Your Poetry
Letter To A Drowning Victim
I tried my damnedest to save You but it was not enough I must've got scared It you were far too cold All we should have known That the overpass was too treacherous But it would not matter You would have gone Wish I might that you were Better but I have no hope For the hope was gone The last time it happened I took my hands Across your chest Forced your breath All for naught I always thought blue pallour Would be an attractive quality Like almost translucent milky Skin, but it's sick I grab my hat, my phone Fumble the keys Emergency on the way Emergency left and gone I cry every night now Out of sheer pain, the Cessations of your breathing killing Me; I won't forget you |
The Selfish Heart
Pen laid down Guitar unstrung Paint box covered with dust The bottle hits the glass. In the corner He keeps his muse In a cage of rust Waiting for time to pass. |
In 7th grade we had to write our own "epitaph".
Never should've touched it Should've left it in the dip Never should've looked twice At that green potato chip. It sat there so temptingly It didn't look that bad; And when I thought about it All alone, it seemed so sad. Never thought it'd hurt me, Never thought it'd do me harm. So I went ahead and tried it. And that's how I bought the farm. My writing teachers liked me a lot. My art teachers (almost) all hated me. |
:lol
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green oh my green
How green are you today My fair lady Whom was so tired That she couldn't Cut the grass and that had Feelings of envy for her fellow Women? Must you be so droll As to expect me to make Your day well when you Are yet so pale and sickly? How dare you think you're so Helpless. Dearie dear, you are As a blight to the firs, It is any wonder why I Keep you at all. My senior English teacher liked this one. |
Santa the Pirate King
Santa decided one Christmas Eve That he was fed up and was going to leave He was tired of the North Pole and endless snow And elves badgering him wherever he'd go He wanted to travel and see new lands Cliffs and beaches and islands and sands To travel the world he'd never seen This was Santa's Ultimate Dream So he died his beard a ragged black And stuffed treasure, not toys, into his sack He wore an eyepatch and started to sing "Drink up me hearties! I be the Pirate King! Around the seas I now will roam, The entire world will be my home! I can feel the sun and warmth for a start Instead of building toys that should not come apart! I'll feel the wind and enjoy the breeze And go wherever I darn well please!" Thus said the once jolly old elf Who laughed with the thought, quite pleased with himself To further prepare for his upcoming trip He exchanged his sleigh for a galley ship Then he left his eight reindeer on solid land And found himself a crew of able deck hands "Weigh anchor! Set sails! Check the wind!" he cried "All hands on deck! Man your stations!" he sighed "To the seven seas, to the oceans blue, Now set sail you swabs, every one of you!" Now Santa's a pirate who sails the Earth But his eyes still twinkle and he still has his girth And you can recognize the cry he'll bellow: "Merry Christmas me hearties! And a Yo Ho Ho!" |
I’ve written a Haiku:
There was a young girl Who tried hard to be funny She didn’t do so well |
*sigh* :blah
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awesome haiku :(
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Ode to the civil war
In the 1860's Abe said let them be free. The south took up arms against his decree. Brother against brother fighting with bayonettes causing bloodshed. Brother against brother soon both will be dead. Hundreds of thousands of injured and casualties. The legacy of a nation for the battle of slavery. With all the dead bodies hitting the floor and gunshots like someone knocking down a door. So much injustice, violence and gore. This is my ode to the civil war. (There will be more, once I get on my next break.) |
The Civil war was a patch of daisies, the Spanish flu didn't break my heart.
Compared to the time that she left me, all of that is not worth a fart. |
There was once an old man named Don
Who put a sign out on his lawn That said "yard sale"...well, To shorten this tale, when He got back the grass was all gone. That's another from 7th grade, although I took a bit of liberty with the rhyme structure. |
she's not mine.
But she's so close. I don't know if she knows just how much she means to me. How I cannot go a minute without thinking about her. How every minute I spend thinking about her makes a girl-shaped hole rip ever wider in my heart. How I think she's the most beautiful girl in the entire world and any flaws she thinks she may have are inconsequential at their worst and serve only to further accentuate her beauty at their best. But she's not mine. How I wish my finger tips would melt with hers, then move down her arms, down her sides, to her lovely legs, leaving contrails of tingly sensation in their wake. How her scent brings up within me the memories or everything good. How the mere sight of her instills within me an unparalleled elation, for truly I have never loved any girl as I do her. How my hands would ache, not being able to run themselves over the small of her back. But she's not mine. How the way her hair looks when she doesn't straighten it after taking a shower is one of the most beautiful sights I know of, and would surely be the last thing I imagine before I die. How her crystalline eyes belie a soul deeper than anyone before her's. How I love her punches so. And her lips? Oh, how I love her lips. Too shiny. In fact, too good to be true. They're what is good in the world. She is what's good in the world. But she's not mine. Even though she is as a beacon of light to me, the pinnacle of human beauty and fascination to me. Even though it would not matter to me whatever indiscretions she may have commited. Even if she was somehow made not as she is now, in an accident that rendered her somehow less aesthetically pleasing, it would not matter to me. Fifty years from now, I can still see myself looking back on her as one of the best parts of my life, and how I would have given anything for her. I would feel the deepest regret, even if I had done all I could. But she's not mine. and I used to be okay with that. To a certain extent, I still am. But it pains me. And yet, the only thing I want is for her to attain every happiness possible, and I could only hope I would die trying to spare her some minute discomfort, such as a splinter or rash. Because, for her, she's entirely worth it. Babe, you're worth remembering. |
Poetry and love are only silly if you're just looking at it and not experiencing it.
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:(
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I did write a haiku based on my hatred towards liver casserole during literature class back in high school, but it was written in finnish and translating it properly would be a real bitch.
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It's an exaggerated view of feelings I have for a certain girl that is not mine, but someone else's.
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You're being serious?
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Writing is the only thing I know how to do. So yes.
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ODE TO FATHOMHERO
FUCK YOU POETRY IS FOR WOMEN |
FathomZero is a poet
And Misdemonar doesn't know it He mocked Zero's dream In a way quite obscene And drank up a barrel of Moet |
Zelda Queen is retarded,
This much is true, No need to rhyme, She wouldn't get it anyways. |
Me thinks ZQ has an internet crush on Fathom?
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This Just On Not
is because different make not words lines it poetry. are does good. I always hated that about poetry. |
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There once was a man with a spoon for an ear,
And a tabletop vase for an eye, And he would take to his horse and roam through the town And declare “It’s quarter past nine!” And the regular townsmen, with a shaking of heads And a noticeable stamping of feet, Would say “What an odd fellow, he’s surely deranged, For as anyone could rightfully say, It’s barely a quarter from three!” |
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There once was a man from Nantucket Who drank 'til he threw up in a bucket He thought he was done So he rejoined the fun Then he heaved and everyone had to duck it. |
Oh, I'm sure your fascination with Japanese men will fade soon. :rolleyes
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I dunno. It's said that gentlemen prefer blondes. But do the ladies?
Also: DAWSON |
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As for me, I try to rhyme But now's just not A real good time. |
My hair is to turn black later in life before going white. I get my hair from my maternal grandfather. But as of now, it's nigh on platinum blonde.
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My hair used to be crazy blond when I was younger as seen here http://www.angelfire.com/80s/threestupidpeople/12.jpg
Now its a dirty/reddish blond and my beard grows in red. Blondes are |
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:moon |
I've been a brunette all my life. With extremely pale skin (very Germanic apparently :sleep)
@ Tadao, not quite the features I had in mind. Besides, yours seems to be bright green...:\ |
Zelda Queen
I'm not always mean. We should talk and go on a zombie walk. |
Tadao
I know You can be sweet And that sounds neat |
:O
I'll give you a zombie walk any day of the week. Bayyyyyybe. |
Take my hand
Across the promised land Give me a twirl Let's have a whirl |
Hey, any time
Just please don't rhyme 'Cause I'll be dead When you're strapped to the bed |
You're very good
I hope I've got this right This format is odd. |
:love
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Hey, writing gets my creative juices going. I have to respect a fellow writer. :)
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You're just being shy. You know you want me bad.
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Isn't ZQ something like 17 and shaped like a pear, or do you just not care anymore Fathom?
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Girls shaped like pears are hawt. No tits and all ass baby. :yum
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I don't really give a shit in the regard, sir. BESIDES, what have you done for me lately?
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I'll blow you for a dollar.
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Why would I pay for what I can get for free?
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Because you'd be supporting a starving artist in more than one way.
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Do you prefer squash?
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All the better, then!
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Peas and carrots are okay though. :\ |
You look like peas and carrots?
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Many teens suffer from anorexia.
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Most teens are insufferable.
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I can't help but notice that the quality of this poetry is really going south.
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We got a bit distracted
But I'll write a whole new bunch Just as soon as I'm dressed And eaten up my lunch Edit: Yes it's lame. I just woke up. |
Lazy bitchtard
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And the critics come in!
Are you with the New Yorker sir? |
LA Weekly, now let's see some of this insane writing skill you claim to have.
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New poem called Page 3 of 3
Because you'd be supporting a starving artist in more than one way. I'm eighteen and not pear-shaped. >: Do you prefer squash? You look like peas and carrots? Many teens suffer from anorexia. Lazy bitchtard |
When I joined here many months
Many months ago I called myself "insane writer" This much I'm sure you know A play on words, you ought to see You ought to see, you know That wasn't what I meant Those many months ago A writer, that I call myself A writer, that am I I write of those who haven't lived And those who'll never die But my writing's not insane Not insane, to be sure My writing is quiet ordinary Quite sane is my lore The insanity in my description Which I wrote those months ago Refers to my insanity So finally you know. My writing is quite normal Of this (I hope) you won't debate But I myself am quite insane As I have been as of late I hope you understand my mind (Though there are few who do) Congradulations dear reader And my hat is off to you. |
tldr
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Hey Child - What Manner of Madness Do You Claim? (Acoustic)
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As a Baker, Congradulations makes my eyes bleed.
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Tadao: cakewrecks.com
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Hahaha, they are just a little tooooo fanatic about it, but yeah, when it comes down to it, everything matters to a customer having a special day.
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Not to get too far OT (like it hasn't already) but my brother once had a birthday cake that said MACHOE MAN AND THE HULK in light-green icing, with a plastic Randy Savage up to his knees in cake and a plastic Hulk Hogan faceplanted in the icing. I've been looking everywhere for it.
(the photo) |
Dude, cakewrecks is one of my homepages.
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ZQ, be a sport and post another pic of you so that I can write you more poems.
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I don't have that many pictures of myself on the computer. The one I posted when I came on here was taken about two or three years ago.
I'll see what I can find. |
I didn't even see that one; :(
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You should get a new camera for new pics.....I'm getting mine on wednesday.
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Yay! More shirtless Bill! :D
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I'm getting a camera that shoots a thousand frames per second. Not bad for a $300 point-and-shoot.
I want a DSLR, but I really don't. I've got one that is styled after one; a Kodak Easyshare something or another. It's just big and unwieldy and all I need a camera for is just takling pics and maybe some quick videos. |
Eh, found one. I'll post it in the pics thread.
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I went to find crows
But came back with doves. The day was not though lost For they're pretty much the same. |
Kudos on finding that Tadao, I thought that thread was long gone.
The Dodo and the Old Bat They thought the hours through The Dodo with his research Philosophy was all the Bat would do The Dodo was demoted Or so it was said The Old Bat taught his lectures That went right over his students' heads That's based on two characters in a story I'm working on. |
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Or so it was said The Old Bat taught his lectures |
Probably more acurate yeah. But it's technically not a Dodo, just a guy that looks like one (yes, the story's obviously children's fiction).
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Well I don't practice San-ga-ria. I ain't got White Zinfandal. I had a Sauvignon blanc, but i'd....I'd consume it all. If I could find that heina and the cuervo that shes found. Well I'd pop the cap off cuervo and drink it down.
I need a better 4th line. |
vomiting ouroboros, unfurling forever
thoughts widen but never deepen a meaningless endeavor |
bumping this instead of creating a new one and it getting lumped together.
I get smart like Don Adams. Write flows you can't handle. Look at you with your emo hair all mangled. When we tangle I'll grab you like an orangutan will. My hearts so broken over the years even the Ataris don't know how I feel. Not looking for your sympathy just trying to be real. Sometimes I don't even know how to deal. You say you're here for my heart but I see the dollar signs in your eyes and hear your getting ready to steal. That's why my emotions are as cold as steel. My heart is Stone Cold like Bryan Bosworth except I'm not a shitty movie. Just trying to find someone to move me. |
those rhymes is fresh
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Poetry = faggotry >:
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So post some of yours. :p
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he just did, it totally rhymed
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Zomboid's no beatnik.
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Bees
I asked my mother to tell me please What it was like to be covered with bees Fur and feelers all over my skin Crawling all over my ears and chin My hands and feet, my eyes and knees Covered every inch in bees To sit and feel this tickly sensation Unable to move from consternation That in one second every bee Would jab their stingers into me To sit and wait without a care As they swarmed in and out of my hair Across my nails and in my nose Inside and out of my clothes My mother said that my initial reaction Would be pleasure and pain, and then satisfaction |
:rolleyes you just wanted to use the word consternation.
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Actually no, I had to use "what is it like to be covered in bees" and "satisfaction".
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THATS THE BEES KNEES
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BROKEN SOLDIER
OOOOOH. OOOO. Broken soldier. Broken soldier, whoah. Where'd your pride go, soldier? Where'd your pride go? I couldn't help noticin'; your brass lost its shine, soldier. Where'd your shine go? When did ya lose that shine? There wasn't any glory for you. That shine's outta your eyes, the world musta broke you. Ya just weren't strong enough. Now you're stained through. G.I. Joe, good to go; made of clay. (Chorus) Leather boots didn't protect you, could only carry you, so far. I can't bear to see you; with your broken heart visible on your face, feeling so outta place. They broke you, soldier. Whoah. Where'd your smile go, soldier? Where'd your smile go? Did it run away when they took your stripe? Did it run when you saw those people dying? Ya just weren't tough enough. You tried so hard, but not enough. Do you hear the voices at night? Do ya hear 'em when you can't sleep? Did they break your mind too, soldier? (Repeat chorus) |
The Boys who Bleed for You
My mother wept the day I signed my name. My heart swelled when I raised my right hand. Against all enemies I swore. God help me. Some of us never need to shave; Doughboys to the bone. Minutemen are we; always ready. Essayons! Semper Tentare! Do you know, we are all numbers, but we all have names. Every mother's son of us is ready to bleed and die for your sake. It is our fight that allows you to burn the flag you're holding. That flag is dyed with the blood of patriots and may it ever be so. I would have it no other way. To show the world. The brother in my foxhole never kissed a girl, never drank a beer, and he's ready too. We all stand. We are true. Our families know; we are the boys who bleed for you. My father told me he was proud, even as I saw the shores of Grenada in his eyes. He turned away so I would not see that salty wave crash down his cheeks. He sent me on my way, with three old men behind him, behind me. The chain has not broken, five generations strong. the boys who bleed for you. We all have names; please don't forget us. |
I googled "The Boys who Bleed for You" and didn't like any of the search results
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