The Derren Brown Poem


You know when you attempt some tidying up, but what you actually do is sit reading old essays for two hours, from a course you did years ago that you’re not really interested in, but still feel slightly depressed about how bad your memory is and how much of it you’d forgotten? And then there is a sense of bitter irony to follow because one of the essays is actually about memory? I did that.

But look on the bright side folk,s because I also found this poem about Derren Brown scrawled in a barely legible, slanting hand. A big cheer for never throwing old note books away!

Derren brown

Derren Brown he runs amock,

Speaking lots of Jabber wok,

He is dreaded, he is feared,

With his tinny little beard,

He’s turned your neurons all to jelly,

With his mind games on the telly,

So if you see him, run away!

Don’t hang around for him to say,

“Pick a number, pick a place,

“Look me squarely in the face,

“Count down from ten and up from four,

Did you pick five and are you sure?”

Because he’ll have you in his palm,

With his quiet very calm,

Hypnotising sleepy voice,

And then and there without a choice,

He’ll have you clucking like a hen,

Never quite the same again.

Gwen

PS. I’m sorry I can never get the paragraphing to work when I paste poems from word, any help?

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About Gwen and Elinor

Two bloging buddies who love tea and biscuits.
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