colndodg
on War Begins on Tuesday by Nicholas Jones
15 May 2003, 3:09 PM
insightful
Show off.
no prob
Deeply touching but I'm not sure why. -10-
Well Said. -10-
Could we call this "Chode to the incombustible chia cricket" ? Thanks.
The world passes over.
I watch from the peepholes.
Neither friend, nor foe
is welcome here.
I am hunkered down.
Waiting.
Watching.
Knowing.
Deep within this watchtower.
Protecting what is left.
Well hidden within a greying.
Folding hills, silent.
Opening fields, hushed.
listening to the rush
of distant rivers and
my heart thumping,
Aching, but still
undetected.
Safer, this sanctuary
These ancient walls.
My thick hide.
A guarded keep.
For heaven's sake.
Virginia, when you eventually come out from underneath all of those shiny poetry medals and Heretofores. I will still be here, stripped of my many almost poetic awards. Naked, reading the paper. Waiting for you to fix me a hero's sandwich, and organize my confetti parade for the new world record setting yawn I've just let loose.
"To met the big cheese" meet, but met's funnier, oddly enough. This was a bomber. Be proud. the other day my friend informed me I smelled like a giant roach clip. I wondered to myself, amazed, shit... No wonder no one has hired me in five years. Well almost no one. Pot head producers love my work.
I win.
http://www.therhythmballadeer.co.uk/FRES
haha
see zero's poem...
It's ok, I can't think of how to edit it so it's good as it is (8)
Your new homepage is simply a work of infinite joy. I am moved. I knew you had the gift, but lordy, lordy. Sheer genius. As perfect as a steaming clump of peat.
"Yet heretofore" This opening was most delightful to mine eye. So was that you flipping me off then a while back with the greeting card? how you got a luscious asian hotty into the body of a 60 some odd year old lord of the graphic arts manor. A work of pumping valor, I tell you. I am wheeping openly in a tinfoil protected room currently, dodging solar flares, but I'll come out for some of your fine tutilage. And send me all of the books ASAP, I want to steal some of your sacred oats of regularitty.
Here take this needle and put it up your ass to remind u that u might b an english major but not a poet......not in this lifetime at least.......lol
So u were the bitch and Aaron ur daddy huh?.............hahaha.....don't worry i know u'll get his ass too.....just don't try to write poetry next time
It's not a poem, either. here's a hot tip to assist in your 'artistic suffering': Step One, find a belt sander, preferably Black & Decker. Step Two: Apply genitals to said sander. Step Three: turn switch to 'on' position. Now get off the fucking stage, you polyp-picking little twit.
A vivid, classy poem big on imagery and very flow like. 9