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Post by Captain Galaxy on Oct 27, 2005 22:29:16 GMT -8
We needed a poetry thread. You can write poetry, commentary, short stories. Anything you want. I hope Googly And MW appreciate this.
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Post by Captain Galaxy on Oct 27, 2005 22:30:34 GMT -8
Vows
My fair maiden, mellifluous and mesmerizing
Her dress slowly whisks with the breath of the wind
Her soft smooth hand reaches out to mine
Our nexus for our luxuriating love
Yet with her gentle hand she pulls off my skin
Like a glove fluently slipped off one’s fingers
I cringe, agape, but my darling continues
Heedless of my plight, she consumes me
Till I’ve no longer flesh and my muscles bleed
The experience is painful, deadly nonetheless
But it is the price we pay, if my vows are to hold true
After all this is marriage, your body belongs to me
And mine to you.
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Post by Inaaca on Oct 27, 2005 23:14:31 GMT -8
I suck at poetry.. Well, I guess I'm half decent, but it'd take me half a day to get past the initial poet's block..
Short stories are more down my alley.. Been a while since I've tried my hand at it though. I'd need some inspiration...
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Post by The Dankness on Oct 28, 2005 1:26:13 GMT -8
Dave's Last Hit
Part 1- Hitman
Through the scope of the sniper rifle, Hitman Dave watched the brain matter from Druglord Djanikian's head splatter all over the wall next to him.
This was a good thing, you see, because it meant that his mission was complete. His debt to the tyrannical agents of The Society was finally paid off. He was free. Free to throw away the title "Hitman Dave" and live the rest of his life as just "Dave". He took the scope away from his face and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He brought the scope back to his eye so he could confirm the kill.
Through the scope of his sniper rifle, Hitman Dave noticed that the body of Druglord Djanikian was not where it was a second ago.
This was a bad thing, you see, because it meant that there was something about this mission that The Society had not told him about.
Feeling just a tad bit nervous, Hitman Dave took the rifle away from his face, and proceeded to do what he usually did in situations like these.
He sidestepped.
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Post by You probably can't touch this. on Oct 28, 2005 7:37:47 GMT -8
and on the wings of right, I will purge light from light I swear as I am to swear that before is forth and long tangles this is self-referencing at best Run Across That Twisted Tape! the classical moon melts yet again while another lightbulb burns out on an empty street corner The logic chopper will have his logic chopped. fitting end to this tragedy |
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Post by SneakyPete on Oct 28, 2005 10:29:36 GMT -8
commentary and anything I want sounds good. And on that note...
Did Adam and Eve have belly bottons?
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Post by Inaaca on Oct 28, 2005 11:39:47 GMT -8
Of course they didn't. No umbilical cords.
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Post by Kuat on Oct 28, 2005 12:35:43 GMT -8
Actually Vivi...
When a mommy God loves a daddy God...
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Post by Dex on Oct 28, 2005 12:38:39 GMT -8
Ode To Muffins
Muffins. Grain group. Part of the base
of the food pyramid. A staple diet.
There are many different kinds of
muffins and they are all good. I pity
anyone who doesn't like muffins. With
their soft, fluffly texture. As soft as
bread but sweet like a cookie. Colored a
soothing golden-brown baked to
perfection. Then it's taste, one to behold
and cherish as a miracle. Good plain,
better with toppings, matches with
frosting, compatible with many meals,
unstoppable in it's entirety. It's small,
round shape, easy to handle, cousins to
cupcakes. My favorite.
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Post by Inaaca on Oct 28, 2005 12:55:51 GMT -8
Actually Vivi... When a mommy God loves a daddy God... lmao. That gave me a chuckle. |
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Post by Muramasa on Oct 28, 2005 18:22:17 GMT -8
Laughing your ass off, it gave you a chuckle? Sounds like a contro' diction to me.
...I'm allowed commentary, aren't I?
I guess we'd better stop hijacking the thread from the actually writers and poets...
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Post by Kuat on Oct 28, 2005 18:31:40 GMT -8
My very large gun shoots
The head of zombies splatter
Viva la boomstick.
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Post by Inaaca on Oct 28, 2005 18:43:47 GMT -8
Yes, the chuckle laughed my ass off. I guess you could say that I chuckled my ass off. I won't, but I suppose you can.
Oh yeah.. the writers and poets.. Nah, this thread needs breaks between the poetry for commentation. :`
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Post by Muramasa on Oct 28, 2005 18:56:34 GMT -8
There once was a man from Nantucket...
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Post by Dex on Oct 28, 2005 19:42:58 GMT -8
who had 10 bullets in a bucket...
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Post by Inaaca on Oct 28, 2005 19:49:16 GMT -8
It rattled and rang...
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Post by Muramasa on Oct 28, 2005 21:08:44 GMT -8
and her fleece was white as snow...
Yeah, this thread has been hijacked.
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Post by Kuat on Oct 28, 2005 21:16:13 GMT -8
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Post by Muramasa on Oct 28, 2005 21:24:31 GMT -8
Several years ago, there was a man who liked to run-on sentences, though they weren't actually run on in the stictest sense-more like they had alot of commas in it-and considering the fact that a sentence can be only so long, unless one breaks certain rules of grammar, and only if he decided to repeat the same thing over again sometimes-like now-was talking a walk along a long, windy, rivery, meandering lake that actually was more of a river that somewhat resembled a lake, which was possibly a very large pond or pool, but maybe more like a ravine instead, and discovered the most adorable little turtle ever who was ever so small-three inches in length-and ever so shy that it would always hide in it's shell at the first sight of any presense, whether they were actually a presense or not, or even present at all, and this turtle did not take a liking to the man, who, by the way, happened to like writing run-on sentences that were really not run-on in the strictest sense, as they happened to have alot of commas in them, and really they invovled a circumvention of common grammar rules, so the man decided to...
Anyone want to try to read and finish the story?
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Post by Kuat on Oct 28, 2005 21:31:32 GMT -8
Maybe continue it on?
Several years ago, there was a man who liked to run-on sentences, though they were actually run on in the stictest sense-more like they had alot of commas in it-and considering the fact that a sentence and be only so long, unless one breaks certain rules of grammar, and if he decided to repeat the same thing over again sometimes-like now-was talking a walk along a long, windy, rivery, meandering lake that actually was more of a river that somewhat resembled a like, which was possibly a very large pond or pool, but maybe more like a ravine instead, and discovered the most adorable little turtle ever who was ever so small-three inches in length-and ever so shy that it would always hide in it's shell at the first sight of any presense, whether they were actually a presense or not, or even present at all, and this turtle did not take a liking to the man, who, by the way, happened to like writing run-on sentences that were really not run-on in the strictest sense, as they happened to have alot of commas in them, and really they invovled a circumvention on common grammar rules, so the man decided to ride the turtle to the nearest beach, wherein he - the man who was predisposed to run on sentences - could further refine his technique, that is the warping of the English language, a languge which is spoken in a few countries including, but not limited to: the United states of America, Canada, Great Britian, and many other former colonies of Great Britian that are currently independent from the once global British Empire, which the sun was never said to set on, and on the beach the man was riding to - the man of the run on sentences - the sun was indeed setting then, so he began to...
So, how was that?
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