Duck and Cover

First I will tear open the skies

Parting through the Morphean blue

The very substance of the ætheria

stands naked before you



We then begin to soar you and I

Past the sun, the moon and stars

Traversing forward through the lonely distant dark



Beyond æpochs of black

where space was left out

Far from all worldly fears and doubt

Until we approach the blinding throne of God

Which before your radiant grace,

dims to a shimmering celestial pale



As you look behind

The universe falls away like a tiny sphere

Spinning there in the palm of your hand

The essence of time melts from view

As the breadth of æternity surrounds you



At that moment then

When the beat of every immortal heart joins as one

The Heavens echo with Angel's throng

Whose chorus sings a momentous song

Ave Beatus Et Forma Aeternum, Ea Reditusus

that was really good, johnny. i nominate you to be poet laureate of dac

atoga wrote:that was really good, johnny. i nominate you to be poet laureate of dac

u r ded faget

Utter the Word of Majesty and Terror!
True without lie, and certain without error,
And of the essence of The Truth. I know
The things above are as the things below,
The things below are as the things above,
To wield the One Thing's Thaumaturgy -- Love.
As all from one sprang, by one contemplation,
So all from one were born, by permutation.
Sun sired, Moon bore, this unique Universe;
Air was its chariot, and Earth its nurse.
Here is the root of every talisman
Of the whole world, since the whole world began.
Here is the fount and source of every soul.
Let it be spilt on earth! its strength is whole.
Now gently, subtly, with thine Art conspire
To fine the gross, dividing earth and fire.
Lo! it ascendeth and descendeth, even
And swift, an endless band of earth and heaven;
Thus it receiveth might of duplex Love,
The powers below conjoined with those above,
So shall the glory of the world be thine
And darkness flee before thy SOVRAN shrine.
This is the strong strength of all strength; surpass
The subtle and subdue it; pierce the crass
And salve it; so bring all things to their fated
Perfection: for by this was all created.
O marvel of miracle! O magic mode!
All things adapted to one circling code!
Since three parts of all wisdom I may claim,
Hermes thrice great, and greatest, is my name.
What I have written of the one sole Sun,
His work, is here divined, and dared, and done.

Redeye wrote:

atoga wrote:that was really good, johnny. i nominate you to be poet laureate of dac

u r ded faget

u got a problem son??

aw shucks guys

Just remembering that Llama guy. He always used the Kermit and said: "U R ded faget".

lets stare sharing some more im hungry for the lyricism

The mountianers have shagy ears,
there hardy sons a bitches!,
they pop ther cocks on jagged rocks,
they go without there britches,
they screw ther whores right through there drawers,
they don't care for trifles,
they hang there balls apon the walls
AND SHOOT THEM WITH THERE RIFLES!,
much fun they reap in diddling sheep in divrs,nooks and diches,
NOR THEY GIVE A DAMN IF IT BE A RAM!,
THERE HARDY SONS A BITCHES!

All of the poems from my creative writing class:


THE SPANISH GUITAR

Lonely strings
whisper and roar
across empty skies
and far away
through red mesas
to villages of clay
where chiquitas glide
and sway
to gentle plucks
and furious strums
from old, sure hands
lifting desert wind
sweeping sand
across cracked clay
catching a dancing girl
swirling black hair away
ruffling her dress
as rose petals
carried on the wind
to the black desert
with the whispers
of lonely strings


MARS BOG


Great and ancient trees rise
and blot out the sun
as the bog belches and bubbles
in unimaginable blackness below
where slimy and scrawny things scurry about
blind from millennia of darkness
feeling for prey
listening for the tentacles
that sometimes sneak from the water
to grasp some small snack
and drag it back down into the bog.


SLUMS OF KENYA

Huddled metal clumps
Of rusted organs grown cancerous
And spreading out along veins of dirt road
Lined with refugees and runaways
Headed for Mombassa or Nairobi
Fleeing the smells of the slum
The hot stink of garbage
Piled a half-mile across
The disease that seeps into
Black mouths from sewage channels
From men with minds for rape
And Hunger that becomes violence
From police searches and beatings
From gangs, murders and muggings
Along a trash-strewn dirt road
To a boiling and bloated city
That cares nothing for the starving homeless
from a nameless slum.


A FRESH PAGE

Be still
Let me sketch my favorite parts
in gray, wet graphite kisses
along your neck
your breasts
and your belly
Let me trace your contours
in thick, jet black ink from my fingers
up your arms
down your sides
to the hips
Let me give your face
sweet silhouettes to stand out
around your lips
over eyelids
Across the ridge of your nose
Let me blow lightly over every inch
a base of baby blue to give you goose bumps
from the forehead
to your tiny toes
back up to your inner thighs

Now help me add the colors:
The dripping red of a deep kiss
A playful bite outlined in eggshell
Lime green beads of sweat
Smeared black handprints
Lemon pink splash from a friendly spank
Quick pecks in soft peach splatters
all blending between bodies
Swirling, smudging as we struggle
Artist with his art



A FANATIC'S MANTRA

This city's got a cancer of queers and crack heads,
unwed pregnant whores,
bastard sons and false idols.

Bathing in sin, the lot of 'em.
Static shadows on the landscape
like shiftless putrid ticks
engorged with the blood of Eden.

Waiting for the vengeance I deliver
through a steady, tested rifle
blessed by the son of man
and a trigger finger
ignited with almighty spirit.

I will shine down a divine
and mighty vision of Heaven ablaze,
Through thick gun smoke
across a wave of Satan's army.

With first daylight in the hour of judgment,
By way of great plague
Nuclear war
Unnatural storm
Or the rise of Hell's last son,

I will receive his sign
and through me,
with him
in the crosshairs of an automatic,
I must judge all the living in my path,
to gain salvation in the end,
Amen.

Mary's Mysterious Demise: As Told By The Initial Investigator

"Poor Granny died," the family said
"of a hemorrhaging within her head."

Her daughter, Mary, quite distraught,
ended her life with a hangman's knot.

Though it is odd no note was found,
what's odder still was that awful sound
that came on the wind from the graveyard hill.
It terrifies me even still;

The way that voice, so dead and cold
whispered "My Mary always does as she's told."




I got mad corny rhymes, yo!

Goretheglowingone wrote:The mountianers have shagy ears,
there hardy sons a bitches!,
they pop ther cocks on jagged rocks,
they go without there britches,
they screw ther whores right through there drawers,
they don't care for trifles,
they hang there balls apon the walls
AND SHOOT THEM WITH THERE RIFLES!,
much fun they reap in diddling sheep in divrs,nooks and diches,
NOR THEY GIVE A DAMN IF IT BE A RAM!,
THERE HARDY SONS A BITCHES!

that rocks hardcore! Did you actually come up with that?

if so I would change- they don't care for trifles,
to- they never care for trifles,

it flows better IMO

Peotry is for sad people. Also words are there to convey meaning, poetry is a waste of time because it is INEFFICIENT.

You stood well back when they were handing out the Gorm, did you not ?

hurf durf gurf

shit didn't remember this thread

S4ur0n27 wrote:shit didn't remember this thread

'tis gonna be okay. I promise.

I have something against poetry, i think i was the one who voted go to hell.

I dont know what it is, but poetry just pisses me off.

The itsy bitsy spider went out to clean the vault
Out came the cops to wash the spider out
He shot his big laser, and shot it again
And the itsy bitsy spider was never bothered again.

So I started this little story-type thing, and am not sure how I feel about it. It's totally influenced by Lovecraft. I feel like it's confusing if I don't explain the premise prior to reading, so read and let me know exactly what you get from it, please.


I

The thing beckoned me once more
from an ancient crypt
perched atop a granite cliff
jutting from the shore
and dazed, I awoke
out of dream plagued sleep,
deep, and steeped in terrifying visions
from some shadowy world
my flesh knew well
but my mind could not place
of rituals over stone alters
an alien thing with human face
elder gods beneath the sea
all waiting on the brink.
For what?
I cannot think, or will not.
Still I shuffle sleepily down the great hall
to the foyer where I donned coat
and boots.
Then out into a bitter night fit for fall.

II

Along a seldom beaten path I hurried
through an eerie twilight world
frozen, and spectral blue
and caught in some silent fury by the wind.
My vision dimmed
as onward I strode,
thorny bushes clutching for my coat
while bare black branches
beat at my face, and shielding hands
and as the path began to slope up hill
far in the distance
resting, anxious yet still
I gazed upon their silhouettes
rows upon rows of cracked headstones
battered, worn by time and yet
somehow living, breathing
Heaving upon the horizon with every step I took
until at last
I came to that iron gate
creaking in the wind, unhinged
and with a coat of rust that ate
at it relentlessly

III

?


So that's as far as I got. Is it trash everyone but rabbitnut? You think its worth continuing, 'cause I'm not sure at this point.