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>‘That Parker Quink  Ink smell’

I’m mostly writing with a pen
Not all the time, with my best one.
That is the kind, you fill with ink.
Am I advertising, if I say it’s Quink?

I only know when I was young.
I liked its smell, not a bad one. 
Now I am very old.
At least, that is what I’m told.

And of course, I do use Quink.
And bless, it has not lost, its pleasant stink. 
Not stink, as in them old stink bombs.
That blinking kid rolled in class along.

Teacher left us all in class.
He left laughing, watched us withering, through the door glass.
We grabbed our mate at play did do.
Squashed what sink bombs, were in his pockets true

He did not roll those bombs again.
Really, it was not a shame.
Bet you’ve guessed why, with no wink form me.
At last could smell me Quink you see. 

I am not a secret ink smellier.
Smells do upset me wife.
Could leave the bottle top not screwed tight.
But I’m really happy with my life.

Writing this, writing that.
Helped occasionally, by my friend Kat. 
He does not like the smell of ink.
So tops are on tightly, on my Quink.

Wonder if I’ll get any royalty?
Must write to Quink, see what they say.
Got their address, did so today.
How? Did you ask? The Google way.

Parker own Quink  they really do.
Should I tell them about, me pen too?

You might ask, why did I write this poetry?
I’ll tell you now, of what I did see.
I opened the drawer of my desk.
And saw two Quink tucked up safely,in the dark no less.

Bottles both of black and blue.
So none could lose their colour true.
As if they did, I’d surely tell.
If those two Quink inks, had lost their smell.


Sorry to say there are too few characters left on this page to write the other poem  I wrote today.  That was whilst waiting for my second official hydrotherapy pool exercise, treatment session.  Pause to read that last sentence through specifically to see if it makes sense. I think it did, so will leave it well alone.  Have a nice day (The mad author)<
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