>poetry[]THREAD---
What's with the title?
Ordinary titles are overrated.
Made this horrible worded and near thoughtless poem for homework, but I decided to share it anyway, and perhaps start a poetry thread.
(I'm not a poetry fan
but some people are
Some poetry can
take you far
Whether it rhymes
Whether it doesn't
If it is on time
Or if it really wasn't)
That isn't the poem, but I just made a poem there :O
(I can make a rhyme
anytime
I could be a poet
and I wouldn't even know it!)
^_^
So here's the poem I made.
Writing of poetry
What one should NOT do on this thread:
"POETRY IS FAKE AND GAY!"
"POETRY IS FOR HOMOSEXUALS!"
"POETRY IS FOR BRAZILIANS!"
"POETRY IS LIKE MY LEFT NUT! IT'S SMELLY AND UNBEARABLE!"
So what is the point of this thread?
Share any poems you might want to share!
Or find your inner poet!
(PS: I actually am not very fond of poetry, but I respect it.)
Ordinary titles are overrated.
Made this horrible worded and near thoughtless poem for homework, but I decided to share it anyway, and perhaps start a poetry thread.
(I'm not a poetry fan
but some people are
Some poetry can
take you far
Whether it rhymes
Whether it doesn't
If it is on time
Or if it really wasn't)
That isn't the poem, but I just made a poem there :O
(I can make a rhyme
anytime
I could be a poet
and I wouldn't even know it!)
^_^
So here's the poem I made.
Writing of poetry
Writing poetry is
the liposuction of emotion.
But rather
a creation is made
from it
rather than waste.
That creation is
the liposuction of emotion.
But rather
a creation is made
from it
rather than waste.
That creation is
a poem
is a creation.
From the writing
the creation is made.
Rather than waste
of liposuction
of emotion.
From the writing
the creation is made.
Rather than waste
of liposuction
of emotion.
What one should NOT do on this thread:
"POETRY IS FAKE AND GAY!"
"POETRY IS FOR HOMOSEXUALS!"
"POETRY IS FOR BRAZILIANS!"
"POETRY IS LIKE MY LEFT NUT! IT'S SMELLY AND UNBEARABLE!"
So what is the point of this thread?
Share any poems you might want to share!
Or find your inner poet!
(PS: I actually am not very fond of poetry, but I respect it.
) Comments
-
Roses are red voilets are blue you know this poem will be good if
I didn't get in one little fight because of that my mom got scared
and said "youre moving with your aunte and uncle in Bel-Air"
I begged and pleaded with her the other day
but she packed my suitcase and sent me on my way
she gave me a kissin and she gave me my ticket
I put my walkman on and said I might aswell kick it
First class, yo this is bad,
drinking orange juice out of a champagne glass
is this what the people of Bel-Air livin like,
hmm this might be alright!
I whistled for a cab and when it came near the
licensplate said "Fresh" and had a dice in the mirror
if anything I could say that this cab was rare
but I thought now forget it, yo home to Bel-Air
I pulled up to a house about seven or eight
and I yelled to the cabby "Yo, home smell you later"
looked at my kingdom I was finally there
to settle my throne as the prince of Bel-Air
I pulled up to a house about seven or eight
and I yelled to the cabby "Yo, home smell you later"
looked at my kingdom I was finally there
to settle my throne as the prince of Bel-Air -
Ghost Mode: A Love Story
The game starts and grenades fly
The initial noob will inevitably die.
The noobs with all their heart begin to spray
Each bullet hits the wall, no flesh, to their dismay.
Their ak47s while mighty and strong
Are deafening and loud and play no silenced song.
And will a noob make a dinner sweet?
All the noobs give ghosts something to eat.
A new round emerges, a new hope at last?
But with first demise it seems their courage be crass.
Knife blades pierce heads
Axe blades cut sharp
A cacophony resounds resembling a harp.
A cry emerges, whimpers from death beds.
KIKA RAK! KIKA RAK!
Would one as myself endeavour to kick not but a hack?
SPEEDER F11! SPEEDER f11!
Surely my pleads seems just? My noble character shouts from heaven?
The screams were hot but and bellows where haughty.
A black list player grabbed his shovel to clean up all the bodies.
That shovel had work strenuous and laborious for mind
For to count those bodies one might need procure a TI-89.
The game ended fair, not a player had been kicked
And believe your narrator the global risk team was pretty ticked.
All the curses and accosting ended in vain
Perhaps un-installing Cross Fire would be a task more sane.
This game is brutal for the weak, the brave the challenge they take
Many find glory here and reap rewards and love make.
I leave here with a bit of advice, one last piece of text
If you don't know how to bunny hop or pinpoint, try zombie mode or Hero mode X. -
Roses are red
Violets are blue
If you have an ak47 or colt in ghost mode
Then I'm going to flash you.
^^I think it is funny to see them spray frantically.
(Also bump because I am not going to let my poem that took me 10 minutes after I just got up to write, which seemed like a while at the time, go unnoticed:)) -
-
CaLL2DeAtH wrote: »
Rawses are Red
Vawlots are Bluu
Sey a badley spiealt Poaemn
Oar now cak fore uu
Correct this.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Say a badly spelt=spelled(i'm guessing) poem
Or no cake for you.
-1 for the word error.
+1 because I enjoyed translating it to.
-1 because I'm really sad my epic sonnet got no recognition and I'm taking it out on you. -
Ghost Mode: A Love Story
The game starts and grenades fly
The initial noob will inevitably die.
The noobs with all their heart begin to spray
Each bullet hits the wall, no flesh, to their dismay.
Their ak47s while mighty and strong
Are deafening and loud and play no silenced song.
And will a noob make a dinner sweet?
All the noobs give ghosts something to eat.
A new round emerges, a new hope at last?
But with first demise it seems their courage be crass.
Knife blades pierce heads
Axe blades cut sharp
A cacophony resounds resembling a harp.
A cry emerges, whimpers from death beds.
KIKA RAK! KIKA RAK!
Would one as myself endeavour to kick not but a hack?
SPEEDER F11! SPEEDER f11!
Surely my pleads seems just? My noble character shouts from heaven?
The screams were hot but and bellows where haughty.
A black list player grabbed his shovel to clean up all the bodies.
That shovel had work strenuous and laborious for mind
For to count those bodies one might need procure a TI-89.
The game ended fair, not a player had been kicked
And believe your narrator the global risk team was pretty ticked.
All the curses and accosting ended in vain
Perhaps un-installing Cross Fire would be be task more sane.
This game is brutal for the weak, the brave the challenge they take
Many find glory here and reap rewards and love make.
I leave here with a bit of advice, one last piece of text
If you don't know how to bunny hop or pinpoint, try zombie mode or derpa mode X.
Quite an epic sonnet. ^_^-1 because I'm really sad my epic sonnet got no recognition and I'm taking it out on you.
What? -
We're doing poetry in school right now, so I might be posting quite a few of my poems. :P
My epic alliteration poem.
the view from 4R
the solid stone surface lies seated sturdily in place
dotted with the glare
of glimmering glass windows
its six-story scope
barely a towering titanic
across the noble new york landscape
from the view from 4R
the asphalt acreages arrayed
as far as the eye can see
its surface a branlike black blanket
blistering to the bare sight
protracting from pavement to pavement
chainlink fence to chainlink fence
from the view from 4R
the strong solder stockade surrounds the school
its pitch-dark paint pigmented in unison
with the ebony engraving etched ethereally
into the side of the structure
like the epitaph of an eschewed executive
the sepulcher shunned and stained
from the view from 4R -
GoPancakes wrote: »We're doing poetry in school right now, so I might be posting quite a few of my poems. :P
My epic alliteration poem.
the view from 4R
the solid stone surface lies seated sturdily in place
dotted with the glare
of glimmering glass windows
its six-story scope
barely a towering titanic
across the noble new york landscape
from the view from 4R
the asphalt acreages arrayed
as far as the eye can see
its surface a branlike black blanket
blistering to the bare sight
protracting from pavement to pavement
chainlink fence to chainlink fence
from the view from 4R
the strong solder stockade surrounds the school
its pitch-dark paint pigmented in unison
with the ebony engraving etched ethereally
into the side of the structure
like the epitaph of an eschewed executive
the sepulcher shunned and stained
from the view from 4R
Nice alterations btw.
This one is my favorite:
"with the ebony engraving etched ethereally"
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