Edwin Saxton–The Poeming Genius
Poeming is for life. And pretentious cunts! And weirdos. I'm a bit of everything…
Hairy crack.
First of all,
Your mother,
Is a crackwhore,
And your father,
Sucks cock for cash.
Rentboy.
Once upon,
An anvil.
Rotten apples,
Are all we have,
To eat.
It’s that,
Or fuck all!
Stop complaining!
Freeze,
A piece of shit,
And use it,
As a dildo.
Because you’re,
An utter slag!
Kill the Muslims!
Brush your teeth.
Ball up your fist,
And thump yourself,
In the jaw.
Sweet little trumpling;
You are a dear.
You were birthed of an anus,
And now you’re here.
Bootle.
Cock in hand;
Finger up tooter;
Noose around neck.
Let’s do this!
Huyton.
We didn’t know,
Anal sex,
Was so good,
Until the Holy book,
Forbade it.
The Prince,
Of Turds.
Piss off.
I’m bored.
The end!
Wine,
Drank by a Chinaman,
Even though,
He doesn’t like it.
He only likes,
Rice.
And wontons.
Plawn clackers!
Gettin’ jiggy wit’ it.
Never been,
To Stevenage.
I’d like to though.
One day.
Arizona woman:
Quit being a tease,
And give me your twat,
On a platter.
The rift between,
Rod and Ken,
Mightn’t end,
On a positive note.
Especially,
If someone,
Spills their pint.
Grey pubes.
Ha!
Mincer.
Israel has a lot,
To answer for.
Question one:
Where’s Keith?
Down the pub.
He followed,
The DC Cook sign.
Mincer.
Red means go.
Green means left.
The ship has sailed.
She wants different,
Sperm in her womb.
Cowboys and Pakistanis.
Sugar-frosted peanuts,
Drop from the sky,
Like pellets of death.
Desensitised sheep.
Rid the world,
Of peach melba.
The smiles of,
The many trump,
The frowns of,
The few.
Mincer.
The larder is bare,
Like your arse.
Put some pants on!
Slag!
Riding shotgun,
In Haverfordwest,
Bûm gall unwaith;
Hynny oedd,
Llefain pan ym ganed.
Show this,
To your mother,
Then punch her,
In the throat!
Maybe,
Just maybe,
Josef Fritzl was,
Just misunderstood.
Maybe…
Lest we forget,
Little Tommy Two-Shits.
He is,
After all,
Better than you!
I hit a bum note.
Ha–fudge packer!
My knob,
Is smaller than yours,
But much sexier.
Jack Spratt,
Could eat no fat;
His wife,
Could eat no lean.
Jeffrey Dahmer,
Just ate people.
Slap-happy slippers,
With kippers,
And chicken dippers,
Erm… schmippers.
Scissor me timbers!
Clam jousting,
With Ikram;
Finger pie.
A pair of glassus.
Smelly socks,
And a knickers.
William’s Wish Wellingtons;
Bernard’s Watch.
For Ed,
King Ed,
The Poeming Genius,
The greatest poemer,
Of all time,
A trinket to reward,
His incredibleness.
Now kneel,
Lowly peasants!
Let the wind blow.
Parp!
Smelly bastard!
In shock,
Gustav rears his head,
Spits out a tooth,
Then cries.
Laugh,
Little orphan.
Laugh,
Thalidomide victim.
Laugh,
Scruffy tramp.
Stop being,
So ungrateful!
Yes, yes, oh yes,
Oh yes.
Wicker furniture,
And herpes;
The fun we could have.
Suck my cock,
You fucking whore!
Deep throat,
That shit!
Swallow my load,
And don’t throw up.
Trollop!
El Mariachi,
Tunes his guitarrón.
The vihuela,
Sits alone;
Its player:
Ocupado.
The trumpeters,
Argue over whom,
Ate the last,
Escamole.
The humidity,
Hangs heavy,
Like Esperanza’s brasier,
On the washing line.
Dim and morbid;
Dingy and fetid.
Finally together,
Disjointedly so,
The heavenly strum,
Pierces the ether.
Transfixed by,
A simple peasants timbre.
There will be no death,
In this dangerous place.
Not tonight.
“Alegrémonos!”
The sentiment of all.
We will,
Let them play.
Pete Burns’ Lips.
Competing for,
Number one with,
The Kristen Stewart Facial Expressions.
Great bands!
Tits!
Tits!
I love tits!
Come on,
Get yer tits out ladies!
Arabian Goggles;
A bollock per eye.
Amadeus Hitler,
Loving life,
In solitary confinement.
Down the slide:
Weeeeeeeeeeee!
Thump!
Ouch!
My bottom!
Front bottom.
Minge and twat,
Flaps.
Vaginal insurgence.
Sieg Heil!
Bloody Nazis!
I browse.
Eyebrows.
Bottom.
A sock to wipe the jizz;
A sock to wipe the jizz;
All you need,
Once you’ve done the biz,
Is a sock to wipe the jizz.
Empty balls,
And a full gun.
Nothing left to do,
But kill fuckers!
Posh cunts!
They can fuck off!
Go through your,
Browser history.
Delete the kiddie porn.
One last tug.
What do you expect,
Of a policeman?
Warfsnaxl!
Caress my buttock,
With a dirk.
Slice it deep,
And drain the blood.
Rump steaks,
For all tonight.
Edwin Saxton–The Poeming Genius 