Adam’s Plot

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A point, a reason, a purpose due.

A thought, a quest, a long pursuit.

A fear, a doubt, a question posed.

A reason for the reader to go.

Entertainment is not enough,

Nor are words puffed up with fluff.

Need to feed the man some strengths,

Some endless longing for his wrong days.

For what does this one man stew?

What is it that he so must do?

Brain is trembling, being all fears, so much time – plot’s still unclear.

Cannot quite touch it yet, need the thought but it’s still wet.

A playboy, a pessimist, a selfish man too,

Fear of love, a heart untrue.

He needs the fame but no King’s glory,

He needs a plot or his story’s boring.

Currently his chapter’s are fun,

A lot of sex, a thoughtful run.

Does his best to escape his needs,

Falls in love with Gnashing’s great weed.

A woman who is beautiful, charming yet, precisely dull.

She’s got a character much like his own  – Sweet with words, a heart that’s cold.

His story ends with much betrayal, for the girl who did enable –

Him to meet the antagonist, she brought him to the bad man’s twist.

So what now, what’s all I’ve told?

From what you’ve heard, what quest is known?

I need a plot, a question to pull. I  need a purpose, or Adam’s story just lulls.

– Thomas M. Watt

Don’t said it wrong!

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Vision is dim eyes are blurred, where do I go, where had I were.

Grammar school lesson easily taught – the writers who make it don’t give a fauk.

What do we say, what do we do, what do we know, what’s new with you.

Laughing, happy, crappy, cough.

I hate all those people who constantly scoff.

Stand up my friend let’s hear your joke then,

Let’s see how it goes when the critic stands in.

Shitty dippy, dippity-doo. Find me a snack and I will bark for you.

Oh boy he’s crazy, shit now I know, I shouldn’t have read this, wait shit I wrote.

It.

What’s with this poem and all these strange rhymes? Did he really just add only one word to that line?

And who does he speak to, for whom is this written, why does he breakdown his voice intermitten?

God oh that’s painful, ‘nother word misspelled, dammit to heck the writer can’t seem to tell,

The difference ‘tween ramblings, spellings and his, ability to place commas within sentences.

And why does he talk with his voice like it’s mine, why does this guy pull this shit all the time?

Somebody tell him, please somebody say – We are all just waiting for your style to decay.

You will soon fall, dwell with the rest, you will shortly collapse and see our way is best.

No sir I’m sorry, really I do, the problem with me is, I just don’t care about you.

I am a bit crazy, hazy with words. See them like colors, splash on my verbs.

My work is of art, a mixture of paint. A strange tendency to love what most people hate.

Well fuck me I said it, I did what I do, scramble your brain, and be like mine too.

– Thomas M. Watt

(Painting courtesy of Ayse Juaneda, the greatest painter in the modern world. You can view more of her artwork at http://aysejuaneda.wordpress.com)