[A.Buttle]

Yo, this started in another post, but I think it belongs here. Post a poem, but try and keep it around 10 lines. No "Wasteland"s here. It doesn't have to be meaningful, just poetry. Here are two to get you going.

1.
Dance for the sanctity of the night sky
Where slugs and crimson boobies
Flutter along with wind blown shear life
Life.
Life.
Live.
Live without carboard boxes full of
Styrofoam bubbles
Bubbles of styrofoam and gelatin and bubbles of styrofoam and gelatin
It's made from horses.

It's made from people.

2.
Little red puppies run away a long the
Dark dark night of kittens
Skinned in my backyard for Pleasure
And coats for women to wear
To the Oscars so I can win
Win Win Win Win Win
The tiny, heavy paper-weight.

[edit] I forgot to mention that pretense is a must [/edit]

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I fear the end is near for fish with no hip burrito.
Joe Dillingham
[email protected]

[This message has been edited by A.Buttle (edited March 27, 2001).]

[Dthind]

1) There was a man from Nantucket
* No rhyme coming from this line...
2) He died a horrible death
3) Some said it was poison
4) Some said it was his breath
5) He had a fine old collection
* and you thought I's rhyme with erection, NOT
6) But he lacked that certain kind of protection
7) With a look of sickened glee
8) His breath he could see
9) As his lungs did collapse
10) He realized his insurance had lapsed

ok, stupid, but not much notice...

Now for the deep one...

1) I hide my face from the shame
2) The heart beats slower
3) No friends have I known
4) Time... it passes... alone
5) Sounds of dark footfalls call for me
6) The clock is still
7) Only time will tell, only time will tell
8) The brush strokes are dim, my canvas is blank
9) There is a sound behind me
10) I am afraid of the night.

[This message has been edited by Dthind (edited March 27, 2001).]

[[Shizo]]

Found ghetto heaven in himself and god hey
Found ghetto heaven in himself and god!
Found ghetto heaven in himself and god jo..
Let the spirit fall free!



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nothing really matters

[A.Buttle]

Where am I in the scheme of the life and
Universe and pretzels with mustard,
So delicious.

So savory, so marvelous.
The Hot Pocket rejoices with consumptive glee
And dance dances danced toward
The grave of the lost burrito.
The last burrito.
Frozen child of misty cave
Unborn, unfulfilled, terrified

Where is my scheme of life
The burrito god
Godless burrito child,
All I want is to touch the golden flaky shell with
Chesse, rice, beans, beef
All I want is to feel the warmth of thermo nuclear radiation against
My fingertips, burnt, tar covered
Fingertips. Glass in the corner.
Nugs on the floor, all I want is the warm, sensous touch of Mexican delights on my lips.

[PandaX52]

look at my half consumed muffin....
the top half is now nothing but 'nuthin....

I ate it first...
because the bottoms' the worst.
and the moist paper wraper..
containing the crapper...

will soon be left to the puffins...

[MrPumpernickel]

Very well, I'll post what I wrote this night here also then (with some small changes...for the better I think)...


/me is putting on top-hat and a monocle

The flies are marching on my porch
It's summer
The carcases lies scattered on the football field
It's autumn
I listen to Twilight Time on the grammophone
It's winter
A lonely kid runs across the street, shots are heard, kid falls down, a thud follows
The smell of gunpowder-smoke saturates the air
It's spring...


[This message has been edited by MrPumpernickel (edited March 28, 2001).]

[Spitfire]

Im allways more into limericks.


There once was a man from nantucket
whose dick was so long he could suck it
with cum on his chin
he said with a grin
if my nose were a cunt i would fuck it.



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Smash me to the ground, a thousand times as before.

[Socar MYLES]

Well, I've never written a poem in my life, except this one I wrote when I was eight years old, and obsessed (for no discernible reason) with illegal drugs (which I had never used):

The sky is turning purple
The sun is turning green.
The whole world looks like a giant soup tureen.
I feel that I am floating;
I am a bumblebee.
I think it is the influence of LSD.

Yee-ha.

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My old man's a dustman
'E wears a dustman's 'at
'E wears gorblimey trousers...
AAAAAAAAND....
'E lives in a council flat!

Hey, I made up a joke:
Q: Why don't goths go to McDonald's?
A: They might get a HAPPY MEAL!

Heh, heh, heh.

[Count Zero]

This thing I wrote some 4 years ago when I was still unwise to the way of the world.

For the first time in my life,
I saw the sun today.
I've watched it and observed it, but today
I saw it.
I saw right to the heart of the sun.
I know what it's all about.
You'll have to see it to believe it.
Not watch it, not observe it, but see it.
The doctors say I'll never see again.
But they're wrong... I can see;
I'll just never watch or observe again,
but it doesn't matter anymore.
I saw the sun today.

[MrPumpernickel]

lol socar...that one was...well, I don't really know how to put it...wierd maybe...

/me is pretending to be a bumblebee...*squish*...splattered on a windshield

[This message has been edited by MrPumpernickel (edited March 28, 2001).]

[wayfinder]

bla bla bla bla bla/
bla bla bla bla bla bla bla/
bla bla bla bla bla/

[Visionary]

Wayfinder! That was genius!

[A.Buttle]

Twisted Tilly travels over ochre peaks
Where Dionysus plays Pan's flute
And Persephone and Diana frolick.
The stars scrape low the gound and burn the sky
High where planets observe themselves
High where the night can be alone.
Frolick my nymphs,
Frolick to your hearts' content
But for the love of fuck, stop tweaking each other nipples.

No, don't stop, but follow through already.
Enough of these games.

------------------
I fear the end is near for fish with no hip burrito.
Joe Dillingham
[email protected]

[sacrelicious]

Your pillow floats gently
In case of emergency.
Headphones five dollars.

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What is your obsession with my forbidden closet of mystery?

[Ian]

A sloop of amber slips away
Upon an ether sea,
And wrecks in peace a purple tar,
The son of ecstasy.

--Emily Dickinson

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To thine own self be true.

[el tigre]

A mate of mine went through a phase of writing poetry. The only lines I remember were...

"Don't rape my plastic vagina, cried the Pee and Poo dolly,
her knickers round her ankles"

it rambled on in an amusing fashion, but really quite disturbing. There was one about Judy Finnegan as well I believe.




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Couldnae hit a coo in the arse wi a banjo if uh wis huddin it by the tail. :�
ICQ#106427315

[Ian]

oh god.

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To thine own self be true.

[fshock]

what words were unspoken
what didn`t I say
shes gone for a reason
I bet she was gay.

I bet she was gay
shacked up with some chick
she`ll never come back
cause she don`t like dick.

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fotoshock