A lot of poetry is trite,
a lot of poetry is shite,
occasionally a poem might be quite alright,
sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bit,
good night...

pfr - best poet in primary school aged 11...

He held such promise and potential,
when did it all go so wrong.
How do kids turn out as adults ?
There is no rhyme or reason...

Funnily enough, when I was in my early 20s
I was on a long night time train journey
reading a 'modern' poem,
words which triggered a mushroom flashback..
A sensation of time standing still, and dislocation from reality..
Strange but not too frightening..

I think that was one of the last before my brain chemistry repaired sufficiently,
and recovered from teenage misadventures...

I'm worried America's brain chemistry will never heal,
All the rest of us poor buggers
are at the mercy of the biggest most dangerous nutcase in the world...