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MartianJoeyWinson
Sep 24th, 2002, 12:52 AM
It sometimes makes me wonder,
Why they say a full moon makes me mad,
Why? There's a full moon out tonight!
And groodle mendle frad.

Jetta
Sep 24th, 2002, 02:03 AM
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.

:p

MartianJoeyWinson
Sep 24th, 2002, 02:10 AM
I eased into the armchair,
'twas just the other eve,
Round about half past eight,
On a Wednesday I beleive

I quaffed my chilled refreshment
It really hit the spot
I nibbled on some Doritos'
With chilli dip, extra hot.

And then I let go the biggest fart I ever did,
'effing marvellous it was!

lemon
Sep 24th, 2002, 02:57 AM
Asomewhat disturbing poem, I wrote a bit ago :o :D

In Flander's Fields, the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place, and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow
Loved, and were loved
And now we lie in Flander's Fields
Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you from failing hands we throw the torch
Be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
I will remember...
In Flander's Field...

:o:o:o:o

M2k
Sep 24th, 2002, 03:19 AM
Lemon-Ice, a rather interesting read :o Good poet ;)

Scotso
Sep 24th, 2002, 03:22 AM
I like it lemon :D

Jetta
Sep 24th, 2002, 03:25 AM
Lemon, you're so talented. :kiss:

lemon
Sep 24th, 2002, 03:27 AM
:o I'm embarssed now :o

Jetta
Sep 24th, 2002, 03:28 AM
hehe don't be, I like people like you who really shows some quality talent. :)

lemon
Sep 24th, 2002, 03:30 AM
:o I'll try to find a few more good ones...:D but this one was like the only one I had inspiration to write. So the others are kinda crappy :o

Scotso
Sep 24th, 2002, 03:45 AM
i'll post some of mine in a few, if i don't lose the nerve

Scotso
Sep 24th, 2002, 04:03 AM
hallow souls and
empty creativity
filling up all the
hope-chest of the world
to one that i ask
to one that i answer
words mean little more
than that
ain'tcha, isn't ya?
what the hell?
see they interrupt my
train, choo-choo, of thought
oh yes
back to the
point i've been trying
to make
empty
all of it, what a work of
shit, all of it
what was that mother?
oh, i did my homework already
at least time exists
wouldn't want nothing to
happen all at the same time
i, think i think it's better in
how many doses do i have to take!
one in the morning, one at
night is such a lonely time
Cairo was built in a day you
know the Titanic shouldn't
don't make me turn this
horse around!
that's such a paradox
i don't think it's right
but i know it's
wrong to be mean
except to the people that steal your
wait Robert!
you forgot your
train of thought was interrupted
what was i saying
ah yes
safty in numbers
eggs are sold by the dozen
you know
this is you brain on
bad example
go home Johnny

Scotso
Sep 24th, 2002, 04:05 AM
I wrote this for my bf :rolleyes:


Some people look
Forever just to find
One perfect moment
And gain some peace of mind

Theyíre searching forever
Under every rock and stone
Never finding happiness
Always feeling alone

They only want so much
To make their dreams take shape
Their lives are so empty
And they feel they canít escape

Terror ravages their gentle souls
Refusing to allow
The people one single moment
To wipe sweat from their brow

They are eternally lost
In a world thatís full of pain
Their constant search for appeasement
Is driving them insane

Oh how they would hate me
If they only knew
I have a perfect moment
Every time that Iím with you

Jetta
Sep 24th, 2002, 04:38 AM
omg, that last one was great. :) Very nice scottie. :)

goseles
Sep 24th, 2002, 04:52 AM
Equality

It all seems amusing when the riddle
can tickle a bone.
When the joke's on you, though, you're
singing another tone.
When you're not really looking you're blinded
from all of your stares.
Become deaf when you listen to gossip
that somebody shares.
You think you're the best,
forget all the rest.
Well, the bad news is yet to be heard.
The bright days are here,
but the darkness is near.
So go quietly, don't say a word.

-- Me :)

CC
Sep 24th, 2002, 05:49 AM
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock---TS Eliot

S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question. . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair --
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin --
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all: --
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all --
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all --
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. . . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . tired . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a
platter,
I am no prophet -- and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all" --
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say, "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along
the floor --
And this, and so much more? --
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all." . . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous --
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.


(I would also put The Wasteland here, but I will have pity on you).:)

Jetta
Sep 24th, 2002, 06:04 AM
:hearts: TS Eliot :hearts:

BasicTennis
Sep 24th, 2002, 11:15 AM
keep it going,

while I enjoy reading.