Inspired by Amanda, of course, who wrote her own poem about Paris in the rain.
Muted light through the skylight,
The patter of rain on glass,
Warm under the thick duvet,
This lazy Paris morning of
Ready for a day of walking,
Scarf around my neck,
A café crème at the café,
The waiters turn the heaters on,
At Trocadero, the souvenir sellers are not deterred
But they huddle in their coats,
Time for a second café crème,
A good book on the table,
This one’s just for Amanda, since she’s the one that suggested Donald Trump
Donald Trump might be rich
But he’s a lump of a man
With more money than sense.
His presidential opposition are laughing
All the way to the bank.
As I noted last time, this month is thanks to my cousin Amanda!
An Unsatisfying Limerick
She cried out her passion was writ
Just under the hood of her clit,
But listen he did not,
Just pulled out his cock,
And she didn’t like it one bit.
As so decreed by my cousin Amanda (of the excellent blog, Plausible Prosetry).
Her poem for today (a limerick) is here: https://amandasobierajski.wordpress.com/2015/06/30/u-r-my-typus/
And my poem for today is this one, below. (Amanda’s writing one every day, but I’m writing only as many as I can manage this month.)
Whilst trying to sleep and failing.
Magpie sitting on the balcony rail
Squawking to raise the dead.
Wonder if he’d change his tune
If I let the cat out?