An outlet for players whose creativity extends beyond the board. Post your original works here!
The posting of song lyrics is not the purpose of this board and as such please refrain from doing so. Exceptions can be made to this rule if you are the copyrighted owner of the lyrics and the lyrics are not found offensive by the majority of the population. This board is a place to post your original works of poetry and prose and also a place for discussion of poetry and related areas.
We have received word from Fencer that other's poetry can be posted to this board. These are the two conditions: 1) When someone posts a known copyrighted poem, he must add the author's name as well 2) If the author is not known, the poem can be posted without problems
Списък с дискусии
Тук не Ви е разрешено да публикувате съобщения. Изисква се ниво на членство най-малко Мозъчен Кон.
The late Errol Flynn died from a heart attack on his YACHT with TWO 18 yr. old girls. While never condoning the age of the girls, men everywhere tipped their hat to him.
This was my Nanas attitude to death too! She died in her 70's... peacefully in her sleep.
Let Me Die a Youngman's Death
Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death
When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party
Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides
Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one
Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death
The years are passing quickly and I look deep within
to see if life is being kind and perhaps there I'll find some kin
Somedays I see a stranger there and other times my face shines
and with the wrinkles I do wonder...
laugh lines or hard times?
I often see my momma looking back at me
So that is quite the compliment can't you see?
As she was and is a looker a real beauty they all say
and, I've been told if I be blessed
perhaps, I'll look half as good one day:-)
But then on days I see my aunts
Shirley 'n Lucille, both smiling back at me.
When I was young I was Cille's image and then it passed away...
Now years later can't help but wonder, has it come to stay?
It really is quite strange, I never know who
I might meet when looking in my mirror.
And in my childrens face...
My Brandy and my Crockett
Branded for eternity I now see a hint of me!
I know for sure without a doubt great grannys skin I have.
Oft times I see a hint of my handsome daddy when he was very young
but then.... with that slanted mischievous grin its grandad and my brother!
And I have noticed as my cheeks begin to sag my lips seem to grow thinner...
and if I imagine my eyes to be another color
With this silver that streaks my hair
Ah, my precious Granny Pummill
Now some say 'I look only look like Patty,
No family traits can they find'...
I suspect tis true, I only see myself.
Just a loving mixture of those who walked before ...
Each one so very special and so kind.
Me, I'd like to think as years go by and my youth is left behind
that deep within now a
'real beauty' just begins
for all this world to see and
I shall pray it might stay and never fade away...
Cause if its true what I've been told the love
I have for Jehovah will mark my face like my heart and
I will always 'shine'
LOL, I'd be happy to add the points up if everyone is happy with that.
Personally I like the idea of being able to award points to each poem.
Also this way people will be more honest with their points because its anonymous - only results would be made public... unless there was a querie on any votes. Maybe 2 people gathering the points would be a better idea? Then people could choose who to send their votes (points) to?
Obviously there would have to be some rules... one vote per person etc. And all entries should make it clear that they ARE entries, and must be in by a certain date to be considered for votes... nobody should vote until all entries are in etc etc.
Or, you could have a points system, each person can award points for each poem, and one person adds up all the points per poem. Then people can judge each poem!
How about if everyone judges? I think it was cubs who came up with a good judging idea a while ago... everyone sends their vote to a selected person who adds the votes up and posts the results.
I'd like to see the following people on it (in no particular order of merit):
1. harley
2. Aragon KM
3. danoschek
4. bumble
5. CurrentRiver KM
6. emattie1943
7. GrassHopperSD
All of these people seem highly-qualified to judge poetry and are also frequent contributors to the Poetry DB. Some have expressed a dislike for pitting poems against each other and their arguments are strong and well-respected. But surely they still like some poems better than others and I think they are highly-qualified. This seems like a great starting list anyway.
I'd post this on the Poetry Challenge DB but a lot of you have yet to come aboard (Hint!) :o)
Относно: For all the kids about to start back at school...
First Day at School
A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)
Why are they all so big, other children?
So noisy? So much at home they
Must have been born in uniform
Lived all their lives in playgrounds
Spent the years inventing games
That don't let me in. Games
That are rough, that swallow you up.
And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?
Things that carry off and eat children?
Things you don't take sweets from?
Perhaps they're to stop us getting out
Running away from the lessins. Lessin.
What does a lessin look like?
Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.
I wish I could remember my name
Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies. When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere
Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.
This is from a band called James, they all share credit so I can't say for sure who actually wrote this:
Lullaby
Since your mother cast her spell
Every kiss has left a bruise
You’ve been raiding too much meaning from existence
Now your head is used and sore
And the forecast is for more
Memories falling, like falling rain
Falling rain
Every view they hold on you’s
A piano, out of tune
You’re an angel
You’re a demon
You’re just human
Now your world has turned to trash
Broken windows on the past
Take that child and teach him senseless
Damage the dream, damage the dream
I feel nothing, I feel nothing at all
I feel nothing at all
In this gloomy, haunted place
All the feelings are of shame
All the windows have been broken by the children
So the wind screams up the stairs
Slams the doors and rattles chairs
I wish we weren’t conceived in violence
Damage the dream, damage the dream
The magic is broken
The house is in ruins
Your memory’s one-sided
The side that you’re choosing feels nothing
Feels nothing at all
We feel nothing at all
Time for a little lesson in philosophy. In order of importance, men do poetry:
1. To get laid.
2. Because it is not feasable or physically possible to get laid 24/7.
3. As a substitute for getting laid while waiting to get laid.
Thus poetry, which brings such an essential joy & happiness to all, will endure just so long as women give in. You see both your high calling & your duty, fair Ladies! :o)
Darren I would like for you to meet one of my very good friends...Phil (Bumble) I knew you would like to meet him so I try this way....I am Granny wombat and He is the reason why :):) He indeed is something else....in all ways :)..
Bumble this is Darren from Ireland...(AragonKM)
I believe he has heard wonderful things about you and I wanted to introduce you to him....visa vera... He said he could picture me granny lololol...now you have to tell him about me sewing right lololol and rocking :):)
Just a reminder to apply for membership for all who wish. Aragon KM is our worthy Big Boss and we're excited about the possibilities. Just go to the fellowship and follow the directions. You want in, you got it! Message me (or Aragon) with any questions. :o)
Poetry is competition! brutal War & holy Mission
'Gainst the Evil opposition that around our Fortress lies
Armed with pen we force the Battle, poised upon the Charger's saddle
Swords & pikes & shields we rattle! to the Stars we lift our cries
Till the Vault of Heaven answers, till we conquer Tears & Sighs
Bow not beneath this dreadful Fate! why turn the cheek? why bar the Gate?
Why cower in this mortal State and die with false Tranquility?
If we must fall, let's fall like Men! and curse the gods for letting in
This wretched Death, this Timeless Sin, which robs us of our Dignity
To arms, I say, against this Doom which presses Irrevocably
So cry for Joy against all Odds, and scream in Rage against the gods
For Love! for Strength! for Victory! for blessed Immortality
For Life so Sacred, yes I say! and Death's a bitter Price to pay
For giving sport to gods at Play who gaze with Scorn on Me & Thee
They gaze with Malice & with Spite on mighty Souls who would be Free
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of i{Spiritus Mundi}
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at laSt,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Miss Tat..I said I REPRESENT that remark (not resent) It's an old joke I heard Milton Berle use a few times. Ask your Granpa who Milton Berle was. I admit it wasn't very funny. :o)
Let's do it, Aragon! Brilliant idea if ever there was one. Poetry Challenge it is. I'd be pleased if you'd consider making yourself Big Boss in the new club, which I hope to see appearing shortly. If not you, then perhaps harley or one of our other fine contributors. At any rate some of them can be club managers! I'm greatly looking forward to this & together we can get this thing rolling. :o)