I wrote a fair bit of wanky pot-inspired poetry when a callow, skinny, centre-parted student
Choice lines:

Dulled by autumnal melancholy, I pause:
Inertia creeps over me, like fog. The sky is
Leaden, the drizzle-haze the sand-man's clasp.
The quiet blanket of the air, still, damp,
And lit by lamps, echoes to distant traffic.


The rank fishy waft floating
Down the long straight of King Street,
Shops selling hallal-meat and spices, or
Broken-down bric-a-brac, yellow-paged novels,
Slightly-chipped china, outdated computergames


Archived away, in honeycomb hives
Of catacomb corridors, as statutes,
Judicial and official enmesh me,
I am an academic.


Myriad daydreams and galaxies of emotion,
Vocabularies of affection and alphabets of feeling
Swirl in my head, word-torrents on a
Waterfall of conflicting desires and dreams.



In other words: verbose shite.
(McChinaman banned, Wed 6 Jul 2011, 11:44, 2 replies, latest was 15 years ago)

Bloody hell, at least mine rhymed...

(The Luggage is haunted..., Wed 6 Jul 2011, 11:45, Reply)

Christ alive that is horrendous.

( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Wed 6 Jul 2011, 12:13, Reply)