Options

what is the best poem

13

Posts

  • Options
    QuothQuoth the Raven Miami, FL FOR REALRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    Dublo7 wrote: »
    either The Odyssey or The Iliad.

    or Paradise Lost

    Quoth on
  • Options
    FutoreFutore Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    someday you will die somehow and something's going to steal your carbon

    Futore on
    ETqXK.png
  • Options
    WeretacoWeretaco Cubicle Gangster Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    I think that I shall never see
    I poem as lovely as a tree

    or one from my high school poetry book:

    Crickets
    Then thunder

    Weretaco on
    Unofficial PA IRC chat: #paforums at irc.slashnet.org
  • Options
    AntimatterAntimatter Devo Was Right Gates of SteelRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    The best poem is clearly The Locomotive Sloth.
    e: It exists, trust me.

    Antimatter on
  • Options
    JigrahJigrah Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    I like Wilfred Owens poems a lot,

    Like a super lot.

    Jigrah on
  • Options
    The GeekThe Geek Oh-Two Crew, Omeganaut Registered User, ClubPA regular
    edited March 2009
    Poetry sucks.

    The Geek on
    BLM - ACAB
  • Options
    cj iwakuracj iwakura The Rhythm Regent Bears The Name FreedomRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iFMY4jJ6SVE
    (2:14)
    Our bodies are given life from the midst of nothingness. Existing where there is nothing is the meaning of the phrase, 'Form is emptiness'. That all things are provided for by nothingness is the meaning of the phrase, 'Emptiness is form.' One should not think these are two separate things.

    cj iwakura on
    wVEsyIc.png
  • Options
    brokecrackerbrokecracker Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    I Met A Genius:
    by
    Charles Bukowski


    I met a genius on the train
    today
    about 6 years old,
    he sat beside me
    and as the train
    ran down along the coast
    we came to the ocean
    and then he looked at me
    and said,
    it's not pretty.

    it was the first time I'd
    realized
    that.

    brokecracker on
  • Options
    deadlyrhetoricdeadlyrhetoric "We could be two straight lines in a crooked world."__BANNED USERS regular
    edited March 2009
    cj iwakura wrote: »
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iFMY4jJ6SVE
    (2:14)
    Our bodies are given life from the midst of nothingness. Existing where there is nothing is the meaning of the phrase, 'Form is emptiness'. That all things are provided for by nothingness is the meaning of the phrase, 'Emptiness is form.' One should not think these are two separate things.

    This.

    deadlyrhetoric on
  • Options
    Bad-BeatBad-Beat Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    Leisure wrote:
    What is this life if, full of care,
    We have no time to stand and stare.
    No time to stand beneath the boughs
    And stare as long as sheep or cows.
    No time to see, when woods we pass,
    Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
    No time to see, in broad daylight,
    Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
    No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
    And watch her feet, how they can dance.
    No time to wait till her mouth can
    Enrich that smile her eyes began.
    A poor life this if, full of care,
    We have no time to stand and stare.

    Bad-Beat on
  • Options
    QuothQuoth the Raven Miami, FL FOR REALRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    PIECE OF SHIT
    by
    Charles Bukowski

    SHITSHITSHIT

    this poem sucks and so does bukowski

    Quoth on
  • Options
    QuothQuoth the Raven Miami, FL FOR REALRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    Jigrah wrote: »
    I like Wilfred Owens poems a lot,

    Like a super lot.

    you have earned a hi5

    Quoth on
  • Options
    DogDog Registered User, Administrator, Vanilla Staff admin
    edited March 2009
    The Hollow Men
    T. S. Eliot


    I

    We are the hollow men
    We are the stuffed men
    Leaning together
    Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
    Our dried voices, when
    We whisper together
    Are quiet and meaningless
    As wind in dry grass
    Or rats’ feet over broken glass
    In our dry cellar

    Shape without form, shade without colour,
    Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

    Those who have crossed
    With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
    Remember us—if at all—not as lost
    Violent souls, but only
    As the hollow men
    The stuffed men.

    II

    Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
    In death’s dream kingdom
    These do not appear:
    There, the eyes are
    Sunlight on a broken column
    There, is a tree swinging
    And voices are
    In the wind’s singing
    More distant and more solemn
    Than a fading star.

    Let me be no nearer
    In death’s dream kingdom
    Let me also wear
    Such deliberate disguises
    Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
    In a field
    Behaving as the wind behaves
    No nearer—

    Not that final meeting
    In the twilight kingdom

    III

    This is the dead land
    This is cactus land
    Here the stone images
    Are raised, here they receive
    The supplication of a dead man’s hand
    Under the twinkle of a fading star.

    Is it like this
    In death’s other kingdom
    Waking alone
    At the hour when we are
    Trembling with tenderness
    Lips that would kiss
    Form prayers to broken stone.

    IV

    The eyes are not here
    There are no eyes here
    In this valley of dying stars
    In this hollow valley
    This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

    In this last of meeting places
    We grope together
    And avoid speech
    Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

    Sightless, unless
    The eyes reappear
    As the perpetual star
    Multifoliate rose
    Of death’s twilight kingdom
    The hope only
    Of empty men.

    V

    Here we go round the prickly pear
    Prickly pear prickly pear
    Here we go round the prickly pear
    At five o’clock in the morning.

    Between the idea
    And the reality
    Between the motion
    And the act
    Falls the Shadow
    For Thine is the Kingdom

    Between the conception
    And the creation
    Between the emotion
    And the response
    Falls the Shadow
    Life is very long

    Between the desire
    And the spasm
    Between the potency
    And the existence
    Between the essence
    And the descent
    Falls the Shadow
    For Thine is the Kingdom

    For Thine is
    Life is
    For Thine is the

    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    Not with a bang but a whimper.

    Unknown User on
  • Options
    QuothQuoth the Raven Miami, FL FOR REALRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    rob o'thero also gets a hi5

    Quoth on
  • Options
    DavoidDavoid Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    O quam te memorem virgo…



    STAND on the highest pavement of the stair—
    Lean on a garden urn—
    Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair—
    Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise—
    Fling them to the ground and turn
    With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
    But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.

    So I would have had him leave,
    So I would have had her stand and grieve,
    So he would have left
    As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
    As the mind deserts the body it has used.
    I should find
    Some way incomparably light and deft,
    Some way we both should understand,
    Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.

    She turned away, but with the autumn weather
    Compelled my imagination many days,
    Many days and many hours:
    Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
    And I wonder how they should have been together!
    I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
    Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
    The troubled midnight and the noon’s repose.

    Davoid on
    rqv6.png
  • Options
    Bad-BeatBad-Beat Registered User regular
    edited January 2012
    poems

    Bad-Beat on
  • Options
    DavoidDavoid Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    the fucking cops are fucking keen

    to fucking keep it fucking clean

    the fucking chief's a fucking swine

    who fucking draws a fucking line

    at fucking fun and fucking games

    the fucking kids he fucking blames

    are nowehere to be fucking found

    anywhere in chicken town


    the fucking scene is fucking sad

    the fucking news is fucking bad

    the fucking weed is fucking turf

    the fucking speed is fucking surf

    the fucking folks are fucking daft

    don't make me fucking laugh

    it fucking hurts to look around

    everywhere in chicken town


    the fucking train is fucking late

    you fucking wait you fucking wait

    you're fucking lost and fucking found

    stuck in fucking chicken town


    the fucking view is fucking vile

    for fucking miles and fucking miles

    the fucking babies fucking cry

    the fucking flowers fucking die

    the fucking food is fucking muck

    the fucking drains are fucking fucked

    the colour scheme is fucking brown

    everywhere in chicken town

    the fucking pubs are fucking dull

    the fucking clubs are fucking full

    of fucking girls and fucking guys

    with fucking murder in their eyes

    a fucking bloke is fucking stabbed

    waiting for a fucking cab

    you fucking stay at fucking home

    the fucking neighbors fucking moan

    keep the fucking racket down

    this is fucking chicken town


    the fucking train is fucking late

    you fucking wait you fucking wait

    you're fucking lost and fucking found

    stuck in fucking chicken town


    the fucking pies are fucking old

    the fucking chips are fucking cold

    the fucking beer is fucking flat

    the fucking flats have fucking rats

    the fucking clocks are fucking wrong

    the fucking days are fucking long

    it fucking gets you fucking down

    evidently chicken town

    Davoid on
    rqv6.png
  • Options
    QuothQuoth the Raven Miami, FL FOR REALRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    oh la figlia

    eliot you are such a poet

    Quoth on
  • Options
    DavoidDavoid Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    I like big butts and I can not lie
    You other brothers can't deny
    That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
    And a round thing in your face
    You get sprung
    Wanna pull up tough
    Cuz you notice that butt was stuffed
    Deep in the jeans she's wearing
    I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
    Oh, baby I wanna get with ya
    And take your picture
    My homeboys tried to warn me
    But that butt you got
    Make Me so horney
    Ooh, rump of smooth skin
    You say you wanna get in my benz
    Well use me use me cuz you aint that average groupy

    Davoid on
    rqv6.png
  • Options
    Bad-BeatBad-Beat Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    There once was a man from Devizes,
    whose balls were two different sizes.
    One was small,
    and did nothing at all.
    The other was big and won prizes.

    Bad-Beat on
  • Options
    TamTam Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    Quoth wrote: »
    Dublo7 wrote: »
    either The Odyssey or The Iliad.

    or Paradise Lost

    or the Mahabharata

    this is a list of epic poems, right?

    Tam on
  • Options
    QuothQuoth the Raven Miami, FL FOR REALRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    Tam wrote: »
    Quoth wrote: »
    Dublo7 wrote: »
    either The Odyssey or The Iliad.

    or Paradise Lost

    or the Mahabharata

    this is a list of epic poems, right?

    it is a list of the best poems

    your contribution is worthy

    Quoth on
  • Options
    KovakKovak did a lot of drugs married cher?Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    whatsup dogg
    got some sour diesel
    lets hit a g-bub
    goddamn

    Kovak on
  • Options
    LoomdunLoomdun Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    yo bro

    we gotta get some chicks bro

    chicks bro drinks on the ice bro

    something something bro

    the end

    Loomdun on
    splat
  • Options
    KovakKovak did a lot of drugs married cher?Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    bryce
    we gonna have a party
    this friday
    you got the
    ho train

    Kovak on
  • Options
    DavoidDavoid Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    loomdun

    loon dumb

    loomdun

    loomDUN DUN DUNNNN

    Davoid on
    rqv6.png
  • Options
    LoomdunLoomdun Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    Da va dava va-void

    doyvoy davdoy

    davoid

    Loomdun on
    splat
  • Options
    QuothQuoth the Raven Miami, FL FOR REALRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    god damnit you worthless maggots, go suck wind in another thread

    prisoners of yer own butts
    Eyes Fastened With Pins
    by Charles Simic

    How much death works,
    No one knows what a long
    Day he puts in. The little
    Wife always alone
    Ironing death's laundry.
    The beautiful daughters
    Setting death's supper table.
    The neighbors playing
    Pinochle in the backyard
    Or just sitting on the steps
    Drinking beer. Death,
    Meanwhile, in a strange
    Part of town looking for
    Someone with a bad cough,
    But the address somehow wrong,
    Even death can't figure it out
    Among all the locked doors...
    And the rain beginning to fall.
    Long windy night ahead.
    Death with not even a newspaper
    To cover his head, not even
    A dime to call the one pining away,
    Undressing slowly, sleepily,
    And stretching naked
    On death's side of the bed.

    Quoth on
  • Options
    DavoidDavoid Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    1.
    No, no go not to Lethe, neither twist
    Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine ;
    Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
    By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine ;
    Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
    Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
    Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
    A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries ;
    For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
    And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

    2.
    But when the melancholy fit shall fall
    Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
    That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
    And hides the green hill in an April shroud ;
    Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
    Or on the rainbow of the salt sand wave,
    Or on the wealth of globed peonies ;
    Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
    Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
    And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

    3.
    She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die ;
    And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
    Bidding adieu ; and aching Pleasure nigh,
    Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips :
    Ay, in the very temple of Delight
    Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
    Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
    Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine ;
    His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
    And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
    butts butts butts butts

    Davoid on
    rqv6.png
  • Options
    LoomdunLoomdun Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    I have no friends because of my pain

    I cut myself to let it all drain

    I'll spread my single wing, like the angel SEPHIROTH

    BECAUSE I AM A IMMORTAL THAT WILL NEVER DIE AND I WEAR BLACK MAKEUP

    the end

    Loomdun on
    splat
  • Options
    Donovan PuppyfuckerDonovan Puppyfucker A dagger in the dark is worth a thousand swords in the morningRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    [Run]
    Unemployment at a record high
    People coming, people going, people born to die
    Don't ask me, because I don't know why
    But it's like that, and that's the way it is

    [D.M.C.]
    People in the world try to make ends meet
    You try to ride car, train, bus, or feet
    I said you got to work hard to want to compete
    It's like that, and that's the way it is
    Huh!

    [Run & D.M.C. alternate lines for the remainder of the song]
    Money is the key to end all your woes
    Your ups and your downs, your highs and your lows
    Won't you tell me last time that love bought you clothes?
    It's like that, and that's the way it is

    Bills fly higher every day
    We receive much lower pay
    I'd rather stay young, go out and play
    It's like that, and that's the way it is
    Huh!

    War's going on across the sea
    Street soldiers killing the elderly
    What ever happened to unity?
    It's like that, and that that's the way it is

    Disillusion is the word
    That's used by me when I'm not heard
    I just go through life with my glasses blurred
    It's like that, and that's the way it is
    Huh!

    You can see a lot in this lifespan
    Like a bum eating out of a garbage can
    You notice one time he was your man
    It's like that (what?) and that's the way it is

    You should've gone to school, you could've learned a trade
    But you laid in bed where the bums have laid
    Now all the time you're crying that you're underpaid
    It's like that (what?) and that's the way it is
    Huh!

    One thing I knoe is that life is short
    So listen up homeboy, give this a thought
    The next time someone's teaching why don't you get taught?
    It's like that (what?) and that's the way it is

    If you really think about it times aren't that bad
    The one that stretches for success will make you glad
    Stop playing start praying, you won't be sad
    It's like that (what?) and that's the way it is
    Huh!

    When you feel you fail sometimes it hurts
    For a meaning in life is why you search
    Take the boys on the train, drive to school on the church
    It's like that, and that's the way it is

    Here's another point in life you should not miss
    Do not be a fool who's prejudice
    Because we're all written down on the same list
    It's like that (what?) and that's the way it is
    Huh! (Repeat 4x)

    You know it's like that, and that's the way it is
    Because it's like that, and that's the way it is

    Donovan Puppyfucker on
  • Options
    TamTam Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    FUCK YES
    The next time someone's teaching why don't you get taught?

    this so hard

    Tam on
  • Options
    Donovan PuppyfuckerDonovan Puppyfucker A dagger in the dark is worth a thousand swords in the morningRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    I particularly like the verse

    "One thing I know is that life is short
    So listen up homeboy, give this a thought
    The next time someone's teaching why don't you get taught?
    It's like that (what?) and that's the way it is"

    Run DMC is some good shit right there...

    Donovan Puppyfucker on
  • Options
    RichardTauberRichardTauber Kvlt Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    GO, GO, GO!" DAVID SHOUTED,
    AND JOHN Andrews hit the gas, whipping
    the minivan around a tight corner
    as gunfire thundered through
    the
    cold
    Maine
    night.

    RichardTauber on
  • Options
    Charles KinboteCharles Kinbote Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    The Windhover
    To Christ Our Lord

    I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-
    dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
    Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
    High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
    In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
    As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
    Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
    Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

    Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
    Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
    Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

    No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
    Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
    Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

    Charles Kinbote on
  • Options
    SalSal Damnedest Little Fellow Registered User regular
    edited March 2009
    The Raven


    Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
    Only this, and nothing more."

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
    Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
    "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
    This it is, and nothing more."

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide the door; —
    Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" —
    Merely this, and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
    Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —
    'Tis the wind and nothing more."

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
    "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —
    Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as "Nevermore."

    But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
    That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered— not a feather then he fluttered —
    Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before —
    On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
    Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —
    Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
    Of 'Never — nevermore'."

    But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
    Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —
    What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
    She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath sent thee
    Respite — respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —
    Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —
    On this home by horror haunted— tell me truly, I implore —
    Is there - is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!"
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting —
    "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!— quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
    And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted — nevermore!

    Sal on
    xet8c.gif


  • Options
    Donovan PuppyfuckerDonovan Puppyfucker A dagger in the dark is worth a thousand swords in the morningRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    Simpsons did it!

    Donovan Puppyfucker on
  • Options
    DruhimDruhim Registered User, ClubPA regular
    edited March 2009
    Bad-Beat wrote: »
    There once was a man from East Sheen,
    Who invented a Wanking Machine.
    At the 11'o stroke,
    The bloody thing broke.
    And Mashed his balls to ice cream.
    There once was a man from Aberdeen
    who invented a fucking machine
    concave or convex, 't would fit either sex
    but oh, what a bastard to clean

    Druhim on
    belruelotterav-1.jpg
  • Options
    sarukunsarukun RIESLING OCEANRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    Emo poetry is hilarious

    One of the times I attempted to go to college, I made the mistake of taking a creative writing course. This one chick with a big 'ol ladyboner for e.e. cummings wrote a poem featuring the line "I spread my wings like legs and fly"

    I laughed so hard that I was asked to leave the classroom

    Also:
    Touching.jpg

    I got straight-up angry at some of the people in my writing classes.

    On girl wrote a short story that, in the end, "was all a dream". What she wrote up to that point was actually pretty okay, but I was furious. "Thanks for wasting my fucking time".


    Then there was the guy whose final sentence in his short story was "Because there is no magic, only people moving through space".

    sarukun on
  • Options
    sarukunsarukun RIESLING OCEANRegistered User regular
    edited March 2009
    we sit together
    the mountain and i
    until only the mountain remains


    (if you catch where this is from you are the best e-bud)

    Why is this familiar.

    Edit: It is apparently a Chinese Poem? It reminded me of a Japanese novel I read in college called "The Sound of the Mountain" or somethign.

    sarukun on
Sign In or Register to comment.