Mortal Monkey on 30/4/2007 at 12:07
I wanted to build an <img alt="airship" align="middle" src="http://img261.imageshack.us/img261/8601/airshipen4.png">
Painted like on <img alt="fire" align="middle" src="http://img261.imageshack.us/img261/1871/fireua0.png">
But I only have a <img alt="paperclip" align="middle" src="http://img261.imageshack.us/img261/6466/paperclipym6.png">
And that's not sufficient <img alt="wire" align="middle" src="http://img261.imageshack.us/img261/1643/wirewl1.png">
st.patrick on 30/4/2007 at 13:54
Everybody listen to Kraftwerk
If you won't you're a jerk
Yes, my poem is quite silly
That's cos I'm a Czech hillbilly
Zooey on 2/5/2007 at 01:46
Could someone maybe turn off the lights?
Just for this number maybe?
Because I think I saw a silhouette,
Coming back to me.
Shanti shanti shanti sugar!
Do you happen to have a light?
Just for this moment maybe?
Because I spared a cigarette,
It's for you and me.
Shanti shanti shanti sugar!
He does the police in different voices,
He breaks the bed in different noises.
Sometimes I see myself dead in the rain.
A quarter century, think again!
theBlackman on 2/5/2007 at 07:09
Not silly but a poem that rhymes.
One Kind Word
Rats run in the attic, garbage fills the hall,
Downstairs an old Wino is pissing on the wall.
His mother was a junkie; Strung out on Crystal Meth.
His father's doing twenty years, in Quentin; way out west.
Just another poor boy on his way to lost.
Trying to survive. No matter what the cost.
Livin' in a world he doesn't understand.
Blaming all his troubles on what he calls “The Man”.
Guns and drugs and bloodshed are all he ever knew,
As he lived on the streets from nine to twenty-two.
Dealing for a living. Hiding from the Law,
Hoping he won't die from a gun he never saw.
Dying all alone from smoking Crack and Ice,
In a rat infested hole he thinks is Paradise.
Lying on a carseat propped against the wall.
Ready to shake hands with Death when “He” comes to call.
It could be me, or you, or even your best friend.
Forgotten and alone. Waiting for the end.
All he ever needed was a little ray of light.
To pierce the shadows of his mind and show him what was right.
One kind word from anyone might have changed his path.
But no one came to give it so he breathes his last.
With the rats still in the attic, the garbage in the hall,
As life drains from his body, like piss runs down the wall.
CC D. Leer 4-18-2007
Kolya on 2/5/2007 at 09:08
This could make great lyrics for a song. :)
I dunno, Springsteen could sing it I guess.
theBlackman on 2/5/2007 at 09:10
Quote Posted by Mortal Monkey
I wanted to build an <img alt="airship" align="middle" src="http://img261.imageshack.us/img261/8601/airshipen4.png">
Painted like on <img alt="fire" align="middle" src="http://img261.imageshack.us/img261/1871/fireua0.png">
But I only have a <img alt="paperclip" align="middle" src="http://img261.imageshack.us/img261/6466/paperclipym6.png">
And that's not sufficient <img alt="wire" align="middle" src="http://img261.imageshack.us/img261/1643/wirewl1.png">
Good job. I always liked Rebus'. Super use of images in context.
:thumb: :thumb:
maxmon on 2/5/2007 at 14:09
Here's a poem from deep within my rectum:
Poop blasting forth with mighty strenth
The plunger and I know youve gone great lenths.
I think I spelled some crap up there wrong.
But, dont worry I'll end this poem where it belongs.
Poop casting forth into the toilet bowl.
With crunchy peanuts and some butter roll.
It comes out easily I say "LoL".
There it goes down the drain.
A tear rolls down my face, in agony and pain.
Ohhh yeah.
paloalto on 2/5/2007 at 16:31
an empty bottle lying there
content gone and full of air
whose substance gravely did impair
the lifeless bodies pointless dare
his name was Tod
a drunken sod
who no longer needs to prod
Is there is or is there not a God.
jimjack on 2/5/2007 at 18:04
Mind tricks leading to confusion
Turning love to an illusion
No chance of some coital fusion
Best to stick with self abusin.
