Dear Poetry Gods -- Brody the Writter

In my organized community, there has entered a women. She is a poet and knows it. People pay her for her poetriess forming of words. I being the curious cat am interested. How hard is it to write a good poem. The answer: quite.

I am by no means a poet in any fathomable way. I am a writter of words; however, by this I feel I should at least attempt to construct a poem.


I leave for you "The Poem of Someone Telling Me About You, And Me Telling You What They Said":


Someone told me
That you lived your life on the edge of a knife
Like the cats screaming at the dogs between them
Not a concern or a cry
to give
to anyone
to ever live

Your a soul bleeder with his hat on the rack
A life taker taken the shirt off my back
A misinforming informant with your news come a storming
Wearing down your nails just trying to bore us

Bad news don't break you
But good news don't make you
It's a common misconception that feeds your infection
A common person searching for ressurection
And you've got it all,
and your all is their nothing at all
A warm blanket to soak up the water

pebbles and rocks to drag you down
to the bottom of the paragprah
the bottom of your head
to rest a little longer
to the bottom of your raspberry fruit stand

Plumes and plods to connect the dots
Of flying tree rabbits under swirling banana clouds
Filled with sweat ice creamy treats
Filled with hard hitting hammers and straight striking bows
And arrows to strike straight the apples among monkeys têtes
pillow lungs and ringy dungs, with bleeps and bloops among you
Wippy dipp do goes the marching sight of steel swords and knights