Curse My Name

Curse My Name

This poem is actually from a couple of years ago and was inspired by old liars. I love old people, but every now and then you come across a wretched wrinkly who feels the need to make up or embellish stories to convince you they’ve had an amazing life. In Curse My Name a man weaves a tapestry of deceit in which every thread is a barefaced lie in his bid to impress his, probably thoroughly unconvinced, audience.

Curse My Name

A problems shared’s a problem halved
And so I share this tale with you
Of why the Pygmies curse my name
I swear that every word is true

I felled a tree to carve a boat
This in itself was not a sin
The crime was this: I took no time
To figure out what was within

The weeping pygmies, oh they knew
At length they forced me to depart
For there’s no sadder sight than this:
A beaver with a broken heart

The beavers still hang lanterns in memory of their fallen comrade

The beavers still hang lanterns in memory of their fallen comrade

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