Moderator: Kimra
Edminster wrote:I'm starting to think Euclid lives in the past.
7. You can’t vote for yourself
ol qwerty bastard wrote:bitcoin is backed by math, and math is intrinsically perfect and logically consistent always
gödel stop spreading fud
Astrogirl wrote:Lethal, nobody wants to know about your herpes.
Lethal Interjection wrote:That's good to know. I can avoid a few awkward phone calls now.
Edminster wrote:I'm starting to think Euclid lives in the past.
Euclidthegreek wrote:I'm racist against him
GUTCHUCKER wrote:From a germinologists perspective,
A terminalia is plant genitalia.
From a physicists perspective,
It's a superfluous curved surface.
From an agronomists perspective,
A flower means seed-making power.
From an insect's perspective,
An angelica means sweet nectar.
From a junkie's perspective,
A poppy makes wacky toffee.*
From my perspective,
Who gives a shit? I just needed a concept for this forum poem.
*I made that shit up.
Dane Raider wrote:Like the Flower You Are
This will be the last time,
I promise myself that each time, but each time is a lie.
I laugh around others,
And tell them how I do it for your winning smile, your warm heart,
But really what sticks in my mind is that look in your eye.
He handles you so delicately,
Like the flower you are,
O princess of mine...
But not just mine.
As you flail and kick and squeak out your desperate cry,
I know.
By all that's holy, I wish I believed you,
But I'm no fool.
Your bodyguard so few today,
Oh, is it that time of month again already?
His venomous grin, those reptile teeth,
And with a flick of his wrist you are draped over his shoulder,
He bounds away, powerfully,
And I guess that's why you let him.
How could I compete?
A working man, me.
I unclog the drains,
Yet you let me be the hero of your heart,
I yearn for those days.
Anger wells within me,
How fucking dare you, you bitch?!
I crush the face of another betoothed mushroom,
Revelling in the moment's catharsis as I hold its life in the balance,
And with the final push of my heel it spasms to oblivion.
You're back with me now,
And we lay in each other,
A hero's reward, who could ask for more?
But the words keep echoing in my head,
Never ceasing, always mocking,
As true now as when ever they were spoke,
"Our princess is in another castle."
Felstaff wrote:I saw it grow betwixt the crack
And crushed it with my boot
It wasn't in full bloom, alack
Yet now that point is moot.
It struck me then, as I drew breath
That unrelenting power
That I have o'er life and death:
A simple, growing flower.
The ease of which I brushed aside
This floræ growing wild
Could equally unto betide
An also-living child?
Crunchy Pete wrote:So i was out in my car, tryin ta score some flower,
A brand new steet drug, keeps you hard for an hour,
But i couldnt find a dealer no matter how hard I scour,
Then it became obvious this whole idea had turned sour.
Then I thought, why does Crunchy Pete really want this again?
Even without it he puts shame to most mortal men,
And theres no real benefit to hangin out in this den,
Just to pick up what amounts to what a novelty pen is.
So I'm out
GreenCrayon wrote:Felstaff's words were once woven so fine,
That they sent a sharp chill up my spine,
So I did my worst,
Writ a flowery verse,
Just so one of his votes could be mine.
Kimra wrote:I see a flower on my desk,
I think, "Oh crap my desks a mess.
To clean it really would be best."
But cleaning isn't that much fun,
I'd rather sit and drink some rum,
and keep on drinking. Yes, I'm a bum.
So on my desk the flower can rot,
Til I care more for my own lot,
Or it's at least a lot less hot.
That's PURE POETRY.
DonRetrasado wrote:I took this thing,
a 3 by 3 square of paper,
white on one side, red on the other.
I folded it, and made it into a paper flower
with 4 petals.
I set it outside and waited for it to rain,
at which point it wilted into a
big fucking mess.
I won't let you have it,
this thing of art that was taken from me.
wrote that in two minutes
Euclidthegreek wrote:My name is Euclid
I came here too late
I have to confess
I forgot the date
Some men claim
To while away the hour
The best way to do it
Is in contemplation of a flower
I didn't do that
I started too late
My natural impulse
Was to procrastinate
I was going to write
The best poem there ever was
Instead I just wrote
This lame piece of scuzz
It's not like I toiled
Through forest and fen
In the lofty pursuit
Of this flower pen
My excuses are meager
This poem is rote
But yet I will ask you
Can I still vote?
Dindong wrote:heard in its original pronunciation by the poet. Which you can find here.
Flower flower flower flower
flower flower flower flower
flower flower flower flower
flower flower
flower flower
flower flower flower flower
flower flower flower flower
flower flower flower flower
flower flower
flower flower
flower flower
flower flower
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 2 guests