Just a short and not so serious poem ;]


Warning systems don't go off I just crack the sockets
And shove the stolen pens into my jacket pockets
All I need is a pen to be self-sufficient
Watch my language when the hands reach the twelfth position
My ideas incubate under my tongue for weeks
Then they are born and take form in my cheeks
When I say when and where then measily
Crumbs become banquets easily
My hard covered rhyme book complete with gold trimming
To write in with pens that I take from old women
Even if it means a black eye and a swelled lip
It goes with the territory for a felt tip
pen thief

Hi there, Madison-girl. How's everything going? Just fine? Hope so.
Hubba, hubba, we've got a single verse in here, enough and precise as far as it goes, no need for stringing it out or building up a sweet suite: it's jolly good, the premise sounds like a rhapsody-driven piece, well written and elapsed with a tad of concise fun where you're a stand-up comedienne playing the peculiar role of a pen thief.........funky, eh? But where it seems off-beat, pride of place comes in and you snatch the brass ring. Props'n'kudos. Meesa be hankering for some more!

Everything's going fine :). Thanks for the feedback!