I got bored and did some naff poetry...

...Go me.

The passively aggressive huff of the boredom faerie.
By Paul Caulfield/HearMeRoar

Tired and dull you'll find me,
Sat inside my disordered fort,
It's amalgamous and untidy,
And a notepad file's my only sport.

Terrible gobshite my fingers tap,
Goaded on by wrapping dullness,
Boredom made me type this crap,
Beating on me with it's sternness.

The crate of beer is almost done,
Likely because I drank it,
This boredom really is no fun,
My concentration so loosely knit.

At least I can have a smoke or two,
Though I didn't avoid addiction,
But my will is naught and my wants are few,
So I'm held by the smoke's conviction.

Although it could be worse perhaps,
It's only wistful melancholy,
Save for the worst mis-haps,
I'm happy with my folly.

I really wish I wasn't bored,
Or that it was time for sleep,
I think I'll lie on the keyboard,
Fgkdikiksdikdjkmeep.

More awful poetry

In my efforts to fully explore the encapsulating world of "Seymour Stúf," I had a go at more poetry; this time just making it up as I went along and seeing what happened.

...I'm glad I'm using a fake identity. I post this only in the name of science...


A curious infraction in plight of jest,
When woe betide at her behest,
In grim staccato in turn I find,
Her silky touch has made me blind.

Raptured by her sly beguile,
And led astray all through the while,
By the collar I was led,
And all because she gave good head.

The scheming fiend has come and gone,
Into the night she went anon,
And folk will ask "Where did she go?"
Buried, as she is, under the patio...

Methinks I'll try some more. As usual, if you want to see more click the link, join up (and earn me $0.00000001 or something) and help me antagonise lunatics and morons.

Have fun kids,

HMR