Lymerick

As a twitter he rather would tweet
Whether standing or slouched in some seat.
Even nights spent in bed
With his girl tweets were read
Till the day they might physically meet.



(That took 143 characters, not counting the spaces. If I were a computer, I would probably count the spaces as well, so 178 characters.)

While the young man thought tweeting was GR8
A tech savvy genius, evidently El Sancho ain't
The 140 character limit
Has spaces in it
Must be a malfunction in Sancho's mental state

(No doubt about it)

It's a mystery why people tweet,
Being brief and concise and complete.
All I'd say, though, is 'K',
Yeah, babe, have it your way.
With one character, that's short and sweet.

I've never sent a 'tweet ' as I've no desire to do so and here's why:

When people send off a tweet
The tweet is dispatched quite tout suite
But why do they text it
Like someone dyslexic
Who has typed it out with his feet?

There once was a monster named Mo
Who was lonely like most monsters, though
He would tweet like a beast
And prepare Belle a feast,
But she tweeted that she dare not go.

Jim sent a text seeking a date with his girl Jane
Jane texted back suggesting the pub down on Main
Let's meet at Eight
But Jim was late
'Cos he had a digital watch but an analog brain

An analog brain is a drag.
Like a tail overweight, it won't wag.
Like a wish to get there
Matched with, "Hey, I don't care!",
Like a babe who wants out of the bag.

A fine young lass sitting on a log checking her watch
Along came a strange fellow scratching his crotch
He sat down beside her
She said pardon me sir
But aren't you the one they refer to as The Sasquatch

While Sasquatch was sipping a brew,
A lady came up to him, "You!
You're the father, you cad!"
Was that good? Was that bad?
Sasquatch thought now the world can have two.

At the delivery Granny's head nearly burst
The baby was abnormal and certainly cursed
The birth wasn't easy
The midwife got queasy
Baby Sas' popped out ugly, furry, and big-feet first

Furry Sasquatch was now a proud dad.
Though this ticked off the grandma a tad,
His fine wife was a dream
Having learned not to scream
Except when they're in bed, or just bad.

A Sasquatch intermission.
Some of you might recall the 2010 Cold Ale Blokes Christmas play...


http://www.online-literature.com/for...lay&highlight=

That was a nice Christmas play. As I think about it, the Flat Earth Poets Society is a great name for a group.

A lisping God of yore
trapped himself in the door
The end of his knob
began to throb
And he cried "I am Thor."

or

A lisping young god of yore
sunbathed in the nude out of door
Till the end of his member
glowed like an ember
and he cried "I am Thor".

so many words to choose

A lisping young god of yore
went to sunbathe in the raw
His lesson he learnt
his willy he burnt
And he cried out "I'm Thor."

Coetzee, ambivalent about cricket,
Thinks reading a book more the ticket,
Caught watching a test match,
Hurls his TV, shouts, "Catch!",
Auster ducks, and it lands in a thicket.