Poetry Hurts Me 2: "This Time It's Personal."
Once again...
Gracing my eyes across the fetid fields of diary sites, and poor poetry... I once again realize that most of it annoys me. Most of it is teen angst, with a touch of BAD POETRY! Well.. more like a LOT of bad poetry. Those of you who write poetry without the bardic touch...
STOP TORTURING US!!!
Or me, at least.
It's like the "Daugher of DARKNESS" says... U ARE MORTALS FEAR MY WISDOM AND REPENT CHILDREN CONSUME UR SIBLINGS!
Or something to that effect. Here's poem number 2 to shoot off to the world of crappy crappy crappy poetry.
The singing, dancing, laughing, prancing, yellow.
By Maverick
~Ahem~
Singular explosions,
Sinking into me,
Sulking wildly into the essence of man,
Break the wild fat!
Scarf the bitter toad!
Tell it to do your bidding!
Tell it to keep it's urine to itself,
Tell it to stay away from my girlfriend.
Taco's swing like wilderness in the trees,
The toaster says hello!
And then it shoots the mailman,
for the conspiracy was just begining,
The bird once again lands on my toes,
it yells at me to stay,
I tell it to fuck off,
and it throws coins at my head,
Yelling at the top of my bung,
Sometimes duty does call,
It calls in a tiny yellow box,
It yells "Kiyaweeee!!!!!"
Actually, it yells in tongue,
In which you cannot fathom,
I can... But I'm a child.
A child of fever.
Blink into the torrid calls,
Sink into the forward halls,
Drink of the bathroom stalls,
Kink in my inflamed galls,
The rhymes cannot be stopped!
They sing the song of chinese checkers!
It hurts my bladder!
Metallica will sue you too!
Help me, child of birds,
Help me from myself,
And the raging hate,
Of the patented satanic penis.
Penis! Penis! Penis!
The word squirts with zealousness!
The word I fear is Zeal!
Zeal parmassian.
Flutter to your local bookstore!
Tell them of your plight!
Tell them you desire twinkies!
Or the easy reading section is DOOMED...
Burn the symbol of cheese,
Tell it to go to hell,
Or at least take a trip,
Into the pants of revalation,
Mask my words, my dears, and dearesses,
The hatred will consume you all,
Or at least it will bite you,
And nip at your balls,
"I have no balls", you say?
You lie! You lie!
I saw under your shorts yesterday!
And pink is not your color.
Granted these gifts of wisdom,
Grated the simple cookie,
Gated to the outer planes,
Gted or something.
Yellow.
The Yellowness.
Yellowocity.
Yellowmungacookaratchaburgerflamboyantpickletinkle.
Thank you.
~fin~
Once again...
Gracing my eyes across the fetid fields of diary sites, and poor poetry... I once again realize that most of it annoys me. Most of it is teen angst, with a touch of BAD POETRY! Well.. more like a LOT of bad poetry. Those of you who write poetry without the bardic touch...
STOP TORTURING US!!!
Or me, at least.
It's like the "Daugher of DARKNESS" says... U ARE MORTALS FEAR MY WISDOM AND REPENT CHILDREN CONSUME UR SIBLINGS!
Or something to that effect. Here's poem number 2 to shoot off to the world of crappy crappy crappy poetry.
The singing, dancing, laughing, prancing, yellow.
By Maverick
~Ahem~
Singular explosions,
Sinking into me,
Sulking wildly into the essence of man,
Break the wild fat!
Scarf the bitter toad!
Tell it to do your bidding!
Tell it to keep it's urine to itself,
Tell it to stay away from my girlfriend.
Taco's swing like wilderness in the trees,
The toaster says hello!
And then it shoots the mailman,
for the conspiracy was just begining,
The bird once again lands on my toes,
it yells at me to stay,
I tell it to fuck off,
and it throws coins at my head,
Yelling at the top of my bung,
Sometimes duty does call,
It calls in a tiny yellow box,
It yells "Kiyaweeee!!!!!"
Actually, it yells in tongue,
In which you cannot fathom,
I can... But I'm a child.
A child of fever.
Blink into the torrid calls,
Sink into the forward halls,
Drink of the bathroom stalls,
Kink in my inflamed galls,
The rhymes cannot be stopped!
They sing the song of chinese checkers!
It hurts my bladder!
Metallica will sue you too!
Help me, child of birds,
Help me from myself,
And the raging hate,
Of the patented satanic penis.
Penis! Penis! Penis!
The word squirts with zealousness!
The word I fear is Zeal!
Zeal parmassian.
Flutter to your local bookstore!
Tell them of your plight!
Tell them you desire twinkies!
Or the easy reading section is DOOMED...
Burn the symbol of cheese,
Tell it to go to hell,
Or at least take a trip,
Into the pants of revalation,
Mask my words, my dears, and dearesses,
The hatred will consume you all,
Or at least it will bite you,
And nip at your balls,
"I have no balls", you say?
You lie! You lie!
I saw under your shorts yesterday!
And pink is not your color.
Granted these gifts of wisdom,
Grated the simple cookie,
Gated to the outer planes,
Gted or something.
Yellow.
The Yellowness.
Yellowocity.
Yellowmungacookaratchaburgerflamboyantpickletinkle.
Thank you.
~fin~