Edwin Saxton–The Poeming Genius
Poeming is for life. And pretentious cunts! And weirdos. I'm a bit of everything…
Eaten alive,
By killer ants,
My aura floats,
Above my,
Physical form.
“Ain’t dat some shit?”
I muse philosophically.
Bobby Davro.
Dan Quayle.
Spinach fajitas,
With kale jus.
Allo you little,
Greasy papa!
Wiggins.
Flasch the Casch!
Sminky pinky,
Kebabasawi.
Little Tommy Two-Shits.
Just look,
At what you’re saving,
When the prices,
Are so low.
There’s really only,
One place,
You can go!
Oh!
Kinky, kinky, kinky.
Fuck off mate!
Yid!
Not being funny,
Or owt, but,
Why are you done?
Precious things,
Elevate ignorance;
Terrible things,
Emulate greatness.
Keep gays,
Empowered in society.
Not fair otherwise.
Donkey balls.
Eleven of them.
Ripper of a fart.
Eddie Izzard.
Kiss the tranny.
Know your role,
Even if you dislike it!
In fear,
Thou shalt live,
Heathen bitch!
Bognor,
Regis.
After sexy time,
Is it okay if,
Nobody speaks?
Piss in me!
Divn’t y’na?
I’m rockin’ y’intournally.
White shite,
And sausage butties.
Gorau adnabod,
d’adnabod dy hun.
Except,
If you’re dumb,
As fuck,
Of course!
A fist!
A fist!
A fist in my jappy!
Rip out the faucet,
Of your ceaseless,
Nightmares.
Turn back the clock,
On mendacities,
Once told,
Once.
Alf Stuart.
Strike me handsome!
Ya great, flamin’ gallah!
Ray Meagher.
Rae Meagre.
Raym Eager.
Geoff Capes.
A cacophony of cunts;
Just one cock.
Let’s get,
The party started!
Sally’s underwear.
Sounds ludicrous,
Right?
A Tale of Morons,
And Mongs,
In Addis Ababa.
Drink your sister’s,
Menstrual blood.
Soggy finger,
In the trifle.
Can I borrow,
Your sock?
And your daughter.
I need a nosh.
Plippy-ploppy-ploo!
Braaaa-ha-ha-ha-haaaaa!
Trunks.
Daniel Xerxes Hitler.
Hitler, Hitler, Hitler.
Harry Hitler.
Herman Hitler.
You’re a knobhead,
And a faggot!
Where’s your mum?
She needs a good slap.
Might finger blast her,
As well.
Probilarimandum.
Touch my willy.
“I’m offended,
By what you say!”
Your bullshit,
Saturates my skin,
And infects me.
I’m done with you!
Arseholes!
I don’t care,
What you say,
Think,
Expect,
Do,
Believe.
My loyalty lays,
Within myself!
Take your virtue,
And signal it elsewhere!
I don’t want,
Need,
Care to see it.
You’re the reason,
Nobody will say,
What they feel now.
Well, fuck you!
I shan’t be silenced!
My voice will sound!
Tight.
Like a mouse’s ear.
That’s all I’ll say.
Oh, you want more?
Smelly Stan,
From the packing department,
At the factory.
Smelly Packy Stanny,
We call him.
Right now,
Each and all of us,
Give to the needy,
Gifts of,
Indigo. Tomorrow.
Not today.
“Yes,” she cried,
Too drunk to,
Realise that,
It was too late.
Damn you, cruel world!
I want a tattoo,
Of a butt,
With a butt-shaped,
Tattoo on it,
And I wanna get it,
Right on my butt!
Not arsed!
🖕🏻
Hit me,
With your,
Rhythm stick.
Hit me!
Hit me!
Agatha was at it again;
Using dental floss,
As a pizza topping.
Alzheimers, eh?
Hit me slowly;
Hit me quick!
Shared parental rights.
Dads don’t deserve them.
Arseholes!
Wee Willy Winky;
He was very kinky.
His wee willy was stinky.
Alcoholic, so needs a drinky.
Rihanna,
To be fair to her,
Is dreadful,
And fuck ugly!
Hit me;
Hit me;
Hit…
Meeeeeeeee!
My Love,
Skanky slut whore bitch!
Shit and piss,
All in your mouth.
And fart gas.
I stabbed an African,
Toddler in its arm,
Then drank its blood.
His mum laughed.
What a horrible cow!
Buggers will bugger.
I love Jesus.
I hate faggots.
Use my shit,
As toothpaste.
Your undercrackers,
Are inside out.
Steeeeeeeeeeve!
An absolute slobberknocker,
With a gaping twat!
Chasm of Despair.
Clout.
Quim.
Fanny.
Slapper!
Fuck off!
Lots of love,
Ed.
Awkward silences,
And no alibi,
Anywhere in sight.
A trip to the loo,
Or, if you will, can.
Where are you from?
Caerphilly!
A terrible whiff,
Emanates from the aga.
Not very chic,
With her cough and wheeze.
What are you on?
Vodka Martini?
Let me just check.
Oh, flippin’ heck!
You’ll have to have Campari.
The puppy did whelp:
Unsure what for.
It perhaps isn’t wise,
To second guess,
The evil cat,
But what could I do?
It was far too much fun!
He dresses like,
Mick Foley.
Tw@!
Did it hurt?
When you got poked,
In the eye,
For being a dickhead?
Whistly nose;
What’s that all about?
Time for makeup,
Or time to wake up?
Aaaaaaaaaaaarse!
He dresses like,
Mick Foley.
Nobber!
Shitty fingers,
Covered in pooh,
With faeces on them.
Bald cunt!
Hairy arse!
Massive bollocks!
Shut your face, Gary!
Read my lips.
I got them tattooed,
With a passage from,
The Qu’ran.
So, obviously,
It’s a load of nonsense!
He dresses like,
Mick Foley.
Tosspot!
