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Friday Poetry Corner

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    Friday Poetry Corner

    Obsession

    Forest, I fear you! In my ruined heart
    your roaring wakens the same agony
    as in cathedrals when the organ moans
    and from the depths I hear that I am damned.

    Ocean, I hate you! For I recognize
    the sobs and insults of my own despair,
    the bitter laughter of a beaten man
    repeated in the sea's huge gaiety.

    Night! You'd please me even more without these stars
    which speak a language I know all too well-
    I long for darkness, silence,
    nothing there. . .

    Yet even shadows have their shapes which live
    where I imagine them to be,
    the hordes of vanished souls
    whose eyes acknowledge mine.
    Autom...Sprow...Canna...Tik banna...Sandwol...But no sera smee

    #2
    Addicted To Women (Of The Smoke Filled Room)

    I'm a strip club junkie
    Been to them all
    The elegant and the funky
    I'm addicted to women
    They cause a chemical reaction
    As I bubble with semen
    It's more than knee action
    The dark smoky rooms
    Have a mystical affect
    Surrealism looms
    As I become erect
    On the main stage is Venus
    A beautiful gal
    Who use to have a penis
    When her name was Hal
    On my lap is the vivacious Tina
    Making cash as she goes through school
    Throw money or she'll say, "See ya"
    She's nobody's fool
    On top of my table is Choe
    Seductive and wild
    She'll give a blow
    Pretty good for a child
    Gotta love the strip clubs
    They 're dark and they're dingy
    but they cost money, so stay away if you're stingy
    Brexit is having a wee in the middle of the room at a house party because nobody is talking to you, and then complaining about the smell.

    Comment


      #3
      Five to one, baby
      One in five
      No one here gets out alive, now
      You get yours, baby
      I'll get mine
      Gonna make it, baby
      If we try

      The old get old
      And the young get stronger
      May take a week
      And it may take longer
      They got the guns
      But we got the numbers
      Gonna win, yeah
      We're takin' over
      Come on!

      Your ballroom days are over, baby
      Night is drawing near
      Shadows of the evening crawl across the years
      Ya walk across the floor with a flower in your hand
      Trying to tell me no one understands
      Trade in your hours for a handful dimes
      Gonna' make it, baby, in our prime
      The court heard Darren Upton had written a letter to Judge Sally Cahill QC saying he wasn’t “a typical inmate of prison”.

      But the judge said: “That simply demonstrates your arrogance continues. You are typical. Inmates of prison are people who are dishonest. You are a thoroughly dishonestly man motivated by your own selfish greed.”

      Comment


        #4
        Pretentious drivel WS. Means nowt. Not even to the author I suspect. Easy to string together phrases, I can do it for hours with little repetition, hesitation or deviation. So damn unfair, when de good lawd hand out talents, others get ability to forecast changes on the stock market or sway multitudes wid de oratory. You and I get ability to string together umpteen hours worth of crap.
        Last edited by xoggoth; 22 July 2005, 18:24.
        bloggoth

        If everything isn't black and white, I say, 'Why the hell not?'
        John Wayne (My guru, not to be confused with my beloved prophet Jeremy Clarkson)

        Comment


          #5
          The lawd, he just ignored me,
          when talent he gave to those about.
          I was there awaiting annointment,
          but no, why bother,
          what a waste it would be!

          Comment

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