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devin2 posted:anyone lived in a pretty how town
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Nov 2, 2014 09:56
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| # ? Apr 27, 2024 06:57 |
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Just give me a little atomic bomb Not too mutch just a little Enough to kill a horse in the street But there aren't any horses in the street Enough to knock the flowers from a bowl But I don't see any flowers in a bowl Enough then to frigthen my love But I don't have any love Well give me an atomic bomb then to scrub in my bathtub like a dirty and lovable child I've got a bathtub Just a little bomb general With pugnose Pink ears Smelling like underclothes in July Do you think I'm crazy? I think you’re crazy too So the way you think. Send me one before somebody else does.
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Nov 2, 2014 09:57
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This is a post, I like it a lot. Now here is a tip, never smoke pot.
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Nov 2, 2014 11:02
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Fredrik1 posted:This is a post, this guy is wrong it isn't that hard don't be a tard pass me the bong
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Nov 2, 2014 11:13
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Why did I click this thread? Nevermore.
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Nov 2, 2014 23:26
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Plato said that all poets should be banned from the Polis so ban all poets mods
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Nov 3, 2014 00:08
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i think poets still exist because people write poems
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Nov 3, 2014 00:53
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- hi
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Poetry? You mean song lyrics?
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Nov 3, 2014 01:36
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My love, do you recall the object which we saw, That fair, sweet, summer morn! At a turn in the path a foul carcass On a gravel strewn bed, Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman, Burning and dripping with poisons, Displayed in a shameless, nonchalant way Its belly, swollen with gases. The sun shone down upon that putrescence, As if to roast it to a turn, And to give back a hundredfold to great Nature The elements she had combined; And the sky was watching that superb cadaver Blossom like a flower. So frightful was the stench that you believed You'd faint away upon the grass. The blow-flies were buzzing round that putrid belly, From which came forth black battalions Of maggots, which oozed out like a heavy liquid All along those living tatters. All this was descending and rising like a wave, Or poured out with a crackling sound; One would have said the body, swollen with a vague breath, Lived by multiplication. And this world gave forth singular music, Like running water or the wind, Or the grain that winnowers with a rhythmic motion Shake in their winnowing baskets. The forms disappeared and were no more than a dream, A sketch that slowly falls Upon the forgotten canvas, that the artist Completes from memory alone. Crouched behind the boulders, an anxious dog Watched us with angry eye, Waiting for the moment to take back from the carcass The morsel he had left. — And yet you will be like this corruption, Like this horrible infection, Star of my eyes, sunlight of my being, You, my angel and my passion! Yes! thus will you be, queen of the Graces, After the last sacraments, When you go beneath grass and luxuriant flowers, To molder among the bones of the dead. Then, O my beauty! say to the worms who will Devour you with kisses, That I have kept the form and the divine essence Of my decomposed love!
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Nov 3, 2014 01:38
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Hot dog! (Hot dog) Hot dog! Hot dog, hot dog hot diggety dog Now we got ears it's time for cheers Hot dog, hot dog the problem's solved Hot dog, hot dog hot diggety dog Grab my boots and a sandwich Let's start a parade Get the coconut drum kit For Daisy to play Hot dog, hot dog hot diggety dog We're taking off we're dancing now Hot dog, leapfrog and holy cow Hot dog, hot dog hot diggety dog Hot dog, hot dog hot diggety dog It's a brand new day Whatcha waiting for? Get up, stretch out stomp on the floor Hot dog, hot dog hot diggety dog Hot dog, hot dog hot diggety dog We're splitting the scene We're full of beans So long for now from Mickey Mouse (That's me!) And the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse
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Nov 3, 2014 02:10
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Nah bro.
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Nov 3, 2014 02:23
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gadji beri bimba glandridi laula lonni cadori gadjama gramma berida bimbala glandri galassassa laulitalomini gadji beri bin blassa glassala laula lonni cadorsu sassala bim gadjama tuffm i zimzalla binban gligla wowolimai bin beri ban o katalominai rhinozerossola hopsamen laulitalomini hoooo gadjama rhinozerossola hopsamen bluku terullala blaulala loooo zimzim urullala zimzim urullala zimzim zanzibar zimzalla zam elifantolim brussala bulomen brussala bulomen tromtata velo da bang band affalo purzamai affalo purzamai lengado tor gadjama bimbalo glandridi glassala zingtata pimpalo ögrögöööö viola laxato viola zimbrabim viola uli paluji malooo tuffm im zimbrabim negramai bumbalo negramai bumbalo tuffm i zim gadjama bimbala oo beri gadjama gaga di gadjama affalo pinx gaga di bumbalo bumbalo gadjamen gaga di bling blong gaga blung
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Nov 3, 2014 02:28
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Here I sit Broken hearted Came to poo poo But only farted
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Nov 3, 2014 02:49
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Pththya-lyi posted:John Wilmot's take on a subject important to many goons: This guy's real lucky, looks like he almost got to gently caress.
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Nov 3, 2014 02:53
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Black on White "We must secure the existence of our people and a future for White Children" I watch Black muscles straining with passion Black buttocks glistening with sweat Black man loving my (white) wife "Because the beauty of the White Aryan woman must not perish from the earth" He moans as his mighty black cock shoots long streams of white cum like a throbbing veiny Maxim gun
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Nov 3, 2014 03:24
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The Late Sir John Ogilvy by William McGonagall 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.
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Nov 3, 2014 03:25
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I will sodomize you and face-gently caress you, bottom Aurelius and catamite Furius, you who think, because my poems are sensitive, that I have no shame. For it's proper for a devoted poet to be moral himself, [but] in no way is it necessary for his poems. In point of fact, these have wit and charm, if they are sensitive and a little shameless, and can arouse an itch, and I don't mean in boys, but in those hairy old men who can't get it up. Because you've read my countless kisses, you think less of me as a man? I will sodomize you and face-gently caress you. 
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Nov 3, 2014 03:31
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Cthulu Carl posted:I will sodomize you and face-gently caress you, wisdom of the ancients
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Nov 3, 2014 03:32
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There once was a man from Nantucket whose dilz was so large that he could perform fellatio on himself without needing to be some sort of contortionist ...gently caress it
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Nov 3, 2014 20:42
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I dislike poems that go on for more than a page If I wanted to read a god drat book I wouldn't have a poetry book in my hand!!
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Nov 4, 2014 20:40
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ODE TO MY loving SOCKS Maru Mori brought me a pair of socks which she knitted herself with her sheepherder's hands, two socks as soft as rabbits. I slipped my feet into them as if they were two cases knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin, Violent socks, my feet were two fish made of wool, two long sharks sea blue, shot through by one golden thread, two immense blackbirds, two cannons, my feet were honored in this way by these heavenly socks. They were so handsome for the first time my feet seemed to me unacceptable like two decrepit firemen, firemen unworthy of that woven fire, of those glowing socks. Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation to save them somewhere as schoolboys keep fireflies, as learned men collect sacred texts, I resisted the mad impulse to put them in a golden cage and each day give them birdseed and pieces of pink melon. Like explorers in the jungle who hand over the very rare green deer to the spit and eat it with remorse, I stretched out my feet and pulled on the magnificent socks and then my shoes. The moral of my ode is this: beauty is twice beauty and what is good is doubly good when it is a matter of two socks made of wool in winter.
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Nov 4, 2014 20:48
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Lufiron posted:ODE TO MY loving SOCKS I removed the line breaks and it still sucks gg poetry, you're done
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Nov 5, 2014 04:41
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lightning crashes, a new mother cries her placenta falls to the floor the angel opens her eyes the confusion sets in before the doctor can even close the door lightning crashes, an old mother dies her intentions fall to the floor the angel closes her eyes the confusion that was hers belongs now, to the baby down the hall oh now feel it comin' back again like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind forces pullin' from the center of the earth again I can feel it. lightning crashes, a new mother cries this moment she's been waiting for the angel opens her eyes pale blue colored iris, presents the circle and puts the glory out to hide, hide
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Nov 5, 2014 05:02
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I'm not big on poetry. You can say more by writing it out normally.
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Nov 5, 2014 05:29
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| # ? Apr 27, 2024 06:57 |
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qB4cdRgIcB8 Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind. Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. . . Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.
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Nov 5, 2014 05:43
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