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lsdank268
Stranger



Registered: 07/18/08
Posts: 1,156
Loc: Philadelphia, Pa
Last seen: 10 years, 3 months
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Crumpet]
#14722404 - 07/05/11 08:22 PM (12 years, 6 months ago) |
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Posted these in another thread, wasn't getting any input, thought I would post it here instead.
I took a poetry class...here are some of mine:
This was my personal favorite, had to write a Haiku the first day for homework and recite it for the class so here it is:
Oh no, that was due? I completely forgot it. Oh wait, here it is. 
Poem about a hustler on public transportation:
That’s What They Were There For by lsdank268
Maybe, since your something like me, You would have knew the scam like the back of your hand, The old man sits down on the bus and whips out cups and a tiny red ball, Asking for players, he shows his game; the terminal attraction begins When a women offers him her money, and doubles it by simply keeping her eye on the ball; Another person raises the stakes, and triples his investment as the bus watches on, The trap is set; A young man throws his green currency onto the lap of the old man, and thinks he has this puzzle solved, The man grabs the money, no intention of giving it back and begins his flirtation with crime, Flipping his tools furiously moving them faster than before, the boy losing the fiery red dot in the fast flurry of action, The old man is Judge, Jury, and Executioner; King of this castle, Beating him in his land would be insubordination, breaking his laws, Maneuvering his red secrets cup to cup, stopping on the dime putting pressure on the boy to guess right; The young man points surely at the middle cup to find it filled with nothing but regret; The boy, green in mind and complexion, watches out the window as the old man exit’s the bus, cups in one hand, money in the other, And he looks on as the previous two winners accept a share of cash from the con artist, Gleefully high-fiving at another successful day, another successful hustle.
Just a randomness poem:
Keep Calm
“Keep Calm” The odd smell of cotton candy keeps me awake at night. Extra-Sharp Cheddar and English Pale Ale go well with this soup while watching Touch of Evil for the first time in HD, not paying much attention, still pondering where the robins nest on your ledge went. Playing moon themed songs during a Werewolf themed party planned months ago. Living life day-to-day, planning only the spontaneous. Timothy Leary waiting at a bus stop, handing out gifts to people passing by. One hundred trillion neutrinos passing through every inch of your body, every single second. “Try not to scream” Trust fund husbands, each showing off their trophy wives, each one more plastic than the last but who’s to say who the real trophy is? Like a left-handed catcher, blue lobsters are rare. The greatest rodeo clown in fact wasn’t a clown, but a small spider monkey, howling its lullabies to the bull, calming it’s rage. Like the jungle to a house cat, this world is unfamiliar, but strangely comfortable.
And one more...have a lot of short stories also if anyone is interested.
The Warning
I came to myself in the middle of the night, before my end and after I saw it begin. My eyes blinked, my body stirred. Nothing was in the room but me, and me again. I asked myself what I was doing, why I was here. After all, I'm not used to that. The answer I received was a warning-- to me or the world I still don't know. I never called it an apocalypse, but I made it pretty clear what I had to do. Or had to not do. It was all a simple mistake, but isn't it always? I tell myself “Don’t answer the phone on August 25th, 2022. And don’t you dare cook that catfish.” My words reverberate around my head like an interminable animal bleat. I’m not the one currently speaking, and that means I'm not aloud to ask questions. And I have so many questions. I tell myself I must listen carefully, because the world’s future depends on me. I burn the date into my head, a scar across the brain, a mark upon my life. Again and again. August 25th, 2022. August 25th, 2022. Then I was gone, and then I was back. This time, I was a little different though. I ask myself about why I returned-- I don't expect an answer to that either. I tell myself that coming back just created a self-fulfilling prophecy. Knowing the date did nothing for the world, not one bit. In fact, the world still changed at my hands, on that same day, but without the phone or catfish. Without the date etched across my head. I'm not one for taking risks. I look at myself as I pull the knife from out of my back pocket. “What are you doing?” I ask myself. I look as scared as I do determined. Our face is inhuman at this point. I feel the knife pierce the flesh of my abdomen, and I slowly began to disappear, for if I die today, I do not live tomorrow. What can I say, I'd been warned. I had a world to save, after all.
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Crumpet
go sranger



Registered: 04/21/10
Posts: 1,082
Loc: Australia
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: lsdank268]
#14724924 - 07/06/11 09:58 AM (12 years, 6 months ago) |
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la di da way out in the distence prince of persial way to far bite like lesson one was a jam jar a brief explenation why its an abrieviation if this meant crops where laced in by tracktors are we at the raptor velocity to crap this?
the don to mack this just smiled at fat chicks clap clap know the budget buddy, catch hatricks knomes are magic like phones are tradgic if rome rose back would we be spastic?
glowing like a firefly im not at that stat fact is im the guy to dine finger foods due too bloom, fry mine i pile in the rice like crime
-------------------- Ronda Nina...
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Crumpet
go sranger



Registered: 04/21/10
Posts: 1,082
Loc: Australia
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Crumpet]
#14725009 - 07/06/11 10:27 AM (12 years, 6 months ago) |
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what a shuffled deck of dracs to sheeth this keep grief untill peek free steaple leaks drenched from harrys problematic adict drooled fragile grade four got on well with the mournda stile awe, thats the jaw dropping doll id like to dile
nothing terrible ever happens to bag this glad wrap over the stag dragon kids lagging from the fibre option locked wheel knot the crash shat jocked pigs
tired of the agro shop lift a crab sigs snap the ribs and spit on aiding fading adam, coz haze is gathering chelsea simian lucy roots mee
spoon mans in a crew of computer cooties
Edited by Crumpet (07/06/11 10:30 AM)
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Crumpet
go sranger



Registered: 04/21/10
Posts: 1,082
Loc: Australia
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. *DELETED* [Re: Crumpet]
#14725737 - 07/06/11 12:49 PM (12 years, 6 months ago) |
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Post deleted by CrumpetReason for deletion: .
-------------------- Ronda Nina...
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wondercat
Dashing

Registered: 07/25/10
Posts: 476
Loc:
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Crumpet]
#14729695 - 07/07/11 02:44 AM (12 years, 6 months ago) |
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swimming in a masquerade we're too preoccupied to see the possibilities and journeys unexpected from seemingly reckless to officially unplanned perhaps our guard is keeping us surround- ed by twists and turns until we begin to recognize the imaginary boundaries which we are so accustomed to perceive before our eyes get a demure shot at a liquid state of mind which is in no way confined when you take into account the chaos that is about to organize itself
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it truly is an illusion- your senses are just perceiving the varying vibrations in different ways- its holography; a representation. "Nothing" is easy - Mooji
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brasattva
Stranger



Registered: 07/07/11
Posts: 23
Last seen: 12 years, 6 months
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A storm is coming. But I shall sit beneath the culminating clouds, though I know my fate is cold, and water-logged A storm is coming. But I will bask for a moment longer in the warmth of the sun that is slowly disappearing behind nimbus clouds A storm is coming. But I can't seem to stir from the comfort of the grass even if its touch will leave an everlasting mark on my skin A storm is coming. But I know that my eyes will not leave the picture painted across the sky of white, slowly transforming into something more A storm is coming. But I am afraid that the beauty of the moment will be forgotten for I am the only one who has witnessed it.
A storm is coming.
And as I sit upon the curvature of umbrellas I tilt my head back and open my lips
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I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar.
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Earth Child


Registered: 12/16/10
Posts: 3,473
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-------------------- Life is too short for this sorrow. You may be here today and gone tomorrow.
My Poetry · Stay Informed · Recipes · Nature Wants Us to Trip
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circastes
Big Questions Small Head


Registered: 01/14/10
Posts: 8,781
Loc: straya
Last seen: 7 years, 8 months
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-------------------- My solitude... My shield... My armour... TESTED WITH FULL FORCE
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Earth Child


Registered: 12/16/10
Posts: 3,473
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Hey, thanks alot for reading it. There's more to come
-------------------- Life is too short for this sorrow. You may be here today and gone tomorrow.
My Poetry · Stay Informed · Recipes · Nature Wants Us to Trip
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Crumpet
go sranger



Registered: 04/21/10
Posts: 1,082
Loc: Australia
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wise men three all above board naught to the broad sword thing mingling with a chief id claw the ruaght of shelled sightings yet so sid jet row know kid kill kill kill die die die i wasn't having it up to procreate this blasphamy ask why why why elaberate as this your highness in the line of fire sickle these three now ask me where in hells the driver who pulled the plug stewart presure cooker high diver
the truth i seek not long forgotten chicken wire check the tire hole punch abrieviation grieve you malice men i'll stick it up your challice then
die die die coz pros that rose fall why why why
-------------------- Ronda Nina...
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circastes
Big Questions Small Head


Registered: 01/14/10
Posts: 8,781
Loc: straya
Last seen: 7 years, 8 months
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Re: Cloudwatching [Re: Crumpet]
#14791081 - 07/19/11 07:32 AM (12 years, 6 months ago) |
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http://noise-distillery.deviantart.com/#/d3n9ii5 Psky by ~noise-distillery
Off we go and we are pacing... across the room, back and forth in front of the fire, and my legs aren't warm. Why aren't they warm? I can't seem to warm them, it seems impossible, it IS impossible! My legs are frozen to the bone, frozen in a throne. I seat myself here, in the parable of heights – call my name, it merely welcomes a vacant stare. I am busy reciting within: here goes nothing, here goes nothing. Over and over, it speaks me sober, until at last the day breaks and I collapse into the newly lit pillow and stumble into dreams forgotten already, but destined to break through. Wind and waft, here they come the silly little mice, three times thrice, all in all a grey matter expansion across my floor as if brains had become pestilence. Never did the night shine brightly, and in my bed my pillow grips tightly, but in this mess I watch my mind undress, and she covers her breast – and gasps with not undue zest! I am not permitted to seek deeper, only I must stay at the gate, she will meet me here one day. So I wait. Eons pass, and still broken feet at my glass, winter trees whisper frozen diligence against the weather which has ripped my soul to tether, so at the gate I wait. The hinges spit rage, the snow greets slowly, a pathetically raised hand. Hello there! Thoughts are no longer thawed out, instead they simmer. The perch of my mistress mind seated above so high, the great eagle awatch over the psyche sky. All is white, and the fragile fractals slithering down the air tunnels all around call for beastly malcontent. I cannot stay here longer, my eyes sting, my fingertips, merely able to burn the sun raw. When will she shriek, when will it come, when will I nestle back by the fire and recite my hideous words inside again, oh, the agony, the beautiful sweet agony, how it contrasts so wonderfully with my snow-sown gate, the gate, at which I wait.
Yonder the never call back the sweet high cliff mane, as if sound were just a parable all at my feet so neat, I come to flux the irradiated never clean fray, suited day by day, and here I rest, here I clay, never will the wisp my day. Shining bright never the might, and how did it come to be that I am so clean in this machine? It rots my apple stalks my grapple and I cannot see the night so bright, so high and mighty and alone out there, out there. Force the withering cake to the parcel bench and we will see who is best to be me as it is not clear what is driving the fear, and so I merely clench my teeth and rot the parcel with my evening snack – a heart attack. Coming back, I want to see what is within me and source out the real three men who run this bend and teach them what it means to lie to oneself and be unfulfilled; just on the shelf. Where is the deepest sector, the uninfected wound where bacteria me will slip in unbeknownst to other biological inhabitants and take the plunge into the self? The self is on the shelf and does not wish to come out and play, but I greet him day by day and say, it is time we met, Mr. Undressed Wound. Come to me and let's see who is the real McCoy waiting for the horrible gates to fix themselves open.
-------------------- My solitude... My shield... My armour... TESTED WITH FULL FORCE
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xxxjuicexxx
Guy in the Corner


Registered: 03/10/10
Posts: 104
Loc: Canada
Last seen: 10 years, 4 months
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: aghorrorag]
#14820677 - 07/25/11 03:06 AM (12 years, 6 months ago) |
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We sit here alone, and you just can't put down your phone.
Being ignored heightens your fears, and your whole world turns to tears.
I gently caress your arm, to protect you from all the harm.
I tell you everything will be alright, but the pain continues to take a chilling bite.
The night air shivering cold, when all you want is someone to hold.
You then reach for my hand, confusing me with your silver ring band.
Half reluctantly I return the favor, knowing that it is all part of your drunken behavior.
Mixed emotions want to fix your heartache, when all along I know its a mistake.
Holding you makes me reminisce, about the last time being with you put me in bliss.
Finally relieved from your figurative sand trap, you gently rest your head upon my lap.
I softly tuck your hair behind your ear, your always someone I'll hold dear.
Peacefully you drift off into slumber, nothing making sense like an irrational number.
The night fades away like a bad vision, but loving you is such an easy decision.
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timelapses
Life in free form



Registered: 01/26/11
Posts: 4,600
Loc: in a shroomery prison
Last seen: 7 years, 4 months
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: xxxjuicexxx]
#14820730 - 07/25/11 03:30 AM (12 years, 6 months ago) |
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Witching hour, 3 a.m. waiting for women, nothing to do again. Time crawls. Life is a paradox, so small yet still important seeing a movie, tree of life, feel so impotent perspedtive, a grain of sand on the beach Feel like a parasite, a tempory leach. Time grinds slow. A woman to make my day, to make the blues go away, will she love me and will she stay? Still will be in bed wondering what may, what may make a brighter day. Stupid and insignificant in the greater scheme of things don't care what i see, feel, or what the future brings. happiness is temporary and a life barel lived always afraid, no matter what I give. Dead but awake bad dreams the last three nights awakening to forms of nightmares and frights No one can take this away, my chances withered and nothing to say. My love will come and I will enjoy the trivial pursuit of one devoid of joy. Still I will love.
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timelapses
Life in free form



Registered: 01/26/11
Posts: 4,600
Loc: in a shroomery prison
Last seen: 7 years, 4 months
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: timelapses]
#14846463 - 07/29/11 11:01 PM (12 years, 5 months ago) |
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A bit about women, the soul of a woman was created below (I wrote that myself lol, inside joke from a movie), lol, still waiting in tow, second fiddle, fuck the riddle. I don't need the model though I once had them age catches up and the women around having ten One post here read and a journey into lonliness seems so small but but what a gladness to write, to feel that loving vibe, nothing right now compares to it but I love to imbibe Women, so easy to burn bridges
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Crumpet
go sranger



Registered: 04/21/10
Posts: 1,082
Loc: Australia
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: timelapses]
#14850539 - 07/31/11 06:50 AM (12 years, 5 months ago) |
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loot by my key board at every turn another cellar to be assured another phrase too change afraid my name'll fade beneath these fingers lingering in rogain style raised by finger licking ninjas cinder circituous engulfed by prion prised by pigions rimmer swimmer minions isnt it is isnt it itish a brush up by the collar sounding more n more astounding and they've raised em in a pound they say raised em with a pounding
-------------------- Ronda Nina...
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Crumpet
go sranger



Registered: 04/21/10
Posts: 1,082
Loc: Australia
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Crumpet]
#14850710 - 07/31/11 08:44 AM (12 years, 5 months ago) |
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everything insideous every odious spit an omen pitch tone over toking over an obsolete throne open notion over notion over no shin kicking nose in everything in sinking quick the word i wrote in this poem dont fit with coaxed kin a bong gong belongs to me. son soverignty an ode too serenade this made enough chicks in to rip it's meaning meaning your a bulli, im bison, re generate the generation but all when i was wired by a stollen occupation
-------------------- Ronda Nina...
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Crumpet
go sranger



Registered: 04/21/10
Posts: 1,082
Loc: Australia
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Crumpet]
#14850752 - 07/31/11 08:59 AM (12 years, 5 months ago) |
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im oh so pissed at poetry who wrote an oposing foe or three an open slot to throw the po at me now it's po i see i see i noticed po's posing like bros i warned ya, now tigger n winnie the poos a no go somthing sus with thomas postman pat and the fat controller fireman sams source of assertion pola? who throws the worst fit when it's over me my son or the baby blue boys who rise from coals to tackle bipola
-------------------- Ronda Nina...
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Crumpet
go sranger



Registered: 04/21/10
Posts: 1,082
Loc: Australia
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Crumpet]
#14850808 - 07/31/11 09:19 AM (12 years, 5 months ago) |
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yo yo i pissed my pants mr over standing vocational sprooker of the lower i loaned a goefer attitude to overthrow a poker twist inside out n back da frontal lobe provoking boaster yo yo a sting of tea cha cha ventriloquist chokers go for the throught ha! id write it higher but i cant beat ha! it write it with a ball point texta better yet id try to type training wheels on trikes bite the brighter mike reciter we've all been hoaxed by roped quotes only i can decipher i've written almost everthing in english litterate since flicked off the lighter with twisted sticks n fingertips i blush before a diner
-------------------- Ronda Nina...
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drjustice
God-like



Registered: 09/23/10
Posts: 195
Loc: NH
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Crumpet]
#14853309 - 07/31/11 07:36 PM (12 years, 5 months ago) |
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Your voice is cancer to my ear I'll follow anyway you vear
I need your guidance for my health I cannot think for myself
Would you just please direct me? Show me how to find some glory Different faces same old story Control
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Crumpet
go sranger



Registered: 04/21/10
Posts: 1,082
Loc: Australia
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: drjustice]
#14853889 - 07/31/11 09:32 PM (12 years, 5 months ago) |
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wot up doc? ya just another hinderence im in the gents lucuna now where joy'll find my fingerprints im a timmid piece of work upon a wall of injured idiots lappidery plaige plaque, carnivool dividends will in graph grapple.
pp
-------------------- Ronda Nina...
Edited by Crumpet (07/31/11 11:16 PM)
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