The last person to post in this thread wins...

[JohnE]

The flies are angry bits of life;
why are they so angry?
it seems they want more,
it seems almost as if they
are angry
that they are flies;
it is not my fault;
I sit in the room
with them
and they taunt me
with their agony;
it is as if they were
loose chunks of soul
left out of somewhere;
I try to read a paper
but they will not let me
be;
one seems to go in half-circles
high along the wall,
throwing a miserable sound
upon my head;
the other one, the smaller one
stays near and teases my hand,
saying nothing,
rising, dropping
crawling near;
what god puts these
lost things upon me?
other men suffer dictates of
empire, tragic love…
I suffer
insects…
I wave at the little one
which only seems to revive
his impulse to challenge:
he circles swifter,
nearer, even making
a fly-sound,
and one above
catching a sense of the new
whirling, he too, in excitement,
speeds his flight,
drops down suddenly
in a cuff of noise
and they join
in circling my hand,
strumming the base
of the lampshade
until some man-thing
in me
will take no more
unholiness
and I strike
with the rolled-up-paper -
missing! -
striking,
striking,
they break in discord,
some message lost between them,
and I get the big one
first, and he kicks on his back
flicking his legs
like an angry whore,
and I come down again
with my paper club
and he is a smear
of fly-ugliness;
the little one circles high
now, quiet and swift,
almost invisible;
he does not come near
my hand again;
he is tamed and
inaccessible; I leave
him be, he leaves me
be;
the paper, of course,
is ruined;
something has happened,
something has soiled my
day,
sometimes it does not
take man
or a woman,
only something alive;
I sit and watch
the small one;
we are woven together
in the air
and the living;
it is late
for both of us.

[skibunny24]

So you're saying if PSP hit "enter" after every 3rd or 5th word... he'd be a poet?

[JohnE]

O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

[skibunny24]

Gentle Summer's breeze
Wafting sunlight fills my senses
Golden plains
No cumbersome fences

Feel the grass
Between your toes
Hot and brittle
In endless rows

Winking, blinking,
Through the light
Comes another
A welcome sight

From the blinding fire
A slow steady pace
My arms have been waiting
There is no race

His eyes meet mine
And mine meet his
And that's when I knew
I win.

[Flyin_W]

Quoting Longfellow or Shakespeare smells like butt,
romantic prose can lick my nutz,
copy pasta is far worse,
not even a close call,
haiku for the win - y'all..

[ICEBALL585]

I've met some people along the way,
Some of them split some of them stay,
Some of them walk some walk on by,
I've got a few friends I'll love till I die
From all of these people I try to learn,
Some of them shine some of them burn,
Some of them rise some of them fall,
For good or bad I've known them all

[skibunny24]

Ride like the wind
With my best friend
Her ears flop back
Around the next bend

Over logs, between cedars
Drifting dirt corners with ease
Send it over mounds of dirt
Sweat cool in the breeze

A bark of joy
A shifting gear
Something tells me
Spring is near.




That more your speed?

[Quo Fan]

Winnah, winnah,
Chicken dinnah!

[AngryMetalsmith]

Eat fast loser.

[Rip]

There once was a man from nantucket....

[DirtyMike]

What is with this, rhymes and ****????

Just ****in win it

[Rip]

That I shall do.

[JohnE]

One day I was on the ground
When I needed a hand
And it couldnt be found
I was so far down
That I couldnt get up
You know and
One day I was one of lifes losers
Even my friends were my ac-cus-ers
And in my head
Lost before I'd begun

I had a dream
But it turned to dust
What I thought was love
That must have been lust
I was living in style
When the walls fell in
When I played my hand
I looked like a joker
Turn around
Fate must have woke her
Cause lady luck she was
Waiting outside the door

Im winning
Im winning
Im winning
And I don't intend on losing again

Too bad it belonged to me
It was the wrong time
And I meant to be
It took a long time
And I knew for now
I can see the day
That I breath for
Friends agree there's a need
To play the game
And to win again

[Quo Fan]

You spelled "losing" wrong, flyboy.

[Rip]

Snowballs.