|11-15-2003, 03:58 AM||#47|
How about original satire?
we really into piís
we got a new slide rule
we did good at math in school
we into arcs and sines
we like to write code lines
we donít get many dates
we soon become Bill Gates.
|11-15-2003, 04:01 AM||#48|
Join Date: Sep 2002
Location: just ducky
much more interesting to me...
I can get e.e.cummings anywhere
can only get you *here*
ďAs long as the world is turning and spinning, we're gonna be dizzy and we're gonna make mistakes.Ē ~ Mel Brooks
|11-15-2003, 04:14 AM||#49|
Sorry about this one, Frost Fans.
BTW, the idea of that last poem was pilfered from a cd I heard once. This one is totally original. I hope.
Stealing a beer on a foolish evening
(or, dealing a smirk on R. Frostís writing)
(Sorry, I love ďStopping by woods on a snowy eveningĒ-- as Iím sure many of us do-- but because I love it, I have to make a joke about it).
Whose beer this is, I think I know.
He wonít mind if I sip it, though
He will not see me sitting here
in my inebriated glow
Ah, yes! A glass of Guinness Beer!
The finest ever to appear!
But just when everything seems jake,
I see my friend is coming near.
I almost make a big mistake
and drop the beer! Oh, no! A lake
of beer lands on my trousers! Yeep!
There isnít much more left to take.
I feel the beer begin to creep
in my undies, but I donít peep:
Thatís what I get for being cheap,
thatís what I get for being cheap.
|11-21-2003, 07:08 AM||#50|
Date a tu cuerpo allegrŪa macerena,
que to cuerpo es para dar allegrŪa y cosas buenas.
Date a tu cuerpo allegrŪa macerena!
Let us go then, you and I
while the eveningís dark as chocolate pie
layed out carefully upon a table.
Let us go, passing uneaten sweets
those donuts, tasty eats,
that send my scale plunging down the wells,
inflate my gut, as a beachball swells.
No! please donít tell me what is in it!
I know itís bad, but bear and grin it.
In the room, the waiters come and go,
with platters of cookies in tow.
I have measured out my life with refractometers.
|01-03-2004, 10:15 PM||#51|
If I were just a kitty kat,
Iíd beg for food from where you sat
and you would pour and I would purr
and then Iíd eat my food for sure.
The house would be upon a ranch
Iíd climb and sit upon a branch
and drop on unsuspecting birds
and purr at masterís chastening words.
If I were only a feline
Iíd meow to be let out and whine
that other cats are in the house
and drag in entrails of mouse.
Alas or perhaps blessedly
Iím not a cat, Iím only me.
|02-01-2004, 07:06 AM||#52|
We dance the quiggly-doo, today
we dance the quiggly-doo.
And nothing is quite so flibberidicious
as dancing the quiggly doo.
What is the quiggly-doo?
Iím sure, my friends, youíre inquiring.
Itís hard to describe this impossible dance-
I can feel my poor mind perspiring!
The quiggly doo, the quiggly doo
is danced with a pilfered old miffery shoe.
You must stand up straight
and slouch, and say BOO!
If you want to dance the quiggly doo.
We dance the quiggly doo, today,
we dance the quiggly doo.
We romp among momps and we blee with the fleas
to the sound of a didgeridoo.
Last edited by rapscalious rob : 02-06-2004 at 05:55 PM.
|02-06-2004, 06:02 PM||#53|
Got both socks and shoes mismated!
Lawdy mercy, Iís frustrated!
A short poem (of great significance)
I wish the rent
were heaven sent
-Langston Hughes (again)
|02-06-2004, 06:14 PM||#54|
A selection of gems from Wallace Stevenís Sunday Morning
Divinity must live within herself:
Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
Elations when the forest blooms; gusty
Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
The sky will be much friendlier then than now,
A part of labor and a part of pain,
And next in glory to enduring love,
Not this dividing and indifferent blue.
We live in an old chaos of the sun,
or old dependency of day and night
or island solitude, unsponsered, free
of that wide water, inescapable.
at evening, casual flocks of pidgeons make
ambiguous undulations, as they sink
downward to darkness on extended wings.
|03-16-2004, 07:59 AM||#55|
One day, a man was walking down the street when a particularly strong blast of wind hit him. Normally this would have just caused his hair to whip around and his pants to cling against his leg on one side, but today, he fell over and was dragged along with it, like a plastic grocery bag or a thin cardboard box. He tumbled haphazardly through traffic, blown up and down by the wind filling the vacuum left by the rapidly moving cars, and eventually reached a lake, where he settled and floated along, like a leaf. After a while, the cool water of the lake made him solidify more, filling in the hole in his back, and he sank. Here, underwater, he transmogrified into stone, and fish came inside to live, while coral and barnacles happily calcified his body. At least, in the place where his lips used to be, there was a smile.
|04-17-2004, 08:30 AM||#56|
bifurcation of our paths like deer trails
rambling through the hillsides over rocks and fences.
fall over time,
fall into time
our neurons branch until the memories,
nested in the synapses,
are as ancient as scaley old oaks.
The birds there
wish they could fly away
into the open blue sky
into the cloud-lit sky
wish they could spread their wings
and range into the new distances
of planets and stars and galaxies
Last edited by rapscalious rob : 04-17-2004 at 08:50 AM.
|04-17-2004, 11:26 AM||#57|
Join Date: Aug 2003
Location: on Yur Last Nerve, huh?
|04-19-2004, 07:23 PM||#58|
Join Date: Apr 2004
Location: always in some kind of trouble!!!
Clouds form all around,
drifting to & fro, along the ground.
I hear the laughter of long ago.
Wisps of clouds, moving slow,
hiding what I once could see.
Now clad only in white memories.
|04-19-2004, 07:25 PM||#59|
Join Date: Mar 2004
Location: behind you
The First Seal
You are the first morningís coffee
You are the man on the white horse
You are a one winged butterfly
A vacant box
A garden gnome
I am the coffee maker
I am Eve
I am the child
|04-19-2004, 08:35 PM||#60|
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