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Thread: Post Your Poetry

  1. #31

  2. #32
    condemned to wires and hammers ebby's Avatar
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    Jun 2010
    Quote Originally Posted by Stumpy View Post

    You sir, are in a league of your own,
    I will never leave you alone.
    Remember when you were an astronaut??
    Nothing rhymes with astronaut.
    That's how awesome it is.

    I loved you in That Thing You Do!
    Even better in Toy Story 2
    We all knew Buzz never flew.
    You are an awesome cowboy.

    Joe Friday! Joe Friday!
    Are you going my way?
    Remember when you were that gay
    Who died of the awful AIDS?

    What's the deal with Meg Ryan?
    You make films with her but I don't buy 'em.
    Nor have I seen Saving Private Ryan.
    I'm am a brilliant poet.

    So here's to you, Forrest Gump
    I remember when you had to jump
    Into that volcano, and dump
    That lady who you worked with in the toy company because it turns out you were only 12 and she was basically committing paedophilia and come to think of it Big was kinda fucked up in that way, you know?

    So that's my poem for Mr Hanks.
    For whom we all should give some thanks.
    Without him life would be dark and dank.
    I love you, Thomas Jeffery Hanks.

    This was beautiful. I had tears in my eyes. It took me to a really special place.

  3. #33
    Don't turn away Partisan's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    Emotional releases everywhere! Your words have inspired me to share.
    I'm usually shy, but what the hay, I wrote this poem just today.

    I'm feeling pretty corny
    Do you wanna shuck?

    I wanna break you off, break you off
    Break you off the stalk
    I know you're only corn
    But I pretend that you're a cock

    Friction on the bottom
    Butter on the top
    Kernels about to burst
    You make my jiffy pop

    Thank you. Thank you.
    When they're calling
    From the edge

  4. #34
    it wouldn't even matter other pete's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    shatter shattered
    Quote Originally Posted by Fish Custard View Post
    I hate...
    Well SOMEBODY's not a brightly coloured per son today.

  5. #35
    see a sea anemone devnull's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    That reminds me of one of my favorite poems. It's just a cute little diddy about the tragic humanitarian crisis in Uganda. I wrote it because I couldn't stop crying into my cupcakes about it.

    Spread Flavored Icing On Me

    Flavor love
    Spread love
    Raining flavor
    Icing flavor
    flavor love

    Whose God
    Made my cupcakes
    So sweet?
    This candy bar
    a Milky Way?

    Spread love
    Raining flavor
    Icing flavor
    Spread that flavor
    Flavor flavor

  6. #36
    'twas mbc 'twas kollins Michael Michael's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    Where my feets takes me
    That poem is not atkins friendly at all!

  7. #37
    Embalm Me With Olive Oil

    Sitting on my waist like lead
    Sometimes I'd rather be dead
    But I'm living for spread.
    (You have to make the most of it)

    The Doctor says I have a disease
    It is called fat
    "Necrotising fat-itis"
    Like I don't know what 'lite' is.

    Oh crumbs
    If only I could control my fatty thumbs
    from fondling buns.
    Cause of death: Wine Gums.

  8. #38
    minimalist m.m's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    cape breton, nova scotia (canada)
    i feel very shy about letting out this little poem, however, it is good to take a risk and go out on a limb.

    I tell him, "You need a break."
    and I can hear the silent resignation
    in the tangled lines through which we speak.
    A heaving sigh. Me holding my breath in fear.
    "Death will be my break." he tells me, in earnest.
    And I pour endlessly, as we pour tea
    when we keep the grieving company.
    I ask you, "From what is there to return to
    when we are speaking of death?"

  9. #39
    ^ I like short and sweet (or in this case bitter) poems.

  10. #40
    This is from a set of childrens poems I was working on. They involved a character named Buggery Bee and his friends Lydia Legs (Black Widow), Silamore Stickbug and Mr. Mouse. Warning: This shit is pretty cute.

    Lydia Legs

    Lydia Legs lives up in a tree
    She’s a good friend of Sir Buggery Bee

    She’s got many legs, far more than most do
    In fact if you count you’ll see four sets of two.

    Like her eight legs, she has eight gleaming eyes
    And they’re all very pretty, or so say the flies.

    She wears a black dress and tiny red shoes,
    And if you ever spot her she’ll say hi to you

    The web that she spins is by far her best feature
    She makes silk woven dreams far unlike any creature

    Her heart is as gold as a faint memory
    Though she’s terribly keen on a little flattery.

    She sings a sweet song that draws in her prey
    Only seen in the darkness, lamenting the day

    Lydia Legs is quite special indeed
    However like many she does need to feed

    So if you are around you may want to play
    But if you’re a delectable bug, stay away!
    Last edited by SageBrushFire; 06-27-2010 at 12:39 AM.

  11. #41
    condemned to wires and hammers ebby's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2010

    for beauty.

  12. #42
    There is a wait so long it becomes arrival.
    Your hands around my waist
    could snap me in half.
    I wait to destroy you.

    Between the hushed metronome sweep
    of wiper blades
    your car rushes toward me,
    headlights against the black:
    warped in droplets of rain.

    In a blinding second
    I jerk the wheel, careen
    across the median
    into your own sacred space.

    Vehicle an extension of your body
    exhausted, metal of mine melds
    into headlamp, radiator,
    oil tank of your own now shoved
    into the cabin.
    Hiss of steam
    from the hot engine that sears your legs.
    Brake pedal and clutch introduced to your body
    more intimately than you ever cared to know.
    Steering column pins you in and across my own crushed
    and spewing hood
    I see you slump forward.

    Blue-eyed you never saw it coming:
    my need to hurt you
    in only the way a child
    can be hurt by his mother.

    I have waited so long to see you
    I never thought about love when I thought about home

  13. #43
    Senior Member pancakefrompele's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    Merriweather sighed
    For her hum-drum English life
    Was never very wet
    Nor was it very dry
    ‘Twas never very frequent
    But seldom was the case
    Today when she awakened
    She hated everything
    “I’ve picked through pots and pans
    And through trinkets old and gray
    I’ve picked through ancient photographs
    And thrown them all away”
    “Gerard!” She said, “My butler
    Please heed this foolish plea
    But when you take the trash outside
    Please take the tapestry…
    And while you’re at it, sir
    Will you take away my clothes?
    They’re all in need of cleaning
    And I haven’t had the nerve”
    He knew this mindless banter
    Wasn’t frequent; not at all
    “This all will end with ill regret”
    He thought but didn’t pause
    “OUT with all the old!” She cried
    “AND in with all the new
    Everything I’ve loved before
    I’ll now forever rue!”
    Slowly but so surely, then
    The hallways started filling
    With vases and with silk bouquets
    With lamp shades and with frilling
    “I cannot spend another day
    With things I cannot stand
    Gerard!” She said. “I need another
    Favor, my good man…
    I need you to go shopping from this
    Catalogue you see?
    I need to fill my home with things
    That really aren’t for me!”
    “But Madam, I assure you
    That this feeling will soon pass”
    “Pish tosh! Do for me as I say
    Without the added sass!”
    And so the man went shopping
    For rugs and for perfume
    For clothing and for jewelry
    And for furniture brand-new
    And slowly but so surely, then
    The house was slowly filling
    With modern lamps and furniture
    With hardly any frilling
    “MODERN!” She thought, “MODERN
    Is all I want to be
    And now I’ll hold a higher place
    In high society!”
    And when she went to bed that night
    She thought for just a minute
    “I feel like I’m outside my house
    Although I’m sitting in it”

    Merriweather sighed
    For her hum-drum English life
    Was far too cold and wet these days
    And hardly very dry
    ‘Twas never very frequent
    But seldom was the case
    Today when she awakened
    She missed her other things
    “Gerard”, she said “Dear Butler
    Please heed this foolish plea
    But when you take the trash outside
    Look for my tapestry
    And please look for my clothes
    And while you’re at it, too…”
    “Oh, Madam,” said the butler
    “I have better things to do”
    This was my ode to Tori Amos.

  14. #44
    it's brilliant.
    I never thought about love when I thought about home

  15. #45
    Senior Member pancakefrompele's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    Thanks, secretsekertary. I like your poem before as well! It reminds me of Family Guy, sort of a twist on Stewie's hatred for his mother -- but instead her hatred for him. This poem was from a series that I did about stereotypes. It's one of my favorite poems that I've written:


    Brought pain
    And picture books
    To Mr. Happy Man’s
    She smiled at fear
    With candied yams
    And shook the hands
    Of the Noble twins
    Then, who should
    Stumble through the door?
    Why, Mister I don’t
    Drink no more
    “So nice to see you
    Now you’re sober”
    He laughed and grabbed
    His soda water
    When in the conversation
    Misses God, I’m so depressed
    They told of times
    Both old and wise
    Until their host did then
    He raised his glass
    Of pink champagne
    And called each member
    Out by name
    “Why Misses God, I’m so depressed
    I can’t believe you wore that dress”
    “And Mister I don’t drink no more
    I’ve got tequila through that door”
    He tore the party down to half
    As all the guests he did address
    And finally he said, “Disdain,
    What painful picture books
    You bring”
    She raised her brow
    And tipped the scale
    “Happy man,
    Go back to hell!”
    For Happy man, my friends
    You see
    Is merely insecurity
    And all the while
    I thought much more
    Disdain was just the
    Local whore
    And what a frightful tale
    I say
    To run across my lips
    These picture books
    They can create
    An awful, stirring
    Twist of fate
    I hope disdain does not
    And meddle in my book
    Of lies
    For picture memories, you see
    Are merely insecurities
    Last edited by pancakefrompele; 01-24-2011 at 05:50 PM.

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