Details |
Jack Sunderland Poem
I'm lost deep and loose losing soul,
my center rapt worry frown and iced
set and waiting for the sun to skip
through warping as melt hope revive,
alone as if blue grey turn white,
thickening concluding folly,
stuck cannot, maybe never again
moved deeply in silent surrounds.
Everything will turn spreading,
what came before will become passed,
Everything laughable, discovering
life for what it is,
folly,
mainstream
escape.
Copyright © Jack Sunderland | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Jack Sunderland Poem
He held the bat like Excalibur,
lockdown villains open-planned,
one cancellation ripped his brain,
one robber do it yourself grave,
two more buy what they want,
their faces previous with rage,
home-owner comfort eating
his bullets,
both fell first date the Devil.
Copyright © Jack Sunderland | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Jack Sunderland Poem
See the stalking of the weed,
I think he's angry at the screed.
He finds it hard to see the shark,
Overshadowed by the small starke.
Who is that squealing near the bats?
I think she'd like to eat the dats.
She is but a lying teenager,
Admired as she sits upon a wager.
Her sarcastic car is just a cube,
It needs no gas, it runs on uterine tube.
She's not alone she brings a spouse,
a pet tiger, and lots of lighthouse.
The tiger likes to chase a pond,
Especially one that's in the gironde.
The weed shudders at the scary eagle
He want to leave but she wants the spiegel.
Copyright © Jack Sunderland | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Jack Sunderland Poem
How happy is the medieval life!
Never forget the knightly and gothic life.
The occurrence that's really noticeable,
Above all others is the disappearance.
Are you upset by how conspicuous it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the disappearance so strong?
Decease is, in its way, the of modification.
Never forget the yellowish and dishonourable decease.
Copyright © Jack Sunderland | Year Posted 2021
|
Details |
Jack Sunderland Poem
See the stalking of the weed,
I think he's angry at the seed.
He finds it hard to see the shark,
Overshadowed by the small stark.
Who is that squealing near the bats?
I think she'd like to eat the dats.
She is but a lying teenager,
Admired as she sits upon a wager.
Her sarcastic car is just a cube,
It needs no gas, it runs on uterine tube.
She's not alone she brings a spouse,
a pet tiger loaded of lighthouse.
The tiger likes to chase a pond,
Especially one that's in the gironde.
The weed shudders at the scary eagle,
He want to leave but she wants the spiegel.
Copyright © Jack Sunderland | Year Posted 2021
|