So I wait
A precarious balance to one day think you can pay off fate
You hold it tight, until the moment comes.
Through snow, through sleet, sunshine and rain.
You'll have that goodie today.
And nothing can stop you but a lack of change.
When life and death is trivial, you can hear the quarters coming
You're full to the brim with it
But it's nothing.
An overflow of twinkling coins and shiny bills
It's the journey, the reward, that brings those thrills.
I want to remove the middle man, the mad man, the money mind-set banned
And instantly connect those two generous hands
Together we'll make it happen, let's start with a global call
Inexpensive and cheap, abundance and freedom is solved
Monsanto the monster hiding beneath our countries bed
The internet our new best friend
It is our turn now, to bring this to an end
Poverty and addiction is a just a bad dream, wake up!
It's never too late to have had enough
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
Foolscap
now I understand better,
the ironic humor of naming
the plain white paper before me,
where the construction commences,
the scratched surfaces, entrance ways into
the best I can hope to offer and having yet to write
foolscap
laugh out loud,
move over great ones,
this fool had tipped his cap,
betrayed his intention and attention,
he has a kitbag of raggedy jumbled words
as yet unassembled, and had all life to snap them
colored Lego pieces of his own design together in a way
that takes the un from unremarkable and so let this newbie
commencement be a beginning,
not an ending célèbre but a transition to
translating the heart and head and a storied vision
retained therein, treasure chested into an assemblage
pleasing to those who peek over the foolscap's shoulder
the snow has dappled doused my lower legs,
wet, does not creation commence in the wetness,
even slush that is the residue of the brilliance of snow
as a concept, even the slush, disdained and discarded,
***** grayed, from it will come my firsts, my births,
my ***** grayed, my beloved unbeloved,
sculpture of words that resound
across the better days to yet,
yet yet yet yet - a hundred
Yeats yets, sweet vets,
all I need is the first
word, so chosen,
so apropos,
foolscap
Foolscap - a type of inexpensive writing paper
Dedicated to those measured few here who have nurtured me with gentle pushes and sweet perfumed praise to push myself harder yet, push harder than I ever dared.
You know who you are.
Pray I please you.
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/596769/poet-in-trouble/
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
how do you know
what you know
isn't an illusion
or a hologram
or a ruse to them
& theirs
why I do declare,
********
I am ******* bored
with this
I've been here before,
but I've changed a bit.
I know my soul
must be ******* ancient
& has taken spaceships
to different places
you know, most
don't own the patience
for any explanation that ain't
ready-made, microwave
layman safe.
as for shakespeares
as for lennons,
maybe they'll get it
if they've mastered dissipation
if they're versed in manipulation
if they keep contained
indecipherable ranges of
insane visions
to which ignorance
is malignant,
if they're excitable &
strange & incandiferous.
if they have eyes in their brains
& are made of diamonds,
if they're kinda like,
sadomasochistic.
wait, you're gunna miss it.
when the inexpensive lynchmen
get bent up & purple faced
pinched pens & been up for days
cause they seen some ****
& ain't been quite the same since.
nevermind it, they lookin frigid.
this **** is ridiculous.
**** it, quiet
silent, silence,
sigh then.
keep calm
remain indifferent.
this **** is ridiculous.
listen, listen.
if you see me missing,
please report it to the police
******* themselves in the street,
cause it's easy, it's easy.
tell em I only speak in
secret spells & ******
but I know
some swears in dreamy.
the sleepy cellular subject
is defective, so ...
so be it, the pest shall be deleted
lest it spread disease
& eat up all the fleece,
then we'll all be cleaned -
no, not really.
the fiends are still fiending
the fields are still weeping
paint is still peeling
off walls
who couldn't talk
but were still breathing.
the truth is still
spooky ****
nightmare things
on inviting screens
& the teeth keep screaming.
maybe they're thinking.
about the end
... ?
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
bought me a woman off my bucket list
inexpensive as they go
she's so ****** pretty
she's got me giddy with excitement
a smooth, shiny, orange brown, maplewood body
with an hourglass figure
a long-necked rosewood fingerboard
a brazilwood bow with ebony frog
she wears her hair in a top knot scroll
held together by large ebony pegs
standing only on one leg
she’s tall for a stringed instrument
tune her up and rough up your rosin
hold her between your knees
hug her from behind
stroke her as she moans her mellow melodies
didn’t know if it would work out
but I love her so much I had to try
I’ve always loved her
but now I know
although I would hold her close
she sings her song for others
turning her face from me
so I can’t hear her voice
I have to let her go
let her make someone else happy
she was mine for a night
but there are no switches or dials
I can’t set my heart on temporary
maybe I’ll try again later
you can’t give up on love
perhaps an electric model with headphones
then she’ll sing her songs only for me
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 10:30 PM UTC
We all want the truth
But we're all liars.
Trapped before forks
Of the bed rock of love
And of momentary fires.
We all want to fly,
But we're born without wings.
Whenever we're down,
We re-evaluate our needs.
Whenever we're down,
We see several versions
Of getting down on our knees.
To a dying girl, we were betrothed.
But we held different backs
Segregated former lovers
And cheap lunch packs.
Those letters you wrote
Under your breath read
Rightly deserved curses,
O finely written verses.
Let's join our little drunken hands
In inexpensive Hong Kong sidewalks
The rum-infused sweat in our cheeks
Hasten not in hazy sweetie talks
The heat in the night
Can make the ice caps melt
But in two different poles our
Intentions got up and went.
Your eyes never looked like what it seem.
Your night felt like a lie, mine transpired a dream.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
Paper Rose
By Joeysguy
Many years ago when I was short of money
Thinking of a gift to give my honey
Something inexpensive, like a single rose
With the meaning and feeling that it shows
Just a couple of dollars I think that would be okay
As a gift from my heart for that day
In that single rose, that I bought
With my love being the thought
I have roses growing outside my house
In the memory and love to my spouse
From some of the thorns that are on the stems
My blood was drawn and looks like little gems
I need a rose that is so very light
It has to be special for a flight
I can now give her this kind of a rose
With all my love that it shows
The rose has to be without a thorn
So the balloon doesn’t burst while airborne
Higher and higher to my wife it goes
A balloon that carries, a paper rose
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
The fat cats live among us,
atop the highest hills;
they don't take generic,
inexpensive pills.
Money is no object,
it must be wonderful;
to be above the simple,
middle-class or dull.
They're gated and secure,
locked up in their own space;
you don't know them personally,
only by their face.
They are the ones that rule
by the power of the dollar;
they've degrees you do not have,
the educated scholar.
The money grabbing miser,
who sits upon his throne;
who seldom sees his neighbor,
and does not throw a bone.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
.
She saw the punk girl on the subway
With the torn tee shirt
Which had printed on it
Across her bra-less *****
The message
EAT **** AND DIE
//
So
When she got home
She took a ****
Ate it
And died
///
She smiled so angelically
And thought so thankfully
Of that punk girl
And her advice
WOW
IVE ALWAYS WANTED TO **** MYSELF
AND THERE SHE IS
TELLING ME OF AN INEXPENSIVE
AND EASY WAY TO DO IT !
WHAT A BLESSING !
WHAT A WONDERFUL PUNK GIRL !
.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
The hunky lad passed me smiling.
I sat and wondered what he was into.
I spent the next short time whiling.
Did he like the same things I like to do?
Was it possible he’d find me beguiling?
Or was I just a romantic Ford Pinto;
A bit of data barely suitable for filing?
Not worth a kiss let alone a good *****
Thus run the silent mental maunderings
Of a fool with little else but fanciful wishes
As he went about his chores like laundering
Dusting, vacuuming and washing dishes.
Dreams like those of a damsel in a castle
Drug me away from the drudgery of the day.
And helped me not see life as a hassle;
Instead it made my mind a place to play.
If fortune could send a lucky handyman
To fix something I didn’t know was broken
I could think it was a very dandy plan
And that God was sending me a token.
Almost like a voice was whispering to me
Everything is gonna be okay, my child.
So go ahead and celebrate giddily.
Your life is will soon go from mild to wild.
Oh yes, I would sing and dance in joy
Around my tiny rent-controlled home.
God was going to send a perfect boy
So he would never again need to roam.
He could stop here in his **** travels
And I would make him so glad that he did.
He could stop pounding the gravel;
Just stay with me, almost on the skids.
I’d serve him chicken from the Colonel
I have lots of coupons I’ve set aside.
Maybe he’d like something from McDonalds.
I would set the table with great pride.
And I would make sure there was wine
By the lovely gallon, here for him to drink.
If he wanted a more inexpensive kind
He wouldn’t really even have to blink.
Yes I would make a lower-class heaven
With our modest Rent-a-Center stuff.
I’d do the scutwork twenty-four seven.
I do it all now, it is nothing that tough.
He would only have to love me madly.
Life would be a fairy tale for both of us.
He’d consent to stay forever gladly;
Life would be simply, totally marvelous.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
there once was a woman named Mrs Brown
who bought all the real estate in Milltown
she offered renters inexpensive rent
for this was her benevolent bent
Mrs Brown's rental pricing was most enticing
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC