Dig My Poems

Hey, it's bad, like why is everything so ... so ...?

Sometimes I think my songs are like poetry without music, you know? I am an all-round artist.

I'll tell you what I want, did I really really say that? Surely not. I don't know what's come over me lately.


My body weak
My noble beak
With your handle you accuse
And your round base you bruise

Your non-stick skin
And deep vault within
With my scourer I rent
And the cold floor I dent

My mind you'll not soil
My wings you'll not boil
Never shall I drain away
Drain away

Crucible of Terror

What terrors can you cook for me;
I who plunged down through the void?
But looming there in front of me
The unknown has the final word


(I don't remember writing this. DB)

A learned young budgie named Doz
Disparaged the limerick because
"The syllables compress
So it's acceptable to cram loads of words in the fourth line as long as there's only one stress"
And for once she was right, 'cause it was