Here is mine

[i] Something grabs a hold of me tightly flow
like a harpoon daily and nightly
Will it ever stop? Yo -- I don't know
Turn off the lights and I'll glow[/i]

smack him if he's yellow
smack him if he's black
smack him till he fucks off
and doesn't come back

---
Batman created by Bob Kane

is that what you say when you masturbate?

...One day they hold you in the
Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you
Were the last raw egg in the world.
Then
They tighten up. Just a little.
The first squeeze is nice. A quick hug.
Soft in your defenselessness.
A little more. The hurt begins.
Wrench out a smile that slides around the fear.
When the air disappears,
Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,
Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.
It is your juice
That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.
When the earth rights itself again,
And taste tries to return to the tongue,
Your body has slammed shut. Forever.
No keys exist.

"Men" by Maya Angelou

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“It is only with the heart that one sees rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” - The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (1945)

THAT'S what Maya Angelou's face reminds me of! Runny eggs!

Whew, that's been driving me crazy for years.

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Legend, oh legend, the third wheel legend...always in the way.

Kip: [typing a poem on his computer] Your sandy hair floats in the air... To me it's like a lullaby... I'm just flying by... Oh so high... like a kite... tied to a skate...

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obscenity filter is off

this is my favorite(no excerpt):
"The Weary Blues"
by Langston Hughes
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway . . .
He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o' those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man's soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan--
"Ain't got nobody in all this world,
Ain't got nobody but ma self.
I's gwine to quit ma frownin'
And put ma troubles on the shelf."

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more--
"I got the Weary Blues
And I can't be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can't be satisfied--
I ain't happy no mo'
And I wish that I had died."
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.

---
obscenity filter is off

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogoves
And the mome raths outgrabe.

---
Legend, oh legend, the third wheel legend...always in the way.

With trembling hands he rolls his J's
Through fingers blue and stiff;
Pearl coughs and stares
With bloodshot gaze and puffs through blistered lips.
And as she reaches out her hand for another stick of gold
The Kid, he gasps, "Dammit Bitch! There's nothing left to roll!"

"Nothing left to roll?!" screams Pearl. Is this some twisted joke?!
I didn't come here to fuck around! Man I come here to SMOKE!"
And she reaches across the table and grabs his bony sleeves
Crumbling his body between her hands like dry and brittle leaves,
Flicking out his teeth and bones like useless stems and seeds.
Then the rols him in a zigzag and lights him like a roach,
And the fastest man with the fastest hands goes up in a puff of smoke.

In the laid back California town of sunny San Rafael
Lives a girl named Pearly Sweetcake; you probably know her well.
She's been stoned 21 of her 24 years and her story is still widely told
How she can smoke 'em faster than any dude can roll.

While off in New York City, down a street that has no name
Lay the hands of the Calistoga Kid in the Viper Hall of Fame.
And underneath his fingers there's a little golden scroll
Which reads: "Beware of being the Roller when there's nothing left to Roll."

Excerpt from Shel Silverstein's "The Great Smoke-Off"

---
It was such a waste of everyone’s time and money that even the Tokyo stadium’s rape robots apologized– something they were programmed specifically never to do.

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

--Philip Larkin (1974)

"i've got to thank God
for programming my beats
i've got to thank God
for writing all my rhymes
especially those ones about
shooting niggas and getting fucking stupid!"

the always belacose Mindless Self Indulgence, who also give us this beauty :

"tell me what you want me to be
what you want me to be
i could be the one turned on
all you niggas in the back come and jack me off"

---
Our liability coverage is zero. Our balls however are enormous.

"Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
[b]The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.[/b]"

By the great W.B. Yeats

With

---
There was once a man who said:"nothing is true!". Although later it was found out that he was lying.

quote:

---

"Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
[b]The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.[/b]"

By the great W.B. Yeats

With

---

me too, me too!

"This royal throne of kings, this scepter’d isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise...
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England"

-from Richard II

---
what if nigger meant kite

I will not eat them with a mouse
I will not eat them in a house
I will not eat green eggs and ham
I will not eat them, Sam I Am

Genius

Well, if we are to go completelly EDUCATED and nerd like...

"This Ring, no other, is made by the elves,
Who’d pawn their own mother to grab it themselves.
Ruler of creeper, mortal, and scallop,
This is a sleeper that packs quite a wallop.
The Power almighty rests in this Lone Ring.
The Power, alrighty, for doing your Own Thing.
If broken or busted, it cannot be remade.
If found, send to Sorhed (the postage is prepaid).”

From "bored of the rings"

---
There was once a man who said:"nothing is true!". Although later it was found out that he was lying.

[i]Ning Nang Nong
by Spike Milligan

On the Ning Nang Nong.
Where the cows go "bong!"
And the monkeys all say "boo".

There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go "ping!"
And the teapots "Jibber Jabber Joo!"

On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go "clang!"
And you just can't catch 'em when they do.

So it's
Ning Nang Nong, cows go "bong!"
Nong Nang Ning, trees go "ping!"
Nong Ning Nang, mice go "clang!"

What a noisy place to belong
Is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong.
[/i]

---
Please replace the handset, and try again.

I fucking hate poetry.

---
Mediocrity at its most average.

ntucke

---
ken.kaufman@gmail.com

They rung my bell to ask me
Could I recommend a maid
I said, "yes, yo' mama."

--Langston Hughes

---
What others say about boorite!

That's the best one yet.

---
"And Wirthling isn't worth the paper he isn't printed on."

attitudechicka:
'i fucking hate poetry'
she says in haiku

---
what if nigger meant kite

My Favorite Sappho Poem by ivytheplant 10-23-03

You might have noticed me quoting poetry lately. I love poetry, though only a select few like Baudelaire, Sappho, TS Eliot, Gwen Frostic, etc. I thought I would share my love of poetry by reciting my favorite Sappho poem...ahem... "soap"

More Poetry by ivytheplant 10-26-03

So apparently people are having problems understanding some of the poems I've been reciting. To make it easy for you, I will now recite poem 125-LP 184, E 18 by Sappho. Ahem... "danger"

Jabberwocky is the first poem I ever memorized completely. I still love it.

However, I generally dislike poetry. The real exception is the work of Dorothy Parker. That woman was a goddess. Below are 4 of my favorites from her.

On Being A Woman
Dorothy Parker

Why is it, when I am in Rome,
I'd give an eye to be at home,
But when on native earth I be,
My soul is sick for Italy?

And why with you, my love, my lord,
Am I spectacularly bored,
Yet do you up and leave me- then
I scream to have you back again?

Observation
Dorothy Parker

If I don't drive around the park,
I'm pretty sure to make my mark.
If I'm in bed each night by ten,
I may get back my looks again,
If I abstain from fun and such,
I'll probably amount to much,
But I shall stay the way I am,
Because I do not give a damn.

Résumé
Dorothy Parker

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

and my absolute favorite:

The Flaw In Paganism
Dorothy Parker

Drink and dance and laugh and lie,
Love, the reeling midnight through,
For tomorrow we shall die!
(But, alas, we never do.)

---
I am a delicate fucking flower. https://beacons.ai/jesskent

made this one before i saw the thread.

cc 298 doggeral and pony show by arbi 9-24-05

That's IT! I'm going 40 days without jerkin' my yerkin. Starting NOW!!! said the COW!!! There once was a chicken from Perkin, who wanted to be an Amer'can. She jumped on a frieghter, full of tomater, to get thousands of miles from her kin. A bushel's the same as a firkin.The Gerkha was wearing a burka 'n' jumped onto the frieghter and said see you later, while eating a handful of gerkin. She traded her gold for a zircon to a wiley young scot they called Sher Kahn. I'd like to go on, but something is wrong, my scansion and meter ain't workin'. Should I put him in a box? Can i sell him to the fox? Stripcreator surely rocks.

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woof