Wicked

The wicked side of Twitter
At the risk of sounding bitter
Is the withered chance to witter
And it hurts

Owls

To wit, to woe, the owls know
Just how far this has got to go
And if it’s crap then be it so
I’ll drop it

Spark

This Facebook farce is quite a lark
Spinning our lives out in the dark
Squinting for a tiny spark
To see by

Slurry

I woke up in a flurry
Had to publish in a hurry
But the worry was the slurry
Of my mind

Storm

I’ve invented a new form
It’s not so removed from the norm
Three raucous rhymes four lusty lines
Come the storm

Time

I was thinking of the past
Tempting to tone that things don’t last
Old Father Time is ticking fast
One more chime?

Dust

In an act of selfish lust
An almost onanistic must
Time to stop before my liver
Turns to dust

Not

Twoefully underrated
Relatively unrelated
Tweet collections unabated
And why not

Quarter

Although I have a daughter
I ain’t doing what I oughter
Should have called her more than once a
Damn quarter

Election

Fourteen tweets in each collection
Cured and curdled to perfection
I’m quite tempted to declare:
Election!

Balls

Such a funny little man
Juggles his balls as much he can
Jump up and downy go the fan
Football, man

Word

My love is like a soaring bird
Whence came this wave, this sacred word
I wide-eyed look up wisely
For the turd

Way

After some investigation
And a bit of exploration
Seems that excrapolation
Is the way

Penny

If friends were ten a penny
Do you think I’d still have any
Given that I don’t have many
Anyway?