OT Poetry Corner

[IR5FORMUMSIE 850]

One of these days I'll post one my published poems, if I can remember what I wrote, here's something else I whipped up:

I like figs

even if they're not very big

Green ones are nice

Even at an exorbitant price

But they pass through me too soon

-Cinco (after Odgen NASH)

Edited February 16, 2012 by IR5FORMUMSIE

[웃 910]

I contend. Let's pretend. Negative offend. Message is bend.

Mind blown. Time zone. Actual mileage. Yours may vary.

Chores they carry... Whores they marry. Pours rain ferry.

Obsessive compulsive. Who's next, part 14 in a cartridge.

Pourage and soup. Affordable coupe. The sorta you swoop. In a large glass cylinder.

Full a lard pass vinegar.

In a car large vintager.

For a star he's kin to her.

Your odd, I'm not even integer.

God - not into her.

Bon voyage. Finished here.

[웃 910]

Pretty in pink.

The sh!ttiest drink.

Cosmopolitan.

Cosmos - Hologram.

Far and in between. Apart but in the seam.

Afar and in a dream.

Guitar the notes melody sanguine.

Habeas corpus. Off with his head.

Coffins bloodshed.

Look inside, what head?

[IR5FORMUMSIE 850]

Hic Jacet

The coroner's merry little children

Have such twinkling brown eyes.

Their father is not of gay men

And their mother jocular in no wise,

Yet the coroner's merry little children

Laugh so easily.

They laugh because they prosper.

Fruit for them is upon all branches.

Lo! how they jibe at loss, for

Kind heaven fills their little paunches!

It's the coroner's merry, merry children

Who laugh so easily.

William Carlos Williams

[Penguin_ie 5,996]

**** one post removed for not being poetry and user thread banned ****

[IR5FORMUMSIE 850]

Death, Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

----JOHN DONNE

Edited March 1, 2012 by IR5FORMUMSIE