“You can call my poetry ‘rubbish’ and I won’t mind, because…” Linda G Hill’s SoCS Challenge – ‘Call’.

Linda’s rules and regs here

My poetry is rubbish.

There’s no floetry in my poetry;

there’s this and that

and any old tat

thrown in for good measure.

I have an appointment with the dentist,

he does fancy work,

he’s an ornamentalist,

I should be there at two thirty –

just because –

and my name is Bertie.

Perhaps I’ll give him a call,

explain it all

and call off unexpectedly

in the midst of the conversation,

rudely, against my inclination.

Call out the neigh-sayers,

the ne’er payers

and the night and dayers,

sound the alarums

check out the forums

and the farms

make no bones about it

nor mess,

guess what the next word might be…

no, it was ‘no’

and call me silly –

which is nicer than my saying,

call me, silly.

Hoorah for punctuation

I cry with elation;

though I don’t really cry.

So, call me a clumberous one

if you wish –

I know not what that means.

… and the dish random away with the Spoonerism.*

* NB Within a vaguely 10-minute timespan I penned the above.

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