Author: Pontvert

Invading insects,
the spiders, ants, and the flies,
that like it inside.

It’s a battleground,
where you hear that flapping sound,
of rolled newspaper.

I am an artist,
I’ll sketch and paint her portrait,
and colour her love.

But, maybe one day,
I’ll see the real her and know,
we weren’t meant to be.

I’ve a catapult,
and yes I broke a window,
I really smashed it.

I am careful now,
and shoot my weapons outside,
where flowers suffer.

Musical classic,
are good for awhile, but then,
give me something new.

The beat is the same,
the chord are always the same,
but let’s mix them up.

It’s good to be back,
and it’s been a while I know,
but here we are now.

I have a toothache,
and it is painful to eat,
now it is all soup.

I’m stringing it out,
and setting out the limits,
of where i will go.

Set your limits well,
not too low, else they will know,
and then give you hell.

I’m writing a score,
some music, to right a score,
I have with myself.

Puns and silly rhymes,
they should be easily said,
and unassuming.

Sitting in my chair,
and reclined nice and easy,
just taking my time.

The coffee can wait,
and the biscuits to, you know,
in this peaceful time.

Tension in the air,
with dark thundrous looks my way,
but i stand my ground.

What is right is right,
and you can try all you might,
to change that, but can’t.

Tying my shoe lace,
for the left boot comes undone,
several times a day.

I’m shooting the breeze,
and allowing it to pass through,
all i am just then.