Words on the wall.
Go with Paul.
So profound.
Like a crystal ball.
Okay, all coming back.
Should have read.
Julie, will you go with Paul.
But it didn’t.
Surely a message.
A deeper meaning.
Check the celestial phone.
A message awaits.
You dirty lying scummbag, drop dead.
Should I tell her there's only one M in, scumbag.
Could this be another message.
I enlighten her.
The other M is for mother-F
But is it.
Is there an even deeper meaning.
The celestial phone bleeps.
I peruse the heavenly text.
Actually, there should be an extra B with the extra M, bastard.
I see pain in her text.
I feel it myself.
There is a wanting.
Flowers and chocolates.
I feel comfort walking through the graveyard.
Knowing random people are helping me in the pursuit of love.
I throw a pebble up to her window.
Holding my mixed bunch of flowers.
Old Mrs Jones looks down, smiling.
If I was seventy, I’d do, I digress.
I bade her in, throwing the pebble up to my true love.
Who opened the window maybe a tad too early.
She screams my name.
Which was comforting in a strange way.
Old Mrs Jones looked out, recoiling in horror, knocking herself out in the process.
I realised I had forgotten the chocolates.
Darling, could you lend me ten pounds.
Something in her one good eye told me no.
The paramedics told me to go.
The Police read me my rights.
Putting me up for the day, and the night.
Still, as the Community payback man said as I was scrubbing the wall.
It’s not like you’re Banksy, is it, Paul.
I felt a deeper meaning.
A thought had occurred
It would take a lot of paint.
But would be worth the pain.
I worked through the night.
Such a delight.
I threw a pebble up to her window.
Old Mrs Jones looked down at the naked mural of me, and dropped dead.
Julie sort of squinted in dread.
But the gun in her hand.
Well, enough said.
The police charged me with indecent exposure.
Though the court said that wasn’t quite true.
Still, the Community payback man said.
I’m really impressed.
I mean, it's different.
Maybe you should have added a verse.
He stopped me scrubbing.
We bowed our heads.
As old Mrs Jones passed by in the hearse.
-
Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 26th, 2025 05:11
- Category: Humor
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship
Offline)
Comments5
Understandings and misunderstandings, anger displayed and reserved, a collage of feelings and actions amounting to a painting half erased in this poem of karma where punishment and retribution are part of life. Nicely done
She was a difficult girl to please.
Your poem, The Mural," captures the intricacies of human emotion through a blend of humor, tragedy, and artistic expression, inviting readers to reflect on their own experiences of love and connection.
Can't believe that girl took a restraining order out on me. lol
Reminds me of someone I used to know! 🕊️🙏🏻
That'll be her mad sister. lol
Found this hilarious at times
And I'm happy with that
No chance of analysing til paralyzing
Liked that you walked through a graveyard though
Been walking around them last couple of days
Cheers
Anything to save a fiver for that lad. lol
Paul, this one’s a riot with a pulse. The humor bites, the sadness lingers, and by the time Mrs. Jones passes by in the hearse, you’ve somehow made chaos feel tender. Darkly brilliant work, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Was a shame for the old bat, and me. lol
LOL!
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