Poet Authority Poem Terminal

The Queen plonked herself on her throne.

Complaints soon sprouted.

First, the crown was too heavy.

Solved with clever use of fishing line.

Second, some concerns the whole thing looked too modest.

The throne would be jacked up a bit.

Her Majesty now looked very important and very imposing.

She delivered her message.

Everyone MUST party in her honour.

Anyone who wasn't looking delighted with their paper plates of jam sandwiches were, in her words, "looking to have their heads removed."

Son of Hilda Shoulders,

Baked cookies for his love.

Chocolate chip.

He hauled them from the oven.

Their scent filled his nostrils.

He consumed them.

Ed began another batch.

The same problem occurred.

Ed Shoulders soon realised he loved himself.

Informed the dead weight.

Went back to his cookies.

Spook the ghost tried to scare someone.

For days he'd observed his target.

Knew when they woke up in the morning.

Knew when they got home from work.

Knew when they went to bed.

But he simply couldn't do it.

Every time he did one of his scary faces they'd walk right through him.

Shouted some law enforcement type.

Zero sense of humour by the sounds of it.

"No chance, mate"

Said some other guy.

Noting the unreasonably high temperature.

Some old woman came by to help.

She stared into the darkness and scratched away.

Her wrinkled lips bordered a toothy grin.

The window quivered with delight.

The occupants looked on in horror.

Tomorrow he'd impress people with a quick recovery.

He wasn't even tired.

What a mistake!

How could this have happened.

They gave day time owling a shot.

Didn't like it.

Went back to what they knew.

Peter wondered whether blaming Covid for the weight gain was beginning to lose impact.

The Riddler ran out of greeting cards.

He logged on to moonpig.com,

Wasted days searching,

Picking out the perfect cards for Batman.

His riddles suffered as a result.

Outstretched hand misses the handle.

Head pounds the wooden door.

In this state she collapses to the floor.

Dreams of what might have been.

The mystery of the door concealed scene.

She's waving at me like a lunatic.

Absolutely slathering herself in water.

"You'll get wet" I remark,

Quite wittily.

Oh.

Never mind.

Got into a fight

With another knight.

Peasants found the clanging disruptive.

It penetrated the walls of their little huts at night.

They gathered at the local tavern.

Penned a letter of complaint to the King.

He went for a walk to the shops.

She would go on to keep animals in it.

He bought a hammer.

He didn't know what to do with his hammer.

After a while he found a job at the BBC hammering things into other things.

This went pretty well.

He loved his hammer.

Sips a drink.

Drags a cigarette.

Gets kicked out.

I slept on the couch.

A spider borrowed my shower.

I washed in the sink.

These monsters kept appearing.

I moved into a hotel.

"Hello,

The shopkeeper,

A picture of confusion,

Had some questions.

Things like "how could a cat manage this?"

Tommy would just shrug in agreement.

Cats are mysterious beasts after all.

Shopkeep didn't press too hard.

Tommy's apology was accepted.

Billy was desperate to please her,

So he set to work turning himself into one.

He scattered himself throughout the house.

Billie had to piece him back together.

She wasn't great with anatomy,

And she struggled to see through the tears,

And she was busy calling him an idiot,

So the whole thing took too long really.

Billy's whole plan had backfired.

She wasn't pleased at all.

Is enough to tell a story.

But