would you trust anachronistic revitalization by youthful tastelessness ?
underline your forgotten manipulability
in ripped knitwork or
delineate godlike bedding from nympho childlessness ;
paralyze and mummify our preteenager psychopathy
with predetermined celiocentesis .
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 13–19, 2026)
I’m Henry the Eighth I am
Henry the Eighth I am I am!
I remember singing this
At the top of my lungs
at church camp when I was twelve
Thank you Herman’s Hermits
My camp mate, Clarisse had introduced me
To Peter Noone, and the other Hermits.
Herman’s Hermits they called themselves
I had no idea how I survived without
knowing about them
When I hear “Tell me Baby,
Mrs. Brown you have a lovely daughter,
Dream on,” and “Listen people”
I begin to drive a bit faster,
Turning back into the teenager I used to be.
I’m Henry the Eighth I am,
Henry the Eighth, I am, I am…..
Singing this immediately changes me
back into a preteenager, and makes me smile.
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