Edwin Saxton–The Poeming Genius
Poeming is for life. And pretentious cunts! And weirdos. I'm a bit of everything…
Fresh out the gate,
A tired, old hag.
Something, something eight,
A dirty, fat slag.
Washing machines,
Last longer with,
Peans.
Not quite peas;
Not quite beans.
But something special,
In-betweens.
It is,
Fucking massive!
Squeezy,
Cheesy,
Peas.
Peans.
Ooooooooooooh!
Ooh–ooh–dr–dripping!
Now,
If you would indulge,
Me,
I,
Would like to direct,
Your attention,
Towards,
An alternative.
Tits.
Show us your wife’s,
Sock.
Peans.
Tits.
Creepy music,
And paranormal shit.
Yuri Gagarin’s,
Tits.
Can you show me the way,
To the residence of one,
Nigel Reo-Coker?
I have a (cocaine),
Package to deliver to,
Hymn.
Sorry, him.
Sweaty wanker!
Kamran.
The swollen bellend,
Of the transwoman,
Smells of brie,
And shame.
“Wemplormanaprixitle,”
Spinkley doth declare,
Pointing at Blomheim,
With shit,
Under his fingernail.
Jimmy Fingernail.
Fingernail.
Finger your dad’s jappy.
Fingernail.
Stupid cunt!
MURGATROYD!!!!
Personally, I believe,
Your mum should,
Know better.
Where once walked,
Warwick’s wellies,
Awash with Wilf’s wee.
And spunk.
Tit your nan up,
And finger her.
I was a good man,
Once.
Nonce.
Alphonse.
Attendonce.
Wrexham.
You’re still a shithole!
It doesn’t matter,
Does it?
We’re still,
All gonna die 🤷🏼♂️
XERXES!
Power to the,
Piss lips!
Laurel Hubbard’s,
Piss lips.
Shart!
Ne’er you mind.
Renault Twingo.
All that furore,
In suburban Charlotte NC,
Took its toll,
On Judith Chalmers.
Never filmed an episode,
Of Wish You Were Here,
There again.
Haha-ha-ha,
Ha-hahaha-haha,
Haha-haha-haha,
Ah-hahahaha-ha.
Ha.
A crackin’ pair o’ knockers.
Vials of blood.
How d’ya do, cockers?
What a load o’ crud!
Beta blockers.
A nice baked spud.
Tick-tick-tockers.
The bomb was a dud.
Might be tough,
For you to comprehend,
But trannies should compete,
In their own category.
Or have their own Olympics,
That nobody would watch.
Fuck off Laurel!
Cheating cunt!
Airdrieonians.
That’s the team for me.
Bitch!
“Where all da hoes at?”
Festus did holler.
Surrounded by pork swords.
This simply,
Would not do!
He came for that sweet,
Punched lasagne.
Cut off the foreskin.
It isn’t child abuse,
Or sexual abuse,
Coz religion n that,
Innit bruh?
Farts.
Trickle down economics.
Pissed mesen.
Layin’ some pipe.
What’cha gon’ do?
Bitch!
Desk fans in Market Harborough,
All sold to the,
Tall Nazi called Fritz.
The big question,
Of course,
Is as follows:
Who is the sexiest paedophile?
Lester Burton can swivel.
Gonorrhoea friction burns.
Wank me off,
With your arse.
Oi!
You there!
Empty your balls,
Up my bum,
Or I’ll tell everyone,
You’re a fucking faggot!
Tits.
Knockers.
And funbags.
Clam jouster.
Diphtheria,
Isn’t a laughing matter.
Raping minors?
Terrible, but…
Yes, why not?
Candyfloss funbags,
Hover over me.
Unilateral skylines,
Twist my soul.
Never did she,
Ever,
Yomp to Goose Green.
Farthings from heaven;
Evil speaks to me.
Retinas burn!
Retinas sear!
Evil has me,
Tonight and forever.
Armatrading;
Armatrading;
Arma-Arma-Arma-Armatrading.
Philestyrene tomcat fury,
Of Norwich and Biggleswade.
Wank us off,
Wi’ yer aaaaarse!
Bri-nylon pots and pans,
To boil your noodles.
A vat of piss,
To save the day.
Horses for courses.
Can I borrow,
Your porn mag?
Two-headed semen,
From a two-headed seaman,
Forced the royal knights,
Into purdah.
Jump!
Don’t ever stop.
Wit’ a little bit o’ this;
Little bit o’ that.
Jump!
Don’t ever stop.
Wit’ a little bit o’ this;
Little bit o’ that.
Little bit o’ fun;
Little bit o’ joke;
Little bit o’ drink;
Little bit o’ smoke.
Jump!
On da ones and twos…
Let’s go; let’s go!
Plagiarism.
Fuck you!
Bad guys,
Who like to,
Luton Plunder.
Mildred Hubble,
Had cunt stubble.
Ha—constable.
Constantinople.
It’s not milk;
It’s a sock,
You spastic!
While we’re on the subject,
Can I borrow,
Your sock?
Rip Torn.
Privet Hedges.
Four-legged spider,
Called Martin.
Exchange and Martin.
Come on!
Get it out!
What a way to go!
Speccy four-eyes!
Jamaica?
No, she’s too stubborn.
Genoa?
Not personally.
Russian?
Yes, or I’ll miss my bus.
Helium?
Close—he’s called Ian.
Are any of you dicks,
Even reading,
The shit I write?
Couldn’t see the wood,
For the cuntflaps.
Widdle, widdle, wee-wee;
Outer Hebrides.
Smirky McLurky,
Is wanking again.
Had enough broth,
To last us an epoch,
But still you brought more.
Get the hint, Deborah,
You stupid skank.
In your cuntflaps,
Lives a titmouse,
That reeks of fish.
You need to fuck off mate.
You look like a crackhead.
You’ll scare the cat.
Your granny’s cuntflaps.
The Great Unwashed,
Cuntflaps.
A hovercraft,
In Pembrokeshire.
It’s time for the wipedown.
Tune me in;
Chew me out;
Rub me off—cuntflaps.
Not today, Adolf.
And Moses.
Moses Hitler.
Muhammad Hitler.
Allahu Akbar!
Edwin Saxton–The Poeming Genius 