Short Buckingham Palace Poems

Winter in the ghetto
The slum rat dreams he owns
Buckingham palace...

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There was a painter from Venice
Who wanted to paint Buckingham Palace
He got on his horse
And rode so fast
And didn't realize he was back in Paris...

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NO CLUE AS TO WHAT I SHOULD DO
Should i climb a tree or eat some goo
should I parade naked outside Buckingham palace
Say'm the king of thorns
my kingdom my kingdom of drowned sorrows
and a salty sea...

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All your poems on this site are
automatically deleted in the event of;

1.	Your death
2.	You voting conservative
3.	You just missing an orgasm
4.	You holidaying in Clacton
5.	You urinating on Buckingham Palace gates
6.	You bringing the game of rugby into disrepute


I will never visit Clacton again....

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(This is a fictional poem)

When I went to Buckingham palace last month, I got in a bind.
I accidentally saw the Queen naked and it caused me to go blind.
It was awful to see those sagging boobies and that wrinkled butt.
It was so disgusting that I puked out my guts.
It was disturbing to see all of that wrinkled skin.
I don't think I'll ever be invited to Buckingham palace again....

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It went wrong,
two days to visit my former life
as a Londoner.

Old men in East End pubs
knew my past
but the tour bus
did not pass that way.

Trips around Buckingham Palace,
the Tower of London,
no time to visit the grey hovels
of a hobbled childhood.

London forgot to be me.
My childhood buried too deep
to find word of itself.

After the sight-seeing
we drove to the high moors
and green hills,
places where my footprints
could still be traced on local maps....

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