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Author Topic: Poem Thread  (Read 5098 times)
Whiteclaws
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« on: August 18, 2013, 11:29:19 AM »

Bed bugs,
Dead bugs,
Rotting chunks of flesh.
Dead flies,
Meat pies,
Standing on your chest.

Black hair,
Death stare,
Never does she scream.
Black braid,
Death's maid,
Nothing but a dream.
« Last Edit: August 19, 2013, 05:16:08 AM by Whiteclaws » Logged
Capntastic
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« Reply #1 on: August 18, 2013, 11:41:56 AM »

It's a
poem, dude!
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Stimor
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« Reply #2 on: August 18, 2013, 11:49:39 AM »

cats are neat, they cant be beat
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Eigen
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« Reply #3 on: August 18, 2013, 12:45:00 PM »

I used to write a lot of poems in my native language, but not so much in English. Translating is hard.

manparts, ladyparts?
no matter, fits like a puzzle
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Conker534
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« Reply #4 on: August 18, 2013, 12:46:47 PM »

hello
jello
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Dr. Cooldude
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« Reply #5 on: August 18, 2013, 12:48:39 PM »

Der var engang en abe
den boede i en skov
og den ku' svinge sig fra gren til gren
og ta' bananer.
Såd'n når den - bum -
rendte rundt og laved' sjov.
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Blambo
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« Reply #6 on: August 18, 2013, 07:21:03 PM »

Danish sounds awesome no matter how silly the subject
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Eigen
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« Reply #7 on: August 18, 2013, 09:28:05 PM »

Inimesed naeravad mul näkku,
kui ütlen hobiks "ma riistvõimlen",
tahaks kiirelt pista plehku,
aga vahel hoopis vastu sõimlen.
Arvavad vist et olen homorastne,
küljes riista katsumise maine,
on küll liigesed elastsed,
kuid kodus siiski ootab naine.




Google translates this ... well, somewhat ... but the wordplay doesn't translate at all. Riistvõimlemine means gymnastics on those metal bars and rings on ropes. Riist- is basically a dick in slang. See where I was going with this? Well, hello there!

People laugh at me in the face,
hobby when I say "I riistvõimlen"
'd quickly shove amok,
However, instead of the slang.
I guess I think that homorastne,
adhering dick touching reputation
Although the joints are flexible,
but at home, still woman waits.
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Evan Balster
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« Reply #8 on: August 18, 2013, 10:00:28 PM »

Silver-eyed and silver-tongued, the watching Osporidium.
O'er abbatoirs it keeps its wretched post.
Its grating sings the slain to sleep; its knife-keen gaze the mem'ries keep.
Among who pass, it sees the end of most...
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Impmaster
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Scary, isn't it?


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« Reply #9 on: August 19, 2013, 02:05:16 AM »

Oooh, Evan, that sounds pretty good. Unless one of the words I don't know actually changes the whole thing into a joke.
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Whiteclaws
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« Reply #10 on: August 19, 2013, 05:15:47 AM »

Keep em' coming , let's make this post the poem thread
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Evan Balster
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« Reply #11 on: August 19, 2013, 08:59:29 AM »

A shapeless figure, locked away
Inside a realm it godly sways
To weave in light and shadow there
A living, moving world from air
And nightly does it host a guest
Who comes and goes at own behest
And time to time might seize the throne
To make the place a toy its own
And on the morn to leave the mess
Its keeper cleans, without protest
For lonely is the weaving-hand
The breaking one's its only friend
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Creativity births expression.  Curiosity births exploration.
Our work is as soil to these seeds; our art is what grows from them...


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« Reply #12 on: August 19, 2013, 11:47:45 AM »

a dog is not a pony, whatever happened to kony?
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Dr. Cooldude
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« Reply #13 on: August 19, 2013, 11:48:33 AM »

a dog is not a pony, whatever happened to kony?

winner
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Evan Balster
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« Reply #14 on: August 20, 2013, 02:42:34 PM »

A flash of insight tears into my mind,
And for a moment, through a sea of black,
A brilliant light that nearly strikes me blind --
I seize for something I might carry back.

And to the mortal world a filament
Of intuition's world is strangely sent.
As brilliant as it be it seems a ghost
Before the whole a breath ago so close.

And to black oceans I will not return,
Through force or wish or poison of the mind.
Each step between these worlds is to be earned!
For precious are the treasures one might find.

The hist'ry books will praise the cunning thief,
Mere seconds in a lifetime spends beneath.
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Creativity births expression.  Curiosity births exploration.
Our work is as soil to these seeds; our art is what grows from them...


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Blambo
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« Reply #15 on: August 20, 2013, 05:10:17 PM »

+1000 for sonnet!
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Liza
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« Reply #16 on: August 21, 2013, 01:51:48 AM »

Give me my pie
Or you'll have to die.
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Schoq
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♡∞


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« Reply #17 on: August 21, 2013, 07:30:07 AM »

oh shit, I wrote a poem once:

 sunrise in the west
 traveling to new places
 hoping for the best


it's a haiku that rhymes, pretty sure that's worth extra points??


(you're supposed to listen to this song while reading it!)
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Kekskiller
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« Reply #18 on: August 21, 2013, 05:19:17 PM »

summer rain

a cloudy spire of midsummer grace
destined to rule in a sudden

where it belongs is not yet known
but still, fate imagined it's place

inmidst all grues - it shall sing
a song of silence and fame

so on they tell, knowing of end
for the deaf will hear
for the blind will see
a thunder beyond embrace
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Evan Balster
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« Reply #19 on: August 21, 2013, 10:48:25 PM »

There is work to do
Ambition fights contentment
Happiness can wait
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Creativity births expression.  Curiosity births exploration.
Our work is as soil to these seeds; our art is what grows from them...


Wreath, SoundSelf, Infinite Blank, Cave Story+, <plaid/audio>
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