Tear a fried purse son
low sting roves off tries,
stain tingling earring,
wading fur lie for deaf
two leaf foyer,
end eye four err.
Ear won scarred main
tryst acute is town gout,
bout fines kin to heart
fertilize hat pre seed,
sewn ewe, ewe ates
fir hurt a comb.
Cheat us knot comb,
naught atoll, witchy seas
end Kant dine eye,
yetis days in grease,
wand here rink
wit ought tame.
I am the best thing you've never heard of.
I hold a Bachelor's in English, History and Secondary Education, and a Master's in English: Creative Writing, though my appearance belies intelligence.
My goal in life is to write and to be read. It's a modest stretch by most imaginations.
To most I'm amazing.
It all depends on your definition of literary merit.
All poems contained on this blog are ©Thomas Boersma unless otherwise noted.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Poem-A-Day: Day 370
Lost in Translation
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Drop a line, a quip, a snippet, your pants, or an anecdote...just don't drop the soap.