Poet Authority Poem Terminal

They jumped over a fence and he couldn't do that.

So he got left behind and was sad about it for a few days.

"Filming tomorrow might be an impossible mission" the director quipped.

Tom noted the title of the series was Mission: Impossible.

It was a technique she had prepared for months.

She stood by the washing machine.

Encouraged him to strip off.

Things like 'kapow' 'splat' 'clonk' and 'blammo'

Robin was forced to carry these on their adventures.

Hold them aloft during fights.

If the timing was off Batman would go berserk.

He'd punched a hole clean through 'blap' during the last mission.

He folded his girl a giant heart.

She fucking hated it.

She told him to get down to the fucking shop and buy her a fucking diamond ring.

He tracked down some penguins.

Sliced them open.

Examined their innards for new material.

He told the woman he'd be back shortly.

Pointed towards the toilet and snuck off.

He pelted home.

Cracked the sheets off his bed.

Replaced them with a fetching Buzz Lightyear spread.

Opted to remove the lightbulbs before racing back to the pub.

Olivia went on a date.

She hauled along a tin of Ben's Cookies.

Dumped them next to the guy she was trying to impress.

Her date became enamoured.

He peeled back the lid.

Fondled inside the tin.

Olivia watched on.

She was starting to feel like the third wheel.

She hoped to get a little more attention.

Attract some mates.

She took her first steps out of the flat.

Into a brave new world.

She marched down to the pub.

Momentum built.

She knocked herself out.

A dinner party had been organised.

Arthur rode in on his pissing chariot.

Showing off in front of his friends yet again.

He clonked down his sword and winked at the guests.

Uttered a few words no one could hear because the bloody table was too big.

It felt overwhelmed and tried to get back to sleep.

Charged under some ladders.

Kicked in a few mirrors.

Whipped open a few umbrellas indoors.

Even hired the local black cats to walk in front of him.

The works.

He put on a helmet.

Elbow pads.

Knee pads.

Shin pads.

This would be a Friday the 13th to remember.

Hanz tried to run a bath.

He'd run out of water!

He filled the tub with baked beans.

Stripped off and climbed in.

An audience gathered.

They kept throwing coins at him.

He felt uncomfortable washing his balls.

She was astounded by the rate at which it dried clothes.

Everyone got in on the action.

Went ahead and ordered their own.

The vile critters flutter about his feet.

They peck carelessly at his loafers.

Crumbs tumble liberally from his wife's palms.

Susan missed the Olympics.

She invented a new sport to fill the void.

Called it distanceball.

Players flapped about.

Tried propel the ball with wind for a while.

Then they sat around eating biscuits instead.

It all seemed rather successful.

Especially the chocolate digestives.

Reattached it to his face.

Rose prodded at her body.

She shipped out a message demanding answers.

He spent months training the creature to assassinate his enemies.

Sharpened its claws to even pointier points.

The cat didn't appear to be absorbing the lessons.

It needled at Giles's thighs.

Each talon piercing through his skin.

Small volcanoes of blood formed upon his legs.

The cat curled up and purred with delight.

Obviously he wouldn't be admitting that.

Instead he messaged friends.

Told them it was time for a game of hide-and-seek.

Tried to figure out how foraging worked during the down time.

More babies leaked out.

Some had a few stabs at the answer.