Welcome to the poetry of G A Brown

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Calavera for Mike

It wasn’t punches, or the kicks,
that gave our Mike his final fix,
no that young lad was made of bricks,
his gut was what enthralled medics.

The victim’s end was plain to see,
he didn’t drown, or fall harshly,
“poor Michael died from too much tea”,
reports the colonoscopy.

So if you kneel upon his grave,
and place a tribute to the brave,
your pounds and pennies you can save,
if this advice, you do not waive:

Take not carnations, or tulips,
mournful poems, nor ribbon strips,
in death, as life, to grace his lips,
just take a bag of PG Tips.

The One That Got Away

Fried potato baited
crab of Southend shore,
tactically retreating,
chip in claw,
captured nevermore.

Red sauce marinated
vessel diving deep,
white crustacean riding,
hear him roar:
“Captured Nevermore!”

Breakfast Epiphanies

Night owls,
youth who dare not sleep.
We count no sheep.

Hessen eyed,
late to doze,
never find us early rose.
Trolls of twilight
blinkered shows.
Rise,
we fall down comatose.