Petulant Peter

A Poem by Slim Gravy


Petulant Peter
Has no meter
When measuring disrelish

To fuss and fume
Opaque the room
Painted by his displeasure

Against it all
Always his call
To those who heed his bromides

Nothing to say
Truthful or gay
Mercurial his temper

Goodness withstands
His squalid hands
Emboldened by the Holy

A taint on all
Who do befall
His last iambic measure

Carouse he might
Until the Light
Doth shed and shroud his nether

Avoid we must
His fatal gust
Of vice, varnish and venom

Return once more
To times of yore
Or we will all be tarnished

Seek good and right
With all our might
Or we’ll be surely thwarted.

Yes, Peter must
In his disgust
Be shown a different highway


A Poem by Slim Gravy


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