i.

Dear oh dear, John, that can't be. Don't you know that poetry must be dragged from the very deepest depth of a soul in torment, every word an anguish. Even a rose must be forged in the very pit of despair from desperate longing before it can be pinned to the heaving boddice of a dying lover. Back to the garret with you, and a diet of mouldy crusts.

Cheers

milner

torment and anguish aren't all they're cracked up to be.
take care, my friend.
john

Seriously, John, I think that the outcome of all the years of work you have devoted to poetry, is that you write with much greater facility and confidence when a spark comes.

milner

i totally agree.
yep!
and thanks!
john

nice, John. you've created a great image that is both a receptive sex partner and a baked potato when done! tom

nothing better than a great baked potato!

This makes me smile in a naughty way. Well done. Excellent play on words. Clever.

Sherry

Love the fourth verse, seems a bit different for you, but that's always good.  This is a good poem.

cheryl

I usually pick up on sexual things.  But like the title, this time, I don't get it either,  I just love the fourth verse and those surrounding it.

cheryl

Ripe for picking

milner

John,

like your style. 
i know that exact feeling. 
mine are still playing coy
in the corner.

tiko

I found myself thinking "Only Tom would connect a sex partner and a baked potato."

Rick

rick,

i found that odd as well, but i'm not adult enough to understand the stuff you grown folks do. so, i didn't say anything.

tiko

thanks for picking this!  i feel like a potato!

OMG, that is so funny! John, we always knew you were a spud. :)

shit!  for a second there i thought you said stud!
jy

if you're a potato, I wanna be a potato too.

loved this.