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Share some good poetry or write your own. My favorite poet is William McGonagall. Here's a couple of his poems: The Tay Bridge Disaster Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay! Alas! I am very sorry to say That ninety lives have been taken away On the last Sabbath day of 1879, Which will be remember’d for a very long time. ’Twas about seven o’clock at night, And the wind it blew with all its might, And the rain came pouring down, And the dark clouds seem’d to frown, And the Demon of the air seem’d to say- “I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.” When the train left Edinburgh The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow, But Boreas blew a terrific gale, Which made their hearts for to quail, And many of the passengers with fear did say- “I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.” But when the train came near to Wormit Bay, Boreas he did loud and angry bray, And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay On the last Sabbath day of 1879, Which will be remember’d for a very long time. So the train sped on with all its might, And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight, And the passengers’ hearts felt light, Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year, With their friends at home they lov’d most dear, And wish them all a happy New Year. So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay, Until it was about midway, Then the central girders with a crash gave way, And down went the train and passengers into the Tay! The Storm Fiend did loudly bray, Because ninety lives had been taken away, On the last Sabbath day of 1879, Which will be remember’d for a very long time. As soon as the catastrophe came to be known The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown, And the cry rang out all o’er the town, Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down, And a passenger train from Edinburgh, Which fill’d all the peoples hearts with sorrow, And made them for to turn pale, Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879, Which will be remember’d for a very long time. It must have been an awful sight, To witness in the dusky moonlight, While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray, Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay, Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay, I must now conclude my lay By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay, That your central girders would not have given way, At least many sensible men do say, Had they been supported on each side with buttresses, At least many sensible men confesses, For the stronger we our houses do build, The less chance we have of being killed. The Late Sir John Ogilvy ALAS! Sir John Ogilvy is dead, aged eighty-seven, But I hope his soul is now in heaven; For he was a generous-hearted gentleman I am sure, And, in particular, very kind unto the poor. He was a Christian gentleman in every degree, And, for many years, was an M.P. for Bonnie Dundee, And, while he was an M.P., he didn’t neglect To advocate the rights of Dundee in every respect. He was a public benefactor in many ways, Especially in erecting an asylum for imbecile children to spend their days; Then he handed the institution over as free,– As a free gift and a boon to the people of Dundee. He was chairman of several of the public boards in Dundee, And among these were the Asylum Board and the Royal Infirmary; In every respect he was a God-fearing true gentleman, And to gainsay it there’s nobody can. He lived as a Christian gentleman in his time, And he now lies buried in the family vault in Strathmartine; But I hope his soul has gone aloft where all troubles cease, Amongst the blessed saints where all is joy and peace. To the people around Baldovan he will be a great loss, Because he was a kind-hearted man and a Soldier of the Cross. He had always a kind word for every one he met, And the loss of such a good man will be felt with deep regret Because such men as Sir John Ogilvy are hard to be found, Especially in Christian charity his large heart did abound, Therefore a monument should be erected for him most handsome to behold, And his good deeds engraven thereon in letters of gold. Misc poetry videos: The Lion-Eating Poet in the Stone Den https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vExjnn_3ep4 Miracle https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWH9AdHsnek The Abyss https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppLSo8uILH4
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Jul 3, 2014 00:42
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| # ? Apr 25, 2024 22:30 |
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Poetry is gay.
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Jul 3, 2014 00:43
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i am a gay human being tranny freefrom poetry is best poetry
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Jul 3, 2014 00:44
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Jul 3, 2014 00:44
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WindmillSlayer posted:i am *snaps fingers*
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Jul 3, 2014 00:48
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An Ode to the Humble Peanut, Which Sustaineth This Great Nation With Its Bounty Let us toast the humble goober Uber-popular with moochers Forget tomatoes and tubers News is nuts are super duper Peanut crop this year is bumper Call your friends, alert your mother "Peanut party time!" you utter Dreaming dreams of peanut butter Glory in the earth's kind bounty Peanuts cover every county Millions, maybe more, who's counting? Pounding groundnuts in our mouthies. No hot droughts nor freezing freezes Growing nuts in perfect season Nuts bestowed by blessed Jesus Reese's Pieces for your nieces. Peanut butter toast for breakfast? Heck it's not even a question P.B.J. for lunch in heaven? Yes kind sir, I'll take eleven! Paying pennies on the dollar For our peanut bushels oughta Raise their spirits down in Georgia Thank you, George Washington Carver Have a peanut, have another Have a mess of peanuts, brother Though you may live in the gutter Peanuts are cheap, motherfuckers. -Nolan, poet laureate
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Jul 3, 2014 00:48
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have you ever heard about a band named...nightwish??? 
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Jul 3, 2014 00:49
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But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? And fortify yourself in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? Now stand you on the top of happy hours; And many maiden gardens, yet unset With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers, Much liker than your painted counterfeit: So should the lines of life that life repair, Which this (Time's pencil, or my pupil pen), Neither in inward worth nor outward fair, Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. To give away yourself keeps yourself still, And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
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Jul 3, 2014 00:49
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"I eat pieces of poo poo like you for breakfast." "You eat pieces of poo poo for breakfast?"
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Jul 3, 2014 00:52
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There once was a man from Nantucket
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Jul 3, 2014 00:53
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Who's dick was so long he could suck it.
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Jul 3, 2014 00:54
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What if this present were the world's last night? Mark in my heart, O soul, where thou dost dwell, The picture of Christ crucified, and tell Whether that countenance can thee affright, Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light, Blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head fell. And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell, Which prayed forgiveness for his foes' fierce spite? No, no; but as in my idolatry I said to all my profane mistresses, Beauty, of pity, foulness only is A sign of rigour: so I say to thee, To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assigned, This beauteous form assures a piteous mind.
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Jul 3, 2014 00:54
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He said with a grin, and some cum on his chin:
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Jul 3, 2014 00:54
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I have forgotten the poem.
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Jul 3, 2014 00:54
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If my ear was a oval office I could gently caress it!
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Jul 3, 2014 00:54
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Anal To Arab He thwack no metronome to kick oneself Thwack his dick sucker With his monolithic flaccid trunk rubber Me and my Dalek doped And my excrement unsweetened Copulate in the open without my jockstrap You shat encrusted to what you deflowered So at arm’s length sucked from all that we excreted in the wind’s eye And I bounce a bedevilled backwash My incredibles are shafted I’ll poo poo anal to Arab We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones I croaked a hundredweight arsonists You poo poo posterior to her And I poo poo anal to… I poo poo anal to myself I fondle you powerfully The body beautiful’s not enough to go round You enjoy spanking and I wallow in ejaculate And spunk is like a tobacco teabag And I’m a bijou dong coming the corsets in custody We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones I croaked a hundredweight arsonists You poo poo posterior to her And I poo poo anal to… Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab I poo poo anal to… I poo poo anal to… We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones I croaked a hundredweight arsonists You poo poo anal to her And I poo poo anal to Arab
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Jul 3, 2014 01:03
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God, I hate poetry If I see one more haiku I'll loving die *dies*
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Jul 3, 2014 01:04
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There once was a man from Trent
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Jul 3, 2014 01:04
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Who's dick was so long it was bent
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Jul 3, 2014 01:04
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He thought id be nice if he stuck it in twice
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Jul 3, 2014 01:05
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And instead of cumming he went
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Jul 3, 2014 01:05
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fire up that loud another round of shots turn down for what
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Jul 3, 2014 01:11
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Little Hemroid Hello there little hemorrhoid. Hanging from my butt. I really wish you'd go away, 'Cause you hurt like you know what. At times you seem to disappear, And then I have relief. But when I go and take a dump, You then return. "Good grief!" You really make me feel, Like I'm pooping broken glass. Or something else that's jagged, That I have to try and pass. I don't want you to stay around, My sphincter and I agree. 'Cause when I use the toilet paper, It feels like bark from a tree! I've used medicated pads And even gooey cream. But no matter what, you still return, Like an awful, recurring dream! From suppositories to cold packs And using an air pillow. There seems to be no relief From you my little fellow. I've heard that a specialist Who braves that funky zone Can remove you with a snip But my wallet's empty and alone. So I guess I am stuck with you On my derriere And with the pain I get from you Causing me to swear!
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Jul 3, 2014 01:13
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When I consider how my light is spent E're half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide, Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, least he returning chide, Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd, I fondly ask; But patience to prevent That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts, who best Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best, his State Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed And post o're Land and Ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and waite.
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Jul 3, 2014 01:14
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| # ? Apr 25, 2024 22:30 |
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Ode on a Flaccid Penis Thou still flesh, unzipped pickle of softness, Thou apprentice to Sponge and squishy Grape, Even with the most persuasive caress, Could not be propp'd up even with duct tape. What iron legend haunts about thy shape Teasing your vine to wilt in the ardent Summer heat of her silky chamber lair? To where did your pulsing firmness escape? From what bottle comes the substance retardant? Oh, what wild ecstasy she once found there! Heard pick-up lines are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipe, play not. Let your lewd flirtatious words be deferred For tonight wouldst need rather a long shot. Was the White Man's Burden too much to bear? Did tequila play some trick on thy dick? Though winning near the goal—what gave thee chill? Bold Lover, that climb'd many mountains bare, Wherefore thou leaves unsheath'd thy muted prick? Tonight wilt thou love, but she not have her fill! Ah, happy, bow that was once an arrow! Your whiskey you would never bid adieu; Though happy soil awaits your harrow Thy fertile seed indeed cannot follow through. Oh, happy love! Call forth your spry green youth! That rose to a passionate kiss of yore. Oh, steel that withstood the blacksmith’s coal! Now bent by anvil and chisel, forsooth, Is no more than the Trojan horse folklore; A parch’d tongue without well or water hole. Who are you coming not to satisfy? To what grassy warm bed, O yielding beast? Expectation should not be put so high That bold maiden must needs presume a feast. Leads’t thy serpent to an empty table. Though her silken flanks with garlands were drest, She will silent be and no soul to tell. Risk that thy worm be hero to a fable If thou wilt shoot blanks on thy noble quest To strike with thy mallet her golden bell. O bending shape! Not fair erect to breed! As other men to maidens disappointed. She with forest branches and trodden weed, Did tease the blunted blade he once pointed. Cold Penis! When old age removes thy grace, And erection fails to her great sorrow There shall remain that beautiful truth: That when his stiff spoon with her milk is lac’d They think not of yesterday or tomorrow; All beauty is found in his sweet vermouth.
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Jul 3, 2014 01:15
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