Author Topic: Darius' poetry Corner  (Read 8949 times)

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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Darius' poetry Corner
« on: November 18, 2005, 07:39:50 pm »
Welcome to Darius' Poetry Corner. The thread for poems, either by poets or of your (and someday my) poems.

I was going to start this tread with a classic poem but since some FF'rs spawned, I chose differently. Please enjoy this short poem.

 :peace:
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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« Reply #1 on: November 18, 2005, 07:40:35 pm »
CRADLE SONG
by: William Blake (1757-1827)

SLEEP, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
 
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
 
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
 
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline Aimless

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« Reply #2 on: November 19, 2005, 01:46:36 am »
OOMPA LOOMPA DOOMPADEE DOO
I'VE GOT A PERFECT PUZZLE FOR YOU
OOMPA LOOMPA, DOOMPADAH DEE
IF YOU ARE WISE YOU'LL LISTEN ME
WHAT DO YOU GET WHEN YOU GUZZLE DOWN SWEETS
EATING AS MUCH AS AN ELEPHANT EATS
WHAT ARE YOU AT GETTING TERRIBLY FAT
WHAT DO YOU THINK WILL COME OF THAT
I DON'T LIKE THE LOOK OF IT
OOMPA LOOMPA DOOMPADEE DAH
IF YOU'RE NOT GREEDY YOU WILL GO FAR
YOU WILL LIVE IN HAPPINESS TOO
LIKE THE OOMPA LOOMPA DOOMPADEE DO
DOOMPADEE DOO
Sometimes I think, sometimes I am

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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« Reply #3 on: November 19, 2005, 05:17:58 pm »
The Raven
by: Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
Only this, and nothing more."
 
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore.
 
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;--
This it is, and nothing more."
 
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door;--
Darkness there, and nothing more.
 
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--
Merely this, and nothing more.
 
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
 
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
 
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
 
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
 
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered--not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
 
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never--nevermore'."
 
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
 
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
 
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite--respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
 
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
 
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
 
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
 
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline Auryn

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« Reply #4 on: November 19, 2005, 10:44:59 pm »
Thin hates you for this thread apparently, Darius.  I don't know why.  He's a bitter, cynical man.
Gimme the good old days when a pair of
boobs were a couple of dumb guys.

Offline The Artist Formerly Known As Genome

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« Reply #5 on: November 20, 2005, 07:07:03 pm »
Oh well, at least you posted The Raven. Which is fantastically cool.
Now I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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« Reply #6 on: November 21, 2005, 08:46:26 pm »
A SUNSET
by: Victor Hugo (1802-1885)

I LOVE the evenings, passionless and fair, I love the evens,
Whether old manor-fronts their ray with golden fulgence leavens,
In numerous leafage bosomed close;
Whether the mist in reefs of fire extend its reaches sheer,
Or a hundred sunbeams splinter in an azure atmosphere
On cloudy archipelagos.
 
Oh, gaze ye on the firmament! a hundred clouds in motion,
Up-piled in the immense sublime beneath the winds' commotion,
Their unimagined shapes accord:
Under their waves at intervals flame a pale levin through,
As if some giant of the air amid the vapors drew
A sudden elemental sword.
 
The sun at bay with splendid thrusts still keeps the sullen fold;
And momently at distance sets, as a cupola of gold,
The thatched roof of a cot a-glance;
Or on the blurred horizon joins his battle with the haze;
Or pools the blooming fields about with inter-isolate blaze,
Great moveless meres of radiance.
 
Then mark you how there hangs athwart the firmament's swept track,
Yonder a mighty crocodile with vast irradiant back,
A triple row of pointed teeth?
Under its burnished belly slips a ray of eventide,
The flickerings of a hundred glowing clouds in tenebrous side
With scales of golden mail ensheathe.
 
Then mounts a palace, then the air vibrates--the vision flees.
Confounded to its base, the fearful cloudy edifice
Ruins immense in mounded wrack;
Afar the fragments strew the sky, and each envermeiled cone
Hangeth, peak downward, overhead, like mountains overthrown
When the earthquake heaves its hugy back.
 
These vapors, with their leaden, golden, iron, bronzèd glows,
Where the hurricane, the waterspout, thunder, and hell repose,
Muttering hoarse dreams of destined harms,--
'Tis God who hangs their multitude amid the skiey deep,
As a warrior that suspendeth from the roof-tree of his keep
His dreadful and resounding arms!
 
All vanishes! The Sun, from topmost heaven precipitated,
Like a globe of iron which is tossed back fiery red
Into the furnace stirred to fume,
Shocking the cloudy surges, plashed from its impetuous ire,
Even to the zenith spattereth in a flecking scud of fire
The vaporous and inflamèd spaume.
 
O contemplate the heavens! Whenas the vein-drawn day dies pale,
In every season, every place, gaze through their every veil?
With love that has not speech for need!
Beneath their solemn beauty is a mystery infinite:
If winter hue them like a pall, or if the summer night
Fantasy them starre brede.
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline Croi Boi

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« Reply #7 on: November 22, 2005, 07:48:47 am »
Quote
Oh well, at least you posted The Raven. Which is fantastically cool.


But a little played.  :P
there is another world
there is a better world
well, there must be.

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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« Reply #8 on: November 25, 2005, 09:55:25 pm »
Fear
by: Rudyard Kipling

ERE Mor the Peacock flutters, ere the Monkey People cry,
Ere Chil the Kite swoops down a furlong sheer,
Through the Jungle very softly flits a Shadow and a sigh--
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!
Very softly down the glade runs a waiting, watching shade,
And the whisper spreads and widens far and near;
And the sweat is on thy brow, for he passes even now--
He is Fear, O Little Hunter, he is Fear!
Ere the Moon has climbed the mountain, ere the rocks are ribbed with light,
When the downward-dipping tails are dank and drear;
Comes a breathing hard behind thee, snuffle-snuffle through the night--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!
On thy knees and draw the bow, bid the shrilling arrow go;
In the empty mocking thicket plunge the spear;
But thy hands are loosed and weak, and the blood has left thy cheek--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!
 
When the heat-cloud sucks the tempest, when the silvered pine trees fall,
When the blinding, blaring rain-squalls lash and veer;
Through the trumpets of the thunder rings a voice more loud than all--
It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear!
Now the spates are banked and deep; now the footless boulders leap;
Now the lightning shows each littlest leaf-rib clear;
But thy throat is shut and dried, and thy heart against thy side
Hammers: Fear, O Little Hunter--this is Fear!
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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« Reply #9 on: November 28, 2005, 10:06:45 pm »
SONNET #1
by: William Shakespeare

FROM fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory;
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thout that are now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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« Reply #10 on: December 03, 2005, 11:36:17 am »
TO IRELAND IN THE COMING TIMES
by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

KNOW, that I would accounted be
True brother of a company
That sang, to sweeten Ireland's wrong,
Ballad and story, rann and song;
Nor be I any less of them,
Because the red-rose-bordered hem
Of her, whose history began
Before God made the angelic clan,
Trails all about the written page.
When Time began to rant and rage
The measure of her flying feet
Made Ireland's heart begin to beat;
And Time bade all his candles flare
To light a measure here and there;
And may the thoughts of Ireland brood
Upon a measured quietude.
 
Nor may I less be counted one
With Davis, Mangan, Ferguson,
Because, to him who ponders well,
My rhymes more than their rhyming tell
Of things discovered in the deep,
Where only body's laid asleep.
For the elemental creatures go
About my table to and fro,
That hurry from unmeasured mind
To rant and rage in flood and wind;
Yet he who treads in measured ways
May surely barter gaze for gaze.
Man ever journeys on with them
After the red-rose-bordered hem.
Ah, faeries, dancing under the moon,
A Druid land, a Druid tune!
 
While still I may, I write for you
The love I lived, the dream I knew.
From our birthday, until we die,
Is but the winking of an eye;
And we, our singing and our love,
What measurer Time has lit above,
And all benighted things that go
About my table to and fro,
Are passing on to where may be,
In truth's consuming ecstasy,
No place for love and dream at all;
For God goes by with white footfall.
I cast my heart into my rhymes,
That you, in the dim coming times,
May know how my heart went with them
After the red-rose-bordered hem.
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline Fred's Bimbo Girl

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« Reply #11 on: December 04, 2005, 01:01:54 pm »
here's one of mine. it's untitled.



i stumble
i scrabble
i clutch and grasp
and i weep

darkness
thick and tangible
smothering

i open my mouth to cry out
and darkness pours in
denying
drowning

where is the light?
just one tiny pinprick of starlight
in this doom would do
no breath
no hope

i struggle
i flail
i batter and thrash


and i fail
i'm just attracted to shiny things. and soft
fluffy things. god help me if someone ever invents a soft fluffy shiny thing.


i always knew i had to let go of dax's virginity some day *sigh*

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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« Reply #12 on: December 07, 2005, 08:17:48 pm »
ZIRA: IN CAPTIVITY
translated into English by: Laurence Hope (1865-1904)

LOVE me a little, Lord, or let me go,
I am so weary walking to and fro
Through all your lonely halls that were so sweet
Did they but echo to your coming feet.

When by the flowered scrolls of lace-like stone
Our women's windows -- I am left alone,
Across the yellow Desert, looking forth,
I see the purple hills towards the north.

Behind those jagged Mountains' lilac crest
Once lay the captive bird's small rifled nest.
There was my brother slain, my sister bound;
His blood, her tears, drunk by the thirsty ground.

Then, while the burning village smoked on high,
And desecrated all the peaceful sky,
They took us captive, us, born frank and free,
On fleet, strong camels through the sandy sea.

Yet, when we rested, night-times, on the sand
By the rare waters of this weary land,
Our captors, ere the camp was wrapped in sleep,
Talked, and I listened, and forgot to weep.

"Is he not brave and fair?" they asked, "our King,
Slender as one tall palm-tree by a spring;
Erect, serene, with gravely brilliant eyes,
As deeply dark as are those desert skies.

"Truly no bitter fate," they said, and smiled,
"Awaits the beauty of this captured child!"
Then something in my heart began to sing,
And secretly I longed to see the King.

Sometimes the other maidens sat in tears,
Sometimes, consoled, they jested at their fears,
Musing what lovers Time to them would bring;
But I was silent, thinking of the King.

Till, when the weary endless sands were passed,
When, far to south, the city rose at last,
All speech forsook me and my eyelids fell,
Since I already loved my Lord so well.

Then the division: some were sent away
To merchants in the city; some, they say,
To summer palaces, beyond the walls.
But me they took straight to the Sultan's halls.

Every morning I would wake and say
"Ah, sisters, shall I see our Lord to-day?"
The women robed me, perfumed me, and smiled;
"When were his feet unfleet to pleasure, child?"

And tales they told me of his deeds in war,
Of how his name was reverenced afar;
And, crouching closer in the lamp's faint glow,
They told me of his beauty, speaking low.

What need, what need? the women wasted art;
I loved you with every fibre of my heart
Already. My God! when did I not love you,
In life, in death, when shall I not love you?

You never seek me. All day long I lie
Watching the changes of the far-off sky
Behind the lattice-work of carven stone.
And all night long, alas! I lie alone.

But you come never. Ah, my Lord the King,
How can you find it well to do this thing?
Come once, come only: sometimes, as I lie,
I doubt if I shall see you first, or die.

Ah, could I hear your footsteps at the door
Hallow the lintel and caress the floor,
Then I might drink your beauty, satisfied,
Die of delight, ere you could reach my side.

Alas, you come not, Lord: life's flame burns low,
Faint for a loveliness it may not know,
Faint for your face, Oh, come -- come soon to me --
Lest, though you should not, Death should, set me free!
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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« Reply #13 on: December 10, 2005, 06:47:39 pm »
PASSION
by: Charlotte Bronte (1816-1855)

SOME have won a wild delight,
By daring wilder sorrow;
Could I gain thy love to-night,
I'd hazard death to-morrow.

Could the battle-struggle earn
One kind glance from thine eye,
How this withering heart would burn,
The heady fight to try!

Welcome nights of broken sleep,
And days of carnage cold,
Could I deem that thou wouldst weep
To hear my perils told.

Tell me, if with wandering bands
I roam full far away,
Wilt thou to those distant lands
In spirit ever stray?

Wild, long, a trumpet sounds afar;
Bid me--bid me go
Where Seik and Briton meet in war,
On Indian Sutlej's flow.

Blood has dyed the Sutlej's waves
With scarlet stain, I know;
Indus' borders yawn with graves,
Yet, command me go!

Though rank and high the holocaust
Of nations steams to heaven,
Glad I'd join the death-doomed host,
Were but the mandate given.

Passion's strength should nerve my arm,
Its ardour stir my life,
Till human force to that dread charm
Should yield and sink in wild alarm,
Like trees to tempest-strife.

If, hot from war, I seek thy love,
Darest thou turn aside?
Darest thou then my fire reprove,
By scorn, and maddening pride?

No--my will shall yet control
Thy will, so high and free,
And love shall tame that haughty soul--
Yes--tenderest love for me.

I'll read my triumph in thine eyes,
Behold, and prove the change;
Then leave, perchance, my noble prize,
Once more in arms to range.

I'd die when all the foam is up,
The bright wine sparkling high;
Nor wait till in the exhausted cup
Life's dull dregs only lie.

Then Love thus crowned with sweet reward,
Hope blest with fulness large,
I'd mount the saddle, draw the sword,
And perish in the charge!
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline Devlyn, the special edition

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« Reply #14 on: December 13, 2005, 02:57:42 pm »
Quote
here's one of mine. it's untitled.



i stumble
i scrabble
i clutch and grasp
and i weep

darkness
thick and tangible
smothering

i open my mouth to cry out
and darkness pours in
denying
drowning

where is the light?
just one tiny pinprick of starlight
in this doom would do
no breath
no hope

i struggle
i flail
i batter and thrash


and i fail


I like this one. It's a bit how I feel right now :P.
First and Proudest Member of the Unmelodramatic Music Fundamentalists Association!
blehg, a blog!

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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« Reply #15 on: December 14, 2005, 09:07:13 pm »
THE BLACK CHRIST
by: Arthur Shearly Cripps (1869-1952)

PILATE and Caïaphas
They have brought this thing to pass--
That a Christ the Father gave,
Should be guest within a grave.
 
Church and State have willed to last
This tyranny not over-past;
His dark southern Brows around
They a wreath of briars have bound,
In His dark despiséd Hands
Writ in sores their writing stands.
 
By strait starlit ways I creep,
Caring while the careless sleep,
Bearing balms, and flow’rs to crown
That poor Head the stone holds down,
Through some crack or crevice dim
I would reach my sweets to Him.
 
Easter suns they rise and set,
But that stone is steadfast yet:
Past my lifting ’tis but I
When ’tis lifted would be nigh.
I believe, whate’er they say,
The sun shall dance an Easter Day,
And I that through thick twilight grope
With balms of faith, and flow’rs of hope,
Shall lift mine eyes and see that stone
Stir and shake, if not be gone.
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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« Reply #16 on: December 18, 2005, 08:30:13 pm »
INDIAN DANCERS
by: Sarojini Naidu (1879-1949)

EYES ravished with rapture, celestially panting, what passionate bosoms aflaming with fire
Drink deep of the hush of the hyacinth heavens that glimmer around them in fountains of light;
O wild and entrancing the strain of keen music that cleaveth the stars like a wail of desire,
And beautiful dancers with houri-like faces bewitch the voluptuous watches of night.
 
The scents of red roses and sandalwood flutter and die in the maze of their gem-tangled hair,
And smiles are entwining like magical serpents the poppies of lips that are opiate-sweet;
Their glittering garments of purple are burning like tremulous dawns in the quivering air,
And exquisite, subtle and slow are the tinkle and tread of their rhythmical, slumber-soft feet.
 
Now silent, now singing and swaying and swinging, like blossoms that bend to the breezes or showers,
Now wantonly winding, they flash, now they falter, and, lingering, languish in radiant choir;
Their jewel-girt arms and warm, wavering, lily-long fingers enchant through melodious hours,
Eyes ravished with rapture, celestially panting, what passionate bosoms aflaming with fire!
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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« Reply #17 on: December 26, 2005, 06:59:44 pm »
I AM THE GOD OF THE SENSUOUS FIRE
by: Sir Alfred Comyn Lyall (1835-1911)

I AM the God of the sensuous fire
That moulds all Nature in forms divine;
The symbols of death and of man’s desire,
The springs of change in the world, are mine;
The organs of birth and the circlet of bones,
And the light loves carved on the temple stones.
 
I am the lord of delights and pain,
Of the pest that killeth, of fruitful joys;
I rule the currents of heart and vein;
A touch gives passion, a look destroys;
In the heat and cold of my lightest breath
Is the might incarnate of Lust and Death.
 
If a thousand altars stream with blood
Of the victims slain by the chanting priest,
Is a great God lured by the savoury food?
I reck not of worship, or song, or feast;
But that millions perish, each hour that flies,
Is the mystic sign of my sacrifice.
 
Ye may plead and pray for the millions born;
They come like dew on the morning grass;
Your vows and vigils I hold in scorn,
The soul stays never, the stages pass;
All life is the play of the power that stirs
In the dance of my wanton worshippers.
 
And the strong swift river my shrine below
It runs, like man, its unending course
To the boundless sea from eternal snow;
Mine is the Fountain--and mine the Force
That spurs all nature to ceaseless strife;
And my image is Death at the gates of Life.
 
In many a legend and many a shape,
In the solemn grove and the crowded street,
I am the Slayer, whom none escape;
I am Death trod under a fair girl’s feet;
I govern the tides of the sentient sea
That ebbs and flows to eternity.
 
And the sum of the thought and the knowledge of man
Is the secret tale that my emblems tell;
Do ye seek God’s purpose, or trace his plan?
Ye may read your doom in my parable:
For the circle of life in its flower and its fall
Is the writing that runs on my temple wall.…
 
Let my temples fall, they are dark with age,
Let my idols break, they have stood their day;
On their deep hewn stones the primeval sage
Has figured the spells that endure alway;
My presence may vanish from river and grove,
But I rule for ever in Death and Love.
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline GrimReaper of Wrestling

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« Reply #18 on: January 02, 2006, 09:14:40 pm »
WE'LL GO NO MORE A-ROVING
by: George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)

SO, we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
 
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have a rest.
 
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.
Oh God I am the american dream
I do not think Im too extreme
An I'm a handsome sonofabitch
I'm gonna get a good job 'n be real rich

Offline AshtrayMonument

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« Reply #19 on: January 04, 2006, 12:46:08 pm »
The Bell That Tolls, My Saviour
by Edgar Allen Poe

When I wake up in the morning
And the clock lets out a warning
I don't think I'll ever make it on time
By the time I got my books I give myself a look
I'm at the corner just in time to see the bus fly by

It's alright cause I'm saved by the bell

If the teacher pops a test I know I'm a mess
And my dog ate all my homework last night
Ridin low in my chair she won't know tha t I'm there
If I can hand it in tomorrow it'll be alright

It's alright 'cause I'm saved by the bell.
It's alright 'cause I'm saved by the bell.
It's alright 'cause I'm saved by the bell.
People always tell me that they're crazy. Crazy people aren't so fucking boring.

Offline Olli

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« Reply #20 on: January 04, 2006, 12:54:38 pm »
My First Time
by Alex

The sky was dark
The moon was high
All alone
Just her and I
Her hair so soft
Her eyes so blue
I knew just what
She wanted to do
Her skin so soft
Her legs so fine
I ran my fingers
Down her spine
I didn't know how
But I tried my best
To place my hand
On her breasts
I remember my fear
My fast beating heart
But slowly she spread

Her legs apart
And when she did it
I felt no shame
All at once
The white stuff came
At last it's finished
It's all over now
My first time
Milking a COW!
who | grep -i blonde | date; cd ~; unzip; touch; strip; finger; mount; gasp; yes; uptime; umount; sleep

Offline k0ge

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« Reply #21 on: January 05, 2006, 04:49:14 am »
As long as we're all being suitably masturbatory here...

Oz

Ruby slippers wrenched from
unknowing feet
Brand-new
footwear to make an impression
in this yellow-bricked world.

And my faithful Toto did follow
a gentle glance affirms
his presence at my heels

Skin the colour of envy,
Soul a sickly morass
she only sees red
tipped allure in possession of great power
Truth is but a heel-click away

Perhaps I cannot be your saviour
From the Wicked, wicked Witch.

Love is the most elegant form of insanity.

And she did wrench in return
My most beloved
Reduced to utility in a battle gone awry
Her heedless deed doth destroy
Each sunny slab
We have so laboriously endured

Oh.  What a world.
The world that's made us can no longer contain us.
-Regina Spektor, The Consequence of Sounds

Offline Soma

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« Reply #22 on: January 05, 2006, 05:47:15 am »
Kevin (K-Fed) Federline - Y'all Aint Ready

I shouldn't be sayin' keep
My damn name outcha mouth
But y'all keep increasin' my change ...
Go ahead and say whatcha wanna
I'm gonna sell about 2 mil
Uh, then I'm goner, uh
I know y'all wishin' you was in my position
Cause I keep gettin' into situations
That you wish you was in, cousin
I'm not your brother, I'm not your uncle, I'm Daddy do
Steppin' in this game and y'all ain't got a clue
My prediction is that y'all are gonna hate
On the style we create, straight 2008
But I know that you really can't wait
Because people always askin' me
When's the release date?
Well maybe, baby, you could wait and see
Until then all these Pavarattis followin' me
Gettin' anxious? Go take a peek
I'm starrin' in your magazines
Now every day and week
Back then, they call me K-fed
But you can call me Daddy instead
Back then, they call me K-fed
But you can call ...

Don't miss K-Fed's next masterpiece "Popozao"
Pimps don't commit suicide!

Offline Thin

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« Reply #23 on: January 05, 2006, 12:30:44 pm »
"Danger and evil are everywhere,
 Nature called he didn't care,
 Who can help the world survive,
 Who can keep a dream alive?
 alive alive!"
 
 "An Awesome alien hero,
 was destine to hear the cry,
 A watcher known as widget,
 he shot down from the sky!"
 "woh-oh woh-oh,
 Widget the world watcher
 woh-oh woh-oh,
 Widget the world watcher"

Offline k0ge

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« Reply #24 on: January 05, 2006, 02:32:10 pm »
Earth!
Fire!
Wind!
Water!
Heart!

GO PLANET!

With your powers combined I am Captain Planet!

Captain Planet, he's our hero,
Gonna take pollution down to zero,
He's our powers magnified,
And he's fighting on the planet side

Captain Planet, he's our hero,
Gonna take pollution down to zero,
Gonna help him put us under,
Bad guys who like to loot and plunder

"You'll pay for this Captain Planet!"

(chanting)
We're the planeteers,
You can be one too!
'Cause saving our planet is the thing to do,
Looting and polluting is not the way,
Hear what Captain Planet has to say:

"THE POWER IS YOURS!!"
The world that's made us can no longer contain us.
-Regina Spektor, The Consequence of Sounds