Emma Watson you're the bomb
Fuse you count as boom
Eyebrows too, you are to me
what every boy can loom
For what you are to high explode
a spy can be your brow
And beaten am I in your presence
I seem to watch you POW!
/
/
/
Quatrain Poem by Trevor McLeod
For Loni Anderson her precious hi!
A sense Herb smiles inside for sigh
And then to speak to caller live
And crush his hopes informed for rive
And know his name as any fool
A customer, a dignatory, a Right of Yule
To be the play a Jennifer Love
And that for saying "Goodbye" for of
A chance to be the cooler man
Impressed by Jenny and left for fan
To be her duel, a better man
And Herb for effort, shrink back for can
And see her right - receptionist
To be to carry elrectionist
Of all she worries her uptight men
Not worthy looks but what they crein
To be the workers a woman wants
But not on phone, too long means braints
And to be simple not want to her
But what the heck - pass by for tour
And keep her happy for loving spell
To say she's beauty and no due tell
Quatrain Poem by Trevor McLeod
Eyebrows Emma's steering wheel
Emma to be rush
Tward the roadway met for love
That her leering crush
To a bumper road for be
Pushed into a side
What between her sexy eyes
you'd not bolt - collide
Quatrain Poem by Trevor McLeod
Snod little nose
and pert little chin
Almonds for eyes
and lids for her sin
Hold on her bracelet
And armed to her teeth
That be to Emma
Her trust to her breethe
And that to her couplings
She has to her rark
That as lovers or tailgates
She loveless love's ddark
For what is a mission
She's old Emma What
What a Watson to ending
is a crown layed to cott
Quatrain Poem by Trevor McLeod
Dear Emma Watson,
Your eyebrows power fuel
Your sense of crocodilyism
a fan like me can joule
For what you are to leader
your whip can be to hip
What thrown into your circumstance
you are Too Big for skip
That I express my love to you
to better bite you'd be
For what you are an open jaw
my hesitation me
Quatrain Poem by Trevor McLeod
The pumpkin's name was Emma Watson
The pulp inside her grow
What all inside was mash and tide
of every gin they know
For what's a gin but berried water
a grain would glass-eyed glow
But Emma Watson fit and pride
what even caps turn flow
When questioned eyes are thoughts of joy
and nose no runny quilt
What all patched hands you're stitching up
what forms are meant to guilt
When even odds are flowing out
and in a bitter flask
What lips of seal to all our bottles
are toasted liquour task
To seams of Counts as oversights
are Dracula's at suck
What all the teeth and oily gums
are saturates for luck
To see you drink as any sip
you say a pumpkin's right
Where up your grum's a carried might
your pumpkin's lit tonight
Quatrain Poem by Trevor McLeod
Emma's a gift
Folded box
Red tight ribbon
Bow big talks
Filled with tissue
Packed to strap
Pulled releasing
Boinged for gap
Quatrain poem by Trevor McLeod
Love -by Trevor McLeod
He was chased by a prostitute
high on black magic
She loved him for 44 drugs
and 4 brains
She was anxious to call Healthcare
but waited
Soon it was for a good cause
And everyone felt relieved
The angels now robots
realize that love had come home
in human flesh
and welcomed her.
And the man felt vindicated
for a great time
And he called welfare
who came right away
The End
Life is bloody amazing up here; I have never seen such a view
I have just wet my knickers, and I am about to follow through
I would have coped better; if only, I had known, I can really fly
But as I so accidentally fell off a cliff this really was my first try
Farmer McLeod is having kittens; he has just lost his prize pig
But I’m up here doing skydives, and couldn’t give a friggin’ fig
You can take back all the rumours; that pigs in reality can’t fly
But just hold on there isn't that pig poop you have in your eye
Each poem better than the last
I write them to improve.
But looking back should add to fact
that nothing's new to prove.
When all I write is soon passe'
for better works of art.
And all I know is what I am-
a better cheat of heart.
So what's it take to say I'm good-
to set my work apart.
When each new work gets better still
and cheapens from the start?
------------------------------------
Part Two -by Trevor McLeod
Atlas! I know what cheapens art.
The better piece of heart.
When all I know is what I do
is take a piece of start.
That each new thing is started from
a single work of art.
And that I do gets better still
when each piece weeps the start.
N-ever
E-nding
I-s
L-ove
Topic: Poet (Neil Stewart Mcleod)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
The Shutterbug (Vivian Maier) -by Trevor McLeod
She shot through life and captured photo.
Dismissed her name for art.
Took thousands of great photographs
and in the end did part.
Her photos came from on the street.
Rich characters and buildings.
While Vivian held the camera tight
aligning folks and gildings.
She took more pictures than developed.
Filled boxes high to store.
A hoarder she would save her papers
sure to fill the floor.
While some would just accept her mess.
Others thought it brute.
A nanny, she would often leave
while never bearing fruit.
Her reputation was quite sour.
insisting in her way.
For Vivian Maier life was strict
for talent she would pay.
Her death brought out her single passion.
The one she had kept hidden.
In life she went along unnoticed.
still; some are glad they're ridden.
For Vivian Maier the path was tough.
She suffered for her art.
She filled her suitcase full of photos
all taken from the heart.
Remember her for all her talent.
Worth more than just her name.
And love her for the person she was
now she's been shot in fame.
Vivian Maier -deathly devoted.(1926–2009)
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