Friday Poetry Corner

OOOoo Threaded uses his invention (Internet) and another invention (the search engine)

It's called

Feelings on Watching the Moon

Quite nice if you hear it announced properly.

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 tea pots 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!
The mice go Clang!
What a noisy place to belong,
Is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!

Spike 'Q8' Milligan

MisterGoof: Often howl at the moon through hunger do you? :lol

Summer grasses:
All that remains of great soldiers’
Imperial dreams.

I cross the void beyond the mind
The empty space that circles time
I see where others stumble blind
To seek a truth they never find
Eternal wisdom is my guide
I am the Doctor.

Through cosmic waste the Tardis flys
To taste the secret sauce of life
A presence science can't deny
Exists within outside behind
The latitude of the human mind
I am the Doctor.

My voyage disects the course of time
Who knows you say
But are you right
Who such indeed to find the light
That glows so darkly in the night
Toward that point I guide my flight.

As fingers move to end mankind
Metallic teeth begin to grind
With sword of truth I turn to fight
The satanic powers of the night
Is your faith before your mind
No man, Am I the Doctor?

- Jon Pertwee, I Am The Doctor

The Birth of Communism
What went wrong with Marx’s ideals,
To plunge thousands into Hell with meager meals?
Is it right to say it’s all his fault,
That people turned his writings into a leftist cult?

Marx’s works were published to be read,
And people liked his ideas about sharing bread.
Some began to rebel and were exiled from their homeland.
One such person was Lenin who moved to Switzerland.

A great war broke out in imperial Europe,
Pouring onto the land an ugly red syrup.
In the old Eastern land of the Tsar,
Government collapse was not too far.

Revolutionaries began to return home,
No longer being forced just to roam.
Change was coming to the Russian Empire,
The time of Tsar Nicholas began to expire.

Revolution began in the city of Petrograd.
Things went well and Lenin was very glad.
The year was 1917 and the month November,
Though they say it happened in October.

Like a Night Club in the morning, you’re the bitter end.
Like a recently disinfected @#%$-house, you’re clean round the bend.
You give me the horrors
too bad to be true
All of my tomorrow’s
are lousy coz of you.
You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain

You’re certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag.
Do us all a favour, here... wear this polythene bag.

You’re like a dose of scabies,
I’ve got you under my skin.
You make life a fairy tale... Grimm!

People mention murder, the moment you arrive.
I’d consider killing you if I thought you were alive.
You’ve got this slippery quality,
it makes me think of phlegm,
and a dual personality
I hate both of them.

Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay.
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away.
Like a death a birthday party,
you ruin all the fun.
Like a sucked and spat our smartie,
you’re no use to anyone.
Like the shadow of the guillotine
on a dead consumptive’s face.
Speaking as an outsider,
what do you think of the human race

You went to a progressive psychiatrist.
He recommended suicide...
before scratching your bad name off his list,
and pointing the way outside.

You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart.
You’re heading for a breakdown,
better pull yourself apart.

Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss.
Your attitudes are platitudes,
just make me wanna piss.

What kind of creature bore you
Was is some kind of bat
They can’t find a good word for you,
but I can...

TWAT.

JOHN COOPER CLARKE

CLAIR DE LUNE.

Your soul is as a moonlit landscape fair,
Peopled with maskers delicate and dim,
That play on lutes and dance and have an air
Of being sad in their fantastic trim.

The while they celebrate in minor strain
Triumphant love, effective enterprise,
They have an air of knowing all is vain,--
And through the quiet moonlight their songs rise,

The melancholy moonlight, sweet and lone,
That makes to dream the birds upon the tree,
And in their polished basins of white stone
The fountains tall to sob with ecstasy.

-Paul Verlaine

Madness & Vultures' Feast

In Europe it started big and massive;
Great wars, great loses, great feasts, 3Gs;
Human madness, mankind's zealousness;
We killed, we maimed, we polluted;
The air stenched, vultures rejoiced our madness.

Munition sounds, heavenly jet bombardments;
Destructions on earth, lives hacked away;
We fool, vultures feast and bury loved ones;
The air smell, bones criss-cross the land;
Warriors and people perish, senseless wars.

Whole wide earth besieged with 3Gs;
Wars, loses, senseless feasts, feasts on lives;
Asia arms, Mid E. rocks, Africa fight, Europe alert;
Vultures bury, grow on flesh, exhume as feces;
Bones criss-cross the land, pathetic signs of R.I.P.

C.Okereke