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Tom Fry

Poetry to me,
Is a doorway to literary,
You see,
When writing poetry,
Start linking,
Abstracts together,
As words on a tether,
As poets,
We grope,
Down that rope,
For the words,
That we need,
To succeed,
And we hope,
That the word,
That we heard,
In our brain,
Will remain,
While we write,
And the rhyming,
And timing,
Will fall into place,
Not on it's face.

Tom Fry


Asking a girl out,
Is great to do,
Especially if that girl,
Is somebody who,
You really like,
To the point that you,
Could easily fall,
In love.
It's true,
That the chase is great,
To find a mate,
To copulate,
In a frenzied state,
But I wait,
And wait,
Until my gait,
Is hop skippety jump,
Coz I've fallen with a thump,
For a girl again,
Like dancing in the rain,
Thrilling feeling,
Serial monogamy,
Making a sod of me.

Tom Fry


I wonder if,
An Elvis quiff,
Would suit my dad,
It seems quite mad,
To me,
That he,
Has never had,
Upon his head,
A quiff instead,
Of what he has.
I don't know,
But on a whim,
He may have grown one,
Before I knew him.

Tom Fry

Over Again

An empty page,
Is the most tricky,
Thing to overcome,
If you can't see,
What you want to write,
In your head,
When lacking foresight.
When you've written more,
You realize that,
There’s more scope for,
All those things you wrote,
A long time ago,
And so you dote,
Upon your failures,
And so just then,
You start the process,
Over again.
An empty page…

Tom Fry