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What is your favorite poem?

Just like the title states, what is your favorite poem?
Mine is London by William Blake.
I wander through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet,
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear:
How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening Church appals;
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.
But most through midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse.
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I actually found it from this song (that is based on it):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIbIK6NSLNU
What is your favorite poem?

The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
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Will You Be There - Michael Jackson
This Part,...
In Our Darkest Hour
In My Deepest Despair
Will You Still Care?
Will You Be There?
In My Trials
And My Tripulations
Through Our Doubts
And Frustrations
In My Violence
In My Turbulence
Through My Fear
And My Confessions
In My Anguish And My Pain
Through My Joy
And My Sorrow
In The Promise Of
Another Tomorrow
I'll Never Let You Part
For You're Always
In My Heart.
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One of my favorites by William Buttler Yeats
From whence did all this fury come
From empty tombe or virgin womb
Saint Joseph thought the world would melt
But liked the way his finger smelt

There once was a man from Nantucket....
MOD EDIT: Watch the Language!

I have 2 actually
If
by Rudyard Kipling
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
The Cremation of Sam McGee
by Robert Service
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold, till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead — it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."
A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you, to cremate those last remains."
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows — Oh God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared — such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear, you'll let in the cold and storm —
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Nothing beats Jabberwocky:
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
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Love's Philosophy
Love's Philosophy - Percy Bysshe Shelley
The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In another's being mingle --
Why not I with thine?
See, the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower could be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea; --
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?
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Shared by 2 as was a poem i sent my loved one...

my sis wrote this for me
Wat hs lyf taught me, numbr f things i din want 2 learn.
2 b on ma own,2 care 4 none
reality striked hard upon me
showed me wrld as hell 4 luv
doomed wid hatred as crown
i hd nothin 2 do bt 4 frown
me.. cry wid reality stingin hard on me
cry wid d changes witherin ...
Bt bad alwayz hs sumthin gud 2 show
sumthins u nvr xpct 2 be
god always hs his angels sent 2 ground
n here dey r 2 luk aftr thee
n wid 'u' ma dear bro
i believe he hs evn snt one 4 me.......

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits
On a lurgid bee
That mordiously hath bitled out
Its earted jurtles
Into a rancid festering [drowned out by moaning and screaming]
Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles
Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts
And living glupules frart and slipulate
Like jowling meated liverslime
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me
With crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon
See if I don't.
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by prostetnic vogon jeltz
thank you

In Flanders Fields
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
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 Flanders 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
In Flanders fields.
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

Like taking a candy from a girl on a stick / by Nir Cohen (2003)

It was a night unlike any other day,
I was standing on the edge of the cliff hugging the sunset - it kicked me in the head at about 40dB and asked me to leave her be so that she can finish her shift but alas, the moon stood her up.
I turned and walked in reverse. I fell. I fell again. I fell again. I was sick of falling so I got up when suddenly I felt myself surrounded. I felt right.
2 VR6 dogs, one brown, one left started negotiating with me a monologue and when they were done, they started running towards me with an ambition never seen that night. they worked on me for a few hours to think they're dogs. their work yielded my bones.
The cliff drew me towards itself. I pulled back but found it was charged with attractivity and i stayed hanging on it's lip. it screamed. I realized that David Copperfield is dead for a while now thus he cannot help me up.. and besides.. he's an asshole.
I grabbed the tongue of a mexican eggplant passing in its car at the same moment. assuming I prefered to stay alive, I decided to claim my innocence and ask the honorable eggplant to lift me up not foreseeing any dagner since an eggplant as all eggplants, is mute. Murphey decided to prove me wrong and the eggplant asked for a cigarette. to my surprise, I fell down.
Death was quick and insensitive, it cursed my existance in every possible way until i bled diet cola.
I returned to my home petit, and sprained my ankle. It hurt. As i sat to eat breakslow, my brain figured out that a mechanical catalogization of the day's happenings will certainly be preceived as a routine incident of prehistorical philanthropy and so, I will save the world. I sew a custome. returning to the cliff, I triple jumped from the cliff for inspiration but found that I am not strong enough as to flap my hands so to keep me in the air for more than a few moments and I banged my head on a sharp rock which calibrated its position to hit my brain a few moments before i landed.
A cornslice came out of an unhomogeneous door, stroke me a niner and lost itself to death.. poor corn.
spunked up, my decision to finish the day was fatal to my socks. I fell asleep to death.

I didnt know mescaline was still popular. I once puked whole sheets of plywood.

I was supposed to eat that pill? I gave it away as candy on halloween! I guess I live in a bad neighborhood so no harm done, right?
"There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a mod in the depths of an ether binge. And I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon."

..........

MMMMMMMMMMM.............weed...............mmmmmmmmmmmm

wOOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
CHOCOLATE RAIN!

i think nir is on crack today, or is it the studies

i actually followed evey word
it a whirlwind of emotion

mikechannon said:
I have to admit it is weirdly, madly deeply poetic. Certainly more than a walk on the embers of love with happiness obliterating the beacon of doom - well I think so anyway It reminds me of those heady days savouring the delights of that mushy wench, Psilosybin Mexicana.
Mike
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So you have visited and tested one of the Mexican deligths uh?

MMMMMMMMMM...................shrooms.....................mmmmmmmmmm

I don't use drugs. if in "shrooms" you are implying that i am

nir36 said:
I don't use drugs. if in "shrooms" you are implying that i am
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Don't worry, like most off topic's , I think the thread has left the OP behind.

ha ha shrooms
feeling totally left out as a teetotaler
it reminded me of a story be phillip k. **** (do andorids dream of electric sheep?, We can remember it for you wholesale, Minority report, paycheck)
i think its called The Story to End All Stories for Harlan Ellison’s Anthology Dangerous Visions and its from Volume V, The Little Black Box of his collected stories.
its basically about two he shes in space having a baby then fighting over it so one of them eats it up then they realise it was god

jayjay8585 said:
ha ha shrooms
feeling totally left out as a teetotaler
it reminded me of a story be phillip k. **** (do andorids dream of electric sheep?, We can remember it for you wholesale, Minority report, paycheck)
i think its called The Story to End All Stories for Harlan Ellison’s Anthology Dangerous Visions and its from Volume V, The Little Black Box of his collected stories.
its basically about two he shes in space having a baby then fighting over it so one of them eats it up then they realise it was god
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wow. I think i'm going to rewrite his story about that and post it here. sounds like a magical story.
I would like to recommend a few books.
- The man and the dildo, by ingmar booboofixer
- Walking on the moo, by someone who dislikes cows
- Garage Barage, by the US airforce
and
- Mixing up with the likes of thee - a story of brotherhood between sisters, by Horace Blackfont

The man and the dildo, by ingmar booboofixer
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a story of brotherhood between sisters
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Originally Posted by nir36 View Post
I don't use drugs. if in "shrooms" you are implying that i am
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.....
wth isent Quote's included in the 10chars limit?

Bah. I'm hurt. you are all assuming that such talent in writing idiotic, pointless things can only be done by being a junkie. OFFENDED is what i am. OFFENDED!

i dont
respect the mental mod massive!!!!

jayjay8585 said:
i dont
respect the mental mod massive!!!!
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what was the word i dont for

clearly you guys have gone crazier than I have. so to reclaim my insanitfy i'll post another story i wrote like 6 years ago.

The indian guy who didn't know why (biblical story)
it was 8:00 pm, and it was green
I leaped over to the window to watch a game of EarBall between 2eggplants who tried kick one another in the ear while the "babbit rabbit" ate one of them but the blinds were closed and I couldn't see anything.
I could not ignore the fact that by using an RPG you can just lift the blind and his sister but due the a short workday in radioactive cornflakes factory I gave up the sportive activity required to perform the action.
Even tho it was summer, it wasn't cold. on the contrary, i WAS cold. I went out to the garden to find a best viewing angle but the eggplants were already gone and "babbit rabbit" died from an epileptic siezure due to stamp overlicking.
I wore my underwear, went outside, and back in. I was sick of being inside all day so I came back in and went down to the attic to sort my collection of beans. one bean attacked me with a dropkick to the left brow but i managed to contain it by injecting 6 litres of cyanide to its left lobe. it screamed for help but there was no one there. Yossi died.
As i was sorting my beans by name, i felt a pat on my shoulder. I turned 360 degrees and saw exactly what i was seeing before. I thought that this might've been a defected calculation and maybe 520 more degrees are required... when suddenly, i saw it. a big head with nothing underneath was looking at me through glittering eyes with a huge nose, 2 eyebrows connected by a safety pin and 2 chin dimples.
the glittering eyes with the huge nose turned to me and asked: "who's boy are you?!"
I responded.
This was face traumatizing. since then, i do not go down to the attic anyless to sort beans by name - only by format (bean.exe.. and so forth)..

Fellow technology geeks, check this song out.

I realize not a lot of you are rap fans like I am, but I still think every geek should check this song, it's by rapper Lupe Fiasco about marketing schemes, and technology. 1st verse being about Apple products, 2nd verse being about sneakers. I'm interested about your opinion on this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tzm1l7V1uqE
Lyrics:
[Intro]
Really?
This is what you guys been doing?
Seriously?
[Hook 1]
Before daybreak there were none
And as it broke there was one
From moon to sun, it goes on and on
The winter battle was won
The summer children were born
And so the story goes on and on
Come on woman in your life beats
Those we buried with the house keys
Smoke and feather where the fields are green
From here to eternity
Become a woman in your own time
Far, far, far from the virgin vine
Rise on out from the dead leaves
Come back to me
Oh, she sings her favorite song
Left with tears and dreams, it goes and then on
[Verse 1]
Standing in line for the new one
Not the black, but the blue one
And I don't even know what it do, son
But Steve Jobs said that it's too fun
Fun in abundance' what I need
It's cold out here, put my arms in the sleeves
I'll probably lose my place if I leave
But I really need to pee
If I do it right here they'll see
Makes you wonder, how do snipers
Marathon bikers
Next time: diapers
They say it has all new features
Faster processors and much better speakers
Great for kids, a necessity for teachers
For work or home
A revolutionary way of being alone
I mean, should we really get a loan?
Hey what's the matter, just tell it to your phone
Cupertino heart with Chinese parts
Built by the poor, but designed by the smart
They opening the door so you go
On your mark, get ready, set, buy
Imagine a world where everything starts with an ‘i’
But it still ends with a die
Probably got an app for that, you could try
From the iClouds, right into the great Wi-Fi
Siri, can iGod really hear me?
"Does not compute – can you repeat more clearly?"
"Woaaaaah"
[Hook 2]
A vessel in the bloodline
A thirteenth Zodiac sign
A stitch in time, it goes on and on
Become a woman on your own time
Far, far, far from the virgin vine
Rise on out from the dead leaves
Come back to me
Oh, she sings her favorite song
Left with tears and dreams, it goes and then on
[Verse 2]
Standing in line for some new Ones
Had a bunch of blessings but I blew them
Asked Google how to use them
They sent me to a section ‘bout used guns
New runs, nuns'll scream, moms with jeans
Match their teens' jeans and genies who try to chew gum
Aw man, it's so confusin’
Confusion in the bun is what I have
Good thing that God accept cash
Maybe buy my way up out His wrath
Skeptically, why am I way up off this path?
Atheism's cheaper, and accepts Visa
My thoughts as I'm queuing up for sneakers
Won't discriminate – I’m getting all eight
In every color that they make
Beaverton hearts with Chinese parts
Built by the poor and designed by the smart
On your mark, get set, cop ‘em!
Imagine a life that revolves around shoppin’
Conspicuous consumption
That means it serves no other function
But to show off to someone, or others
Who only try to show off to you – look at your fellow loyal customers
Isn't harmony great?
Look at all these friends that marketing makes
How many fries can these arteries take?
I'll give McDonald's a little help here
I think they should expand into healthcare
And then you'll have all ends covered
Even make caskets, have it all umbrella'd
Can you make the corporation fear me?
"Couldn't hear your order, can you speak less clearly?"
[Hook 3]
That which was put in the ground
Will someday come back around
From dust to dust it goes on and on
Before daybreak there were none
And as it broke there was one
And still the story goes on and on
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So, what do you guys think?

Lot of Lupe's stuff is on point, but this was extra whack. You owe me about five minutes back =p

Learning Geography

I searched but didn't find any thread like this...
There are many people here who would travel to different cities, states, countries...
And not everyone knows about everything!
Yes, there's Google, you can search, check reviews...
But wouldn't it be better if we could have some 1st hand information here?
So that someone traveling somewhere new doesn't get harassed unnecessarily...
Also, we could have posts describing the specialties of your region/zone...
Anything social, political, cultural facts...
This could help a lot of people when need be...
If there's anything wrong in it, mods feel free to close the thread... but i just hope we could help each other with a lot many things this way...
:good:

The UK is the armpit of Europe. If you come here you will get ripped off by everybody, not just taxi drivers. The beaches don't have sand..or sun for that matter. We specialize in going out on weekends playing catch the STD and throwing up on pavements.
Most of the population think Eastenders is the height of cultural entertainment and our politicians take it in turns every few years to see how hard they can screw the working man over.
You'd be better off going on a camping tour of Pripyat than taking a holiday in the UK.

DirkGently said:
The UK is the armpit of Europe. If you come here you will get ripped off by everybody, not just taxi drivers. The beaches don't have sand..or sun for that matter. We specialize in going out on weekends playing catch the STD and throwing up on pavements.
Most of the population think Eastenders is the height of cultural entertainment and our politicians take it in turns every few years to see how hard they can screw the working man over.
You'd be better off going on a camping tour of Pripyat than taking a holiday in the UK.
Click to expand...
Click to collapse
lol...
the one thing i like about UK is the EPL... i mean BPL now!
would love to attend a game sometime...

DirkGently said:
The UK is the armpit of Europe. If you come here you will get ripped off by everybody, not just taxi drivers. The beaches don't have sand..or sun for that matter. We specialize in going out on weekends playing catch the STD and throwing up on pavements.
Most of the population think Eastenders is the height of cultural entertainment and our politicians take it in turns every few years to see how hard they can screw the working man over.
You'd be better off going on a camping tour of Pripyat than taking a holiday in the UK.
Click to expand...
Click to collapse
Completely agree. At every single corner of the UK people try and get money from you.
Sent from my locked, tampered ville

I'd talk about my City...
Kolkata (earlier Calcutta) is an old Indian Capital City ( Now the Capital Is New Delhi)...
When the British ruled India, calcutta was their capital... So there are some pretty old British monuments, architecture etc...
It is a lazy city... The average summer temperature has been on the rise, it goes to a max of about 45 degree Celsius...
A drop in temperature below 20 degrees is supposedly winter time here!
We have great rains in July-August that floods a few regions...
The population of the city including its suburbs is about 15million! Wherever you go, you'd see people people people!!
There are some nice places to visit, i'll try getting some pics sometime later...
People in general are nice, but you see, there are every kind of people everywhere...
Politically, the communist party was in power from the 70's till a year and a half back...
It's an old, lazy life-style city, will glimpses of sparks during the festive season!
Will post some pics of the festivity that went on last week... it's majestically beautiful
If anyone plans coming to Kolkata (Calcutta), do drop a message to me for sure!
wiki link- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kolkata
Darjeeling, Sundarban are nearby places worth a trip!

DirkGently said:
The UK is the armpit of Europe. If you come here you will get ripped off by everybody, not just taxi drivers. The beaches don't have sand..or sun for that matter. We specialize in going out on weekends playing catch the STD and throwing up on pavements.
Most of the population think Eastenders is the height of cultural entertainment and our politicians take it in turns every few years to see how hard they can screw the working man over.
You'd be better off going on a camping tour of Pripyat than taking a holiday in the UK.
Click to expand...
Click to collapse
That should keep Johnny Foreigner away Dirk, nicely done. Keep Britain and it's glorious sandy sunkissed beaches (such as West Wittering, and the boobie fest that is Bournemouth) free for us Brits. Could you imagine if they came over and discovered just how good value Southport Pier arcade is? It'd be shockingly over run within days! By jingo I won't hear of it!

xaccers said:
That should keep Johnny Foreigner away Dirk, nicely done. Keep Britain and it's glorious sandy sunkissed beaches (such as West Wittering, and the boobie fest that is Bournemouth) free for us Brits. Could you imagine if they came over and discovered just how good value Southport Pier arcade is? It'd be shockingly over run within days! By jingo I won't hear of it!
Click to expand...
Click to collapse
Rumbled! Now that everyone's cancelled their reservations i can book myself a birth in Hayling Islands sumptuous caravan park!
Arcades, here i come!

DirkGently said:
Rumbled! Now that everyone's cancelled their reservations i can book myself a birth in Hayling Islands sumptuous caravan park!
Arcades, here i come!
Click to expand...
Click to collapse
Ah that takes me back!
After a day LARPing around in hundred acre woods near Boarhunt, we went to the Ship Inn for a drink, when one of the guys said "Don't look, but that guy at the bar used to be in the Monkees"
Of course we all turned around then realised we didn't have a clue what anyone in the Monkees looked like, so Davy Jones was safe.

Bergen, Norway. The wettest place in the universe. We like to spend our time in front of computers, and being social means to spend $300 on overpriced beer and pizza. At summer time, a million eggshell white norwegians like to migrate to the south of the equator with our best buds, the swedes, and getting drunk and smashing things (much like the brits). We repeat this twice a year; summer and winter.
We also love to whine about everything.
Welcome!
Edit: I'm borrowing this from Dirk. "[...]and our politicians take it in turns every few years to see how hard they can screw the working man over."
Sent from my GT-N7000 using Tapatalk 2

LordManhattan said:
Edit: I'm borrowing this from Dirk. "[...]and our politicians take it in turns every few years to see how hard they can screw the working man over."
Sent from my GT-N7000 using Tapatalk 2
Click to expand...
Click to collapse
i guess that's a universal fact!
all politicians are such a breed!!

Montreal is Europe in North America. Living here sucks, because the premier of our province (equivalent to governor of a state), is practically openly racist toward the English. Other than the language feud, and the education riots, its a pretty nice place to visit
Sent from my Nexus S using xda app-developers app

Pome: The Off-Topic Doggerel (Amateur Poetry) Thread

This is a place
To bring your face
And make up some rhyme
This is a place
Where, at a lyrical pace
We can all have a fun time!
I just felt like making a thread where we could all talk in rhyme.
And if any serious poetry does come out of it, all the better! :laugh:
Oh, and I do know that this is probably a BAD idea. -_-​

Roses are pome
Violets are pome
I wrote a pome
pome pome pome pome

A pirate, history relates
Was scuffling with some of his mates
When he slipped on a cutlass
Which rendered him nutless
And practically useless on dates

There is a kind dolphin in me
With tight blue skin that you can't see
It moves smoothly like sparkling waves
And sound like a loud horn that can help save

Roses are bad
Violets are bad
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She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
- Lord Byron (LordManhatten's Grandfather!)

DirkGently said:
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
- Lord Byron (LordManhatten's Grandfather!)
Click to expand...
Click to collapse
:laugh::laugh::laugh::laugh:

Danial723 said:
Roses are bad
Violets are bad
Click to expand...
Click to collapse
Somuchwin.jpg

Danial723 said:
Roses are bad
Violets are bad
Click to expand...
Click to collapse
Your lulz were had,
But that made me sad.
Imma get mad
And beat ya up so bad!!!
Sent from my HTC Sensation on CM10.1

There was an old man from Japan,
Whose poems, just wouldn't scan,
When asked the reason why,
He'd always give the reply,
"I try to fit as many words into the last line as I possibly can."

Awesome idea :thumbup:
The only problem is : I can only write poetry in Arabic
Sent from my HTC Sensation Z710e using Tapatalk 2

If you can keep your head when all about youAre losing theirs and blaming it on you;*If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,*But make allowance for their doubting too:*If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,*Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,*Or being hated don't give way to hating,*And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;*If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;*If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,*If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster*And treat those two impostors just the same:.*If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken*Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,*Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,*And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;*If you can make one heap of all your winnings*And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,*And lose, and start again at your beginnings,*And never breathe a word about your loss:*If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew*To serve your turn long after they are gone,*And so hold on when there is nothing in you*Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"*If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,*Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,*If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,*If all men count with you, but none too much:If you can fill the unforgiving minute*With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,*Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,*And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling
---------- Post added at 07:12 PM ---------- Previous post was at 06:57 PM ----------
Lazy cut and paste i know, it's a better poem than "Mary had a little bike, she rode it back to front" which was going to be my first choice
“I've had great success being a total idiot. ”*―*Jerry Lewis

jugg1es said:
...Lazy cut and paste i know, it's a better poem than "Mary had a little bike, she rode it back to front" which was going to be my first choice
Click to expand...
Click to collapse

I'm no good at making rhymes,
My poems are less than sublime,
Yet still I post in this thread,
And revive it back from the dead.
It's nice to important, but it's more important to be nice.
"When I was a young man, I had liberty, but I did not see it. I had time, but I did not know it. And I had love, but I did not feel it. Many decades would pass before I understood the meaning of all three. And now, in the twilight of my life, this understanding has passed into contentment. Love, liberty, and time: once so disposable, are the fuels that drive me forward"

Twinkle Twinkle little star,
I've just found out what you are.
A lump of rusting rocket case,
A rubbish tip in outer space.
Spike Milligan
"Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana." - Groucho Marx

In the words of Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz:
"Oh freddled gruntbuggly thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.
Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes.
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!"
I could not have done any better myself!

stephj said:
In the words of Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz:
"Oh freddled gruntbuggly thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.
Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes.
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!"
I could not have done any better myself!
Click to expand...
Click to collapse
Ah... Jeltz... he was a Vogon before his time... *le sigh*

Ode to a Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Arm Pit One Mid-Summer Morning:
The sun creeps over the lands edge
Though the crack in the window it did wedge
Slowly brightening stinging my eye
as sleepily on my bed I lie
August sixth is the new day
Its in the summer half way
Stirring from my slumber I must arise
Must cloth myself and put on my guise
The sound of birds chirping through the air
Roosting and singing without a care
The sound of the lawn mower way far away
As the work men greet the brand new day
The smell of fresh cut grass intrudes
Sending me into wonderful moods
The smell of the fresh breeze moves the curtain
Its going to be a wonderful day , I'm Certain
On my bed i still here lie
I have to get up, yes I must try
Its so comfortable so soft and still
getting up is like climbing an insurmountable hill
I move my foot a little off the bed
Moving my arm slowly to the cots edge
Dropping my foot off and onto the floor
I rest before I do any more
Squiggling my butt to the edge nearer
Seeing my frame across in the mirror
To the floor I drop my other foot
The other hand on the edge I put
Raising my body to be upright
I raise my weight with all my might
in the mirror is my stout frame
Too much good food is the blame
Scraping my foot on the floor boards
Through the sea of cloths it fords
Finding at last one clean sock
My toes around its soft edge lock
Dragging it to me, I reach to the ground
Clasping on to the sock I found
Slipping it on to one of my smooth feet
I slide a little on my seat
I search again for another to put on
I find another that I soon don
Searching I find a pair of pants, mostly clean
With a newly repaired crotch seam
I find my undershirt in the cloths pile
I'm happy find my shirt and smile
Just then in my arm pit I itch
Its making my arm and body twitch
I reach for my arm pit deciding to scratch
When on to something smooth I latch
It felt soft and a little muddy
It turned out to be a green piece of putty
It was soft an somewhat sticky
It felt strange, kind of icky
When pushed on it slowly depressed
When I let go the dent sluggishly regressed
All together it was an unusual texture
I wondered what made up this green mixture
It looked so smooth and kind of glassy
yet in a way it was cloudy and waxy
Aside from the look it had a strange smell
What it smelt like was hard to tell
Kind of like sweat, kind of like perfume
it made an oder that filled the room
When pushed on it made a strange sound
As my finger rolled it around
It sounded kind of squeaky, kind of a smack
and kind of a pop when pulled and snapped back
Where did it come from this green dough
I couldn't imagine, I just didn't know
The waxiness and perfume, deodorant it could be
But that wasn't all , could some of it be me
Deodorant, dead skin, hair and some sweat
It all fused together in my arm pit I bet
Baking all night in the heat of my arm
Keeping it safe for any kind of harm
So in the morning I find the treasure
And how much joy I couldn't measure
I must set this aside and cherish it well
Despite its green color and it's terrible smell
Propping it on to an old golf tee
And into a jar so all could see
I raise it to an exalted place
So it could behold everyones face
Time now to put on my shoes
Where is the left one I always lose
There it is and in go my feet
The soft insole, what a treat
I put on my tee-shirt, then my shirt
It looked mostly clean except for some dirt
It was time for some breakfast, what shall I eat
Maybe eggs, toast, and some fried meat
I made up the bacon and the eggs I fried
Some toast, butter and jelly I tried
Cinnamon rolls I had, then some coffee cake
A whole bagel I toasted and ate
Juice and coffee I drank with pride
Till it made me full and feel good inside
Back to my putty, I liked not its place
I needed to find it a new kind of space
What a beautiful creation my arm pit made
I moved the jar and on to the table it laid
It made my soul leap that this I created
I needed a better display to have it mated
Something elaborate not just a jar
I would have to look for it near and far
Something with silver an a little gold
Something to display it so bold
At the door came a loud knock
Who could it be, I looked at the clock
Time for my maid service to arrive
She comes to clean up my cluttered dive
I shuffle to the door to let her in
I show her my putty and for it affection win
What praise would she have for my creation of green
She will be amazed as soon as its seen
I turn the door knob and open the door
It was her to clean a little bit more
I thought I'd wait till she cleaned up some
If I showed her now, distracted she'd become
She shoveled my cloths into the washer near
and washed all my dishes, she's such a dear
Sweeping and mopping around the whole place
Dusting every nook, cranny and every small space
She was nearly done when I told her the news
Of the thing I created while I did snooze
I could see a skeptical look crawl across her face
I lead her over to the sacred place
There sat my green putty, still amazing to me
On the table where all could see
She looked and squinted at its form
And asked me how it came to be born
I told her clearly how it came about
She promptly told me she'd throw it out
Her attitude gave me quite a shock
I thought about it and then I took stock
Jealous she was that she had not this putty
Jealous she was that she had not this buddy
She shook he head with a curse she left
I went over and slammed the door with all my heft
I stared at it till the middle of the day
As I walked by it I always looked its way
Remembering the joy it's birth did bring
I made me want to dance and sing
It was time for my midday meal
I started with the potatoes that I had to peel
Put them in a pot and bring to a boil
Then mash them and butter them with much toil
I wondered how the green putty tasted
But didn't try it, didn't want it to be wasted
Instead I opened up a tub of sour cream
Put it on the potatoes, what a dream
Deep fried cheese sticks for a side dish
Stuffed mushrooms filled with my wish
A slab of sausage adorned my plate
And my fine meal I sat and ate
For desert there was ice cream and some cake
and a box of brownie mix to stir and bake
While my brownies cooked in my stove
Into a piece of cheese cake my fork dove
Eating the last of the brownie pan
I opened up a cold beer can
Drank it up to my hearts content
I considered my putty with deep intent
I hear the barking of the neighbor's dog
Along comes the man who delivers through rain and fog
It's the Mailman bringing news from afar
In his white and blue car
Yes I'll show him my putty dear
He'll be excited and eager to hear
How my putty came into my arm pit today
And how it grew there while asleep I lay
I hear him approaching the black mail box
I waddled to the door and undid the locks
As he put the mail into its holder
I spoke aloud I tried to be bolder
I said come and see my putty so green
He was a skinny man limber and lean
He poked his head through the jam of the door
I said you'll want to look at this, you won't be sore
I showed him the green putty, I made in the night
I tried to control my pride, with all my might
He looked and said that he really didn't see
Why I should so happy about this putty be
He thought it a nuisance and said “send it away”
But he couldn't bend my resolve, he couldn't it sway
He didn't appreciate the creation of green
He is very shallow, so it would seem
So I sent him away telling him to forget
That on this day the green putty he met
Away from my door he quickly ran
He was a poor excuse for a postman
I must look for people who appreciate the unique
I'll look for intelligent people with which to speak
Not every one can appreciate my putty of green
Most people are prejudice it would clearly seem
Full of food I went out for a walk
meeting people so about my putty I could talk
Down to the shops looking for a display of gold
I found one suitable that the craft store sold
My green putty would look fine in this gold case
It was encircled with a fine looking silver lace
A window of fine glass like fine crystal
and mount it on a sparkling pedestal
I wonder if the world should see my putty dear
Or the tale of its creation should they hear
Would they appreciate putty's story
And hear about it in all its glory
Society is so quick now a days
And people walk around, as in a daze
Long gone is the willingness to hear
About great stories and things so dear
People are skeptical and soon to doubt
And if the story is long the begin to pout
“Hurry up” they say “get to the point”
And if your too long they get out of joint
People lack the patience needed
Unwilling with culture to have their mind seeded
They are unwilling to have goodness grow
Would they respect my miraculous dough?
So far the few I have shown my putty to
And shown my inner feelings true
They have been a jealous and uncultured lot
And haven't appreciated the wonder I have got
Will the rest of the world this way be
Or can they my putty's virtue see
Or will most scoff and mock its wonder
And call it a mistake, a serious blunder
Should the world accept my dough
Would their greed for it be my foe
Would they try to take it far from me
Would I my putty no longer see?
Or would the world reject my putty dear
And think it's creation rather queer
I think they lack the culture they need
And reject my putty and call it demon seed
I'll protect my putty from the world, evil
Protect it from any upheaval
I'll keep my dough to myself
And keep it safe on my shelf
I would like to show putty to my son
I think he would think it rather fun
But his mother, estranged to me
Won't let me my favored son see
He's like me in so many ways
And wishes to be with me, so he says
He would understand my putty dear
And gladly its life story hear
My son could appreciate the unique creation
He would approve toast with a libation
But his mother keeps him from me, unseen
At least until he is seventeen
So I'll be sure to write this story down
And when he's old enough he'll hear the sound,
Of a story about putty so dear
He won't upon hearing frown and jeer
Upon hearing the story he will wish he could
have this happen to him, I know he would.
He's the only one who can appreciate putty
He's the only one who could also be his buddy
My wife, on the other hand
My poetry, she couldn't stand
She lived with me for a few short years
And seemed to have a lot of tears
She said if she had known what our life was to be
She would have never paid the marriage license fee
But would have called off the wedding
And never would have touched my bedding
She never appreciated my poetic rhyme
And said so over and over many a time
She came from a family of and uncultured lot
And for poetry, appreciation they had not
So I'd never show her my putty true
For I know it's story, she would boo
I'll protect my putty from her wrath
Even if she thinks me daft
I began to wonder what our future together would hold
When all was accomplished and finally told
How my putty and I together would be
And our partnership together for all to see
Could we go traveling across the land
And on some high peak together stand
Visit some deep canyon or some black abyss
See the sights that we both wouldn't miss
My putty and I could cross the years
and toast the good life with many beers
We could seek to increase our poetic muse
and argue and debate and see others views
To the pub we could go so all could see
What my putty and I could turn out to be
Friends for life a companion though all
Even though some say its rather small
Small that he is, faithful would he be
I began to wonder if it were a he or a she
I've been calling it “it” for all this time
What gender would it have this, product of grime
At last I decided it was a unique creation
And not to give it a gender was a liberation
So “It” remains the gender I give
And believe to live and let live
Would this putty of green so dear
Live to see my final year
Would it go though all my life together
Or would one of us go first and our relationship sever
I would like this green to be my life long putty
But the future I see looks rather muddy
How long could a piece of putty hope to live
But every chance, every advantage I shall it give
I hurried back to my humble home
Eager to place my putty in the gold dome
My putty sagged on the golf tee stick
I rolled it and shaped it, it still looked sick
I should mount it in the display case
The one surrounded with the silver lace
But once inside it seemed to droop
like it was dissolving and turning to soup
I pressed it together but to no avail
A piece broke loose it looked like a tail
I worried if my putty would be alright
I won't lose it with out a great fight
I cooled it, froze it, but it looked worse for wear
I shaped it and rounded it as much as I dare
My putty was now drying and cracking apart
What to do? I had to be smart
Now the sun was setting, and what to do
I tried to think of ideas but only had two
First was to put it into a glass of water
It would be to much, my ball I'd slaughter
I thought it over while i fixed the evening meal
Saving my putty was to me a big deal
I fried up some chicken wings with Buffalo sauce
And ate the while I tried to prevent my loss
A slice or two of pizza left from another lunch
I sat and thought on it while I did munch
When I was through with the meal of the eve
I feared I'd loose my putty and I would grieve
As twilight came and the sun was set
An idea came and with my mind it met
to take the remains and put it in my other arm pit
and over night just let it simmer and sit
Now in the evening, time for my bath
I like to soak , make gurgling rhymes and laugh
But tonight I think I shall not scrub
For will conditions be right, if I enter the tub
For if I clean under my arm pit
will the putty bake and contently sit
if it be clean will it rejuvenate putty dear
or will it need sweat, dead skin and hair
Then again if I keep my pit out of the wet
Then conditions would be right to dampen with sweat
But what if I slip and accidentally clean
It might make my putty no longer seen
Should I chance to bath tonight again
Or should I put off cleanliness till who knows when
I shall put it off again once more
For I haven't bathed in days, it will be twenty four
So I guess I go to bed real soon
And rest myself in the rising of the moon
And hope my decision not to clean myself
Will not adversely affect my health
Time again for my nightly stop
To the restroom up the stairs, at the top
In the room sits a porcelain seat
I must go up and soon it meet
I'll have to soon take a crap
It takes so long I'll take a nap
Then I'll squeeze with all my soul
Look there, it's a telephone pole
Now off to bed I soon must go
And into my arm pit place the dough
I hope it will be alright in there
With deodorant, sweat, skin and hair
So I scraped the goo from the display
And into my other arm pit I let it lay
Off with my shirt and my tee shirt
Pressing my arm down till it hurt
Off with my socks and my pants taken off
I climbed into my sleeping loft
With the remains of my putty green
I hope it will revive, thats my dream
Off I sleep with a midnight snack
I hope excessive sweat I don't lack
I want my putty to come back again
Its cracks and dryness to heal and mend
I laid my head but had unsettled dreams
I guess it was a nightmare, so it seams
It was about my putty dear
And that I had had it about a year
In its dome it began to reproduce
and soon it got completely loose
It began to multiply very fast
I left my house in terror, at last
Putty was getting to big I fear
It was making growling noises I could hear
I was scared it would feed on me
And that I would no longer be
There was so much all over my house
There was no more room, not even for a mouse
It got into the sewer and down the tile
It plugged every drain all the while
Not a drain worked all over the town
Got into the water pipes all around
All the water stopped , everything went dry
I went about thirsty, heaving a big sigh
The town elders traces this blight back to me
And called a session of court, Me they wanted to see
Blaming me and my putty so dear
For all the confusion, and everyones fear
“lock him away for harboring such a menace”
“Give him some bread, water, and some lettuce”
“Starve him, chain him, let him lose weight”
“Sentence him to a Terrible fate”
They cast me into a dungeon full of goo
I seemed a familiar spirit, but who
It was green and sticky, like my green putty
Yes this was the reproduction of my green buddy
At first I feared it would eat me soon
As a beam of light lit the room
It twitched and wiggled in the cell so deep
It scared me so, I couldn't sleep
Then it covered me drew so near
It embraced me and thought me dear
It may have been a terror to all other
But thought of me as its mother
It slithered into the dungeon's door
Slipped into the keyhole pore
It jiggled and wiggled the door lock
I was worried and watched the clock
Then the door swung open to let me free
It oozed into the hall way as far as I could see
It smothered the guards and it lead me out
It went down their throats to prevent any shout
We fled into the heart of the town
We moved about not making a sound
I found myself something to eat
While every foe my putty was able to defeat
We would have to leave this urban scrawl
And go where we're not known at all
They wouldn't let us leave in peace
They would try to kill us or hurt us at least
They burnt putty out of every drain
And every pipe they did the same
Drying up every piece of goo
They'd keep working till they were through
The last of putty and I held up in a narrow place
His destruction I'd soon have to face
They would come soon with a wall of flame
His fate and mine would be the same
I hear them coming to destroy the rest
of putty's off spring in our secret nest
Out shot a flame of fire so red
putty screamed and I jumped out of bed
It was a nightmare in the heat of the night
And putty is still in my underarm suffering its plight
I drank a glass of water filled to the rim
And back to my bed and let my eyes dim
I tossed and turned the rest of the night
And for some sound sleep, I tried to fight
Was this dream foreboding for putty
Would I loose my green little buddy
In the morning it showed up true
That my putty was no longer new
It had died during the night
But I hadn't given up with out a fight
As you hear the sadness of this poem
and as you travel back to your home
don't gnaw your leg off with emotional pain
for compassion to all is the poets aim

Can we all die now, Grunthos Gently? :/

Sleepy! said:
Can we all die now, Grunthos Gently? :/
Click to expand...
Click to collapse
I'm surprised you haven't already! :laugh: