Liz's writers' group

Were you impressed by Malcolm and Deek's attempts at creative literature on Tuesday? Liz might not have been but Malcolm's limerick certainly gave us a laugh.

I think it's only fitting that their efforts are preserved here for your future pleasure.

Deek's poem:

If my soul had walls it would be a prison.

Cold and dark.

My sentence long and harsh.

My crime despair.

If those walls could talk no-one would listen.

So none would hear.

And none would know, the loneliness, sharp as a cross-bow's teeth...

(I fell asleep here so I don't know the middle bit)

...And so with solitude as my companion I wait.

And I listen for the footsteps.

Of my jailer.

With her keys.

Poor Deek! And now for something completely different...

Malcolm's limerick:

There was a young man named Gilfeather.

Who streaked naked in all kinds of weather.

In the snow he got numb,

from his toes to his bum.

Sure you'd never've guessed he's a fella.

Think you can do better? Post your contributions to Liz's writers' group below!