Spontaneous Poems

excellent. you've made a little brautigan.
















but you left out "the woo of ewe"

actuall y very rarely alot of my work is down feestyled

u look at me lyk im strange
u make me feel lyk i shud change
personality has such a big range
im da 1 dat gives da begga spare change
yet u look at me lyk im strange

u talk 2 me lyk ur betta than me
jus cz i grew up in blacky leys
but ur not betta than ne1 ull c
every1 is speshal and free
yet u talk 2 me lyk ur betta than me

u stare at me lyk im new
bt ill tell u im as old as u
although im 14 n ur 32
i ave a ryt 2 b here 2
yet u stare at me lyk im new

u bad mouth me cz ur fake
sayin i made a big mistake
my cru r family 4 goodness sake
i dint do nefing 2 u or ur m8z
yet u bad mouth me cz ur fake

Baybee B,

I like your poem.

In doing a little catching up, I noticed this one Cyracuz.

I like it. very clever!

I did, didn't I!







(jjorge admits sheepishly)

only thing i must mention if the attempt was to rhyme, quarrel an barrel do not , they are simply spelled in a similar way

a slant rhyme or half rhyme IS acceptable:


Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.0.1)

SLANT RHYME

-noun Prosody. rhyme in which either the vowels or the consonants of stressed syllables are identical, as in eyes, light; years, yours.

Also called half rhyme, imperfect rhyme, near rhyme.

i didnt say it wasnt acceptable i just merely pointed out a perhaps mishap
depending on the intention of the writer

I wrote this song lyric semi-spontaneously. All but one verse popped into my head as I was driving home last week.

My Life on the Moon

Life on the moon
Ain`t really bad
When you`re in love
And feelin` sad

Nowhere on Earth
To run from the blues
No one in space
Bringin` bad news

My life on the moon
Goes on like a dream
I stay there and pretty soon
Trouble lifts like a moonbeam

Life on the moon
Away from it all
Then like a tune
My lover's call

As down to Earth
I hurry on home
For what it's worth
Our happy home

My life on the moon
Goes on like a dream
I stay there and pretty soon
Trouble lifts like a moonbeam

I like it a lot Edgar!

Very imaginative!

What, nobody here?

Well then, I guess I'll inflict a little poem:


Poetic License


Want to see my license?
I got it late in life,
After all the serious things:
a car, a house, a wife,

I know, I know, it seems
a little silly and pretentious,
but it's just a consolation, as
I'm now to old to live a life licentious.

jjorge

I like that last one of yours very much.


Happy new year everyone.

I'll drink to that
Sounds like heaven
Cheers all
And peace in 2007

When I was a kid, kicking stones on the way home
I had to walk passed this regular tramp
Who'd claimed a spot outside the train station
Where he nursed the booze
And begged for daily bread
He'd call out "Alright sunshine?"
And I'd wave at him
I gave him some black-jack chewy sweets once
Peeling back the paper
I saw his finger nails were yellow
And when he put the sweet into his mouth
His teeth were already black!
One day when I passed him I saluted him
I don't exactly know why I did that
But he saluted right back
Further down the road
I looked around and saw
His hand still held
Stiffly to his brow
He was sitting up straight
His eyes following me
I've never forgotten that

First complete personal achievment of the year, and it was a spontaneous thing on edgars board. Fancy that. It's about why it's ok if you're not the sharpest tool in the shed.



A faint breeze between my ears
A secret rustle no one hears
Suggests that I'm dim witted
But from no deed committed

No, this rustle is my lot
This breeze of mine is all I've got
I wield no mighty calculus
To make life easy for all of us

But on my being's chamber's breeze
Fly winged wordless melodies
A testament to love this song
And how could that be wrong?

It just might be that I'd not hear it
This tune that plays beyond all merit
If mind was filled with being's voice
Not hearing sound for making noise

Youse guys do good stuff.

Another Childhood Memory from a different Child- stream of consciousness

I hear that sound even now in my sleep.
The low murmur of voices- you didn't
want to wake me. I was vaguely aware
of the scratch of the straw bristles of the
broom as you swept the kitchen floor-
back and forth across wide pine planks
worn smooth by years of feet- polish
and shine long gone, dark scratches-
markings - criss-crossing what had been
the only world my young heart had ever
known and navigated. He sat on the stool
at the counter and watched you sweep.
I was in the next room. Feeling safe
because I could hear your voices. And
I kept my eyes closed because I wanted
you to keep talking, those quiet, whispered
words, so different sounding from when you knew
I was awake- "Little pitchers have big ears" you'd
say, a smile of warning passing between you along
with a raised eyebrow and a nod
in my direction.
Where was everyone else? I didn't
care. I watched the blackened picture
window fill with slow snowflakes sifting
down through the lowered curtain of my lashes and
listened to the silence fall.

Industry shadows and tax
We cannot lay on our backs
For industrous shady taxation
Strictly forbid realaxation

Ferociously fighting the french
Thoroughly dug in a trench
Was a small impetuous german
Who went by the name of Herman

And Herman fired his rifle
He'd shoot a man for a trifle
Unfazed by grenades and tanks
Herman would pluck french ranks

One at a time like fruit
Shoot, reload and shoot
Herman could drop his opponent
In little less than a moment

Then came this frenchman, Pierre
A young one who knew no fear
In error he fired a bullet
And hit a dutchman named Gullit

Now Gullit and Herman were friends
Though fighting in oposite ends
More than friends, they were gay lovers
A secret they kept from all others

When Herman heard the news
He suddenly got the blues
He fled and eloped to America
And leaned to play the harmonica

Thus the world was saved
The terrible nazi's were braved
Because their finest sniper
Was a pederastic piper



No disrespect to germans or gay people intended.