Crick Poems - Poems about Crick

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Th' Crick is dryin’ Up. Ah got this Stick, ah call a Tree, stuck in th' mud: Decorated it with dental floss, well za could ‘Cause there’s so much of the stuff in the dead weeds out back An’ th’ Tree pret’ near always stays stuck there, ‘cept for when a strong wind blows up. That little mud tea trickle...

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I laid across your heart like a bed. Secure, soaring through the air. Goodbye to the linen I left back at home. Stuck in an room. I felt at ease. My back falling splat into comfort. An endless supply of sheets. Laying in complete peace. My every woe. My every ache. Thereby at the door. There's nothing outside this moment. Soon I will be sleep. That's...

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Roy Moore Up The Crick We are Southerners who sure are slick, So Roy Moore we sent up crooked crick; Heard our voice; A lousy choice; To many he had been a pretty poor pick. Jim Horn Must Admit About It About Alabama many of us have to admit; Half of them are not really worth any of it, Real hot to trot, Was really not; More...

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The Old Mrs Cathleen Crick was a great freak She hired a robomaid she was so sick ...

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The body becomes the prison I feel there is reason somewhere But these lessons seem ill prepared I’ve taken good advantage of the length of my neck And now there is steel from collarbone to jaw line In the tips of fingers are trills and little fires of anger I slept with the window open last night God forbid, the fresh...

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