I wrote a poem, it DOES suck.

I never attempt to write poetry or would never admit to.

ha ha
what schizos teens are!

I went through a spasmodic period of bastardising other peoples poems to make them about oru library lift and emailing them to all the staff. Here's my take on Kubla Khan...

In Main Library did Martin
A dysfunctional lift decry:
Where Ralph, the engineer, he ran
Through basements measureless to man
Down to the bindery.
So twice two floors of bookshelves round
With Oscar shushing every student sound:
And here were book stocks light with musty frills
Where accursed lift had no change in scenery;
And here were journals ancient as the hills,
Thank God elevator’s under warranty.
But oh! That deep lift shaft chasm which slanted
Down the libr’y athwart a medium-density-fibreboard cover!
A savage place! As holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a knackered lift was haunted
By trapped woman wailing for her mechanic brother!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this lift in fast thick pants were breathing,
A verbal fountain momently was forced;
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Profane fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or delayed passengers on British Rail:
And 'mid these swearing words at once and ever
It flung up momently the cursed lifter.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through Temp. Res’rve and AV the elevator ran,
Then reached the basements measureless to man,
And sank like the cursed career of Billy Ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Martin heard from far
Libr’y voices prophesying war!

You probably have to work here to ubnderstand...

"She stood on the bridge at midnight,
She was cold, and gave a shiver,
She gave a cough,
Her leg dropped off
and floated down the river."

Right, that's it. Repeatedly punching myself is the only option left.

The Dove

She waits by the window,
waiting for the dove.
Oh, for the life at Shalimar!
Where she had many wishing
for her love.

She shared her beauty with
Shalimar.
Beguiling, intense beauty.
Earth's most exotic
palette.

Long, loose, dark, spicy hair.
Eyes like emeralds!
Skin terracotta from the
searing heat, but flower petal
soft.
Lips of honey, ruby
coloured.

lou is a big loppy piece of gunga oo
he runs around in a pretty flower suit.
for he loves to be as good as a puff cloud
sings a glorious song but the noise is cowd.
dances like ju-ugs cause they are very you
and he loves to act so like ow-els who oo.

A Nairn wins.