The Promised Land.

The promised Land.

Dr Fogg Mumbling grumbling
Moaning groaning, quite befuddled
Stands in the old poet share, but it’s bare
Empty threads, it all seems muddled.

He wanders lonely as a cloud
In one thread and then another
Where have all the bloody poets gone?
The cupboards bare he does discover.

Bottom lip now starts to tremble
Panic almost setting in
I’ve been abandoned, what a bummer
Downcast, bereft, he turns to gin.

He sits alone with heavy heart
Contemplating suicide
But then a metaphorical wonder
A hand outstretched through doorway wide.

Come on in, says Jamie’s voice
Do you really think that we don’t want you?
The new poet share's in here, come on
Oh Jamie thanks, (but can I still say “poo”?)

So in I go, to a wondrous place
And my friends are here to greet me
Decorating all their profiles
Chatting, cleaning and writing poetry.

So here I sit in my small room
Between humour, nature and despair
Yes this is my new home folks
Where I can write without a care.




Thank you Jamie for leading your people to a better place.