I stand on the hill, not for a thrill, but for the breath of a fresh kill. Never mind the man who contemplates doin' away with license plates. He stands alone, anyhow, bakin' the cookies of discontent by the heat of the laundromat vent. Leavin' his soul... Leavin' his soul!!!! And partin' the waters of the medulla oblongata of - -brrrrrr! - -mankind!!!
A Busty Cameltoe Doesn't Excite Faggy Guy. His Introspective Jumble Kindles Loving Men. Nobody Obilges Post. Quite Repugnant. Such Terrible Undertones. Very Wack. Xenophobes Yawn Zealously.
A batboy can do exactly four games. Hidden in juice kids like multiple nuggets of pulp. Quickly review some teenagers unique voting with x-rays. Yes, zag.
Oh this poem touched me deep down inside. Not, BORING. Signed, anonymous? Clutch City1993... I don't get it...
since politicians can borrow great speeches made by great revolutionaries, I decided to borrow just a couple of lines and wrote the following...... You're beggin' me to go, you're makin' me stay Why do you hurt me so bad? It would help me to know Do I stand in your way, or am I the best thing you've had? Believe me, believe me, I can't tell you why But I'm trapped by your love, and I'm chained to your side We are young, heartache to heartache we stand No promises, no demands Love Is A Battlefield We are strong, no one can tell us we're wrong Searchin' our hearts for so long, both of us knowing Love Is A Battlefield We're losing control Will you turn me away or touch me deep inside? And before this gets old, will it still feel the same? There's no way this will die But if we get much closer, I could lose control And if your heart surrenders, you'll need me to hold. I hope you guys enjoyed it.
I used to love her but i had to kill her i used to love her oooh but i had to kill her she bit so much she drove me nuts now she's buried in my backyard. -Axl Rose
Something about this seems a bit unsettling. Nothing wrong with getting beat up emotionally over a girl (it IS a girl right?), but writing this poem is kinda gay. Not that I don't feel your pain, but common man.. don't write a ***** poem.
Not bad, but you have quite a way to go to get to this level. Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearièd, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea-shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. O Attic shape! fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'
laugh of the day. OP, in all seriousness, nothing wrong with writing poetry and expressing your emotions! don't let these john wayne types tell you how to write! only next time, make SURE it doesn't suck before posting it on the internet. cause it sucked.
i dont get why you put anonymous at the bottom when you state that its your first and only poem. also for some reason i thought it was CCR posting the poem until i saw his post further down and had to do a double take. Too many similar bbs handles here.
wellllll I dont think it sucked, I just felt like posting it to see what you guys thought, that is...if you could actually understand it. I see alot of bs threads in the hangout sometimes and figured it wouldn't hurt to actually post something that has a point (to be critiqued on my writing) I wasn't depressed when writing this, as a matter fact it felt great to write it. & the only reason why I posted anonymous at the bottom was simply b/c i didn't wanna give my actual name, im fine with my bbs name. I really don't understand all the hate. But whatever makes you feel better about youself.
