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Crap Poetry and Dogrel Thread

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  • Crap Poetry and Dogrel Thread

    Spill it out here. Not art, just what is in the gut and the language you know. Cryptic as you want or as expressive as you wish to share.

    This could all go horribly wrong (please no PSB battles here) or just a place to wax lyrical.

    Exhibit A for example..


    This space,
    That is me,
    Is less than a breath, it seems,
    More an exhalation than an inspiration,
    And meaning fleets away, too quick for my slow feet,
    As I stumble over worth, it greets me with hindsight,
    Every fucking day,
    And the measure is balanced by my inaction,
    Familial traction,
    In every way.

    This space,
    Has a flavour,
    And yet no filling,
    So much to love and so unwilling,
    No trust, in my decision,
    Family is such division.

    Shit, that rhymed
    So not anymore, since that is a bore,
    And why should my bullshit dilemma,
    Be worthy of lore?

    Not at all, just part of the Passion Play...

    JETHRO TULL - Intro & Skating Away on the Thin Ice of the New Day [LIVE FROM HIPPODROME,LONDON 1977] - YouTube

  • #2
    Roses are red,

    Violets are blue,

    If you're looking for meaning in this poem,

    Then bad luck for you.
    One owner. Only driven gently on Sundays. Sold to best offer. First to see will buy. Reward offered for safe return. Coming soon to a cinema near you. Available for a limited time only.

    My waterbed broke this morning. Oh, I don't have a waterbed. Bugger.

    Comment


    • #3
      Last edited by Dragunov-21; 23-11-2012, 04:23 PM.
      Originally posted by Dragunov-21
      If you want me to answer a question, I want you to ask one that doesn't put words in my mouth that were never there.

      Comment


      • #4
        How about some romantic poetry?

        The roses were dying
        The violets were dead
        I bought you these chocolates
        So that you'd give me head a cuddle.
        Do you remember the good old days before the internet?

        when arguments were only entered into by the physically or intellectually able.

        Comment


        • #5
          Not a poem but a limmerick from my childhood....

          There was an old man from Leeds, who ate a packet of seeds.
          In less than an hour his dick was a flower and his balls were a garden o' weeds.


          ....It's the only one I remember.

          Comment


          • #6
            Not crap buy really cool lyrics , to me absolute poetry.
            from IRON MAIDEN " the evil that men do "

            Love is a razor and I walked the line On that silver blade
            Slept in the dust with his daughter Her eyes red with the slaughter of innocence
            But I will pray for her, I will call her name out loud
            I would bleed for her, if only I could see her now

            The next verse isnot as good

            Circle of fire my baptism of joy and at an end it seems
            The seventh lamb slain, the book of life opens before me
            But I will pray for you and some day I may return
            I would bleed for her, if I could only make you learn
            REPENT MOTHER FUCKER
            (anarchy in english )

            Comment


            • #7
              The dead swans lay in the stagnant pool.They lay. They rotted. They turnedAround occasionally.Bits of flesh dropped off them fromTime to time.And sank into the pool's mire.They also smelt a great deal.

              Paul Neil Milne Johnstone
              They hung a sign up in our town "If you live it up, you won't live it down"-Tom Waits

              Comment


              • #8
                Rose are tits
                Violets are tits
                I like tits
                Tits, tits, tits.


                Makes me tear up every time.
                Originally posted by devolved
                I did once have a chick yell "Take me with you" as I rode past on my GT250 once, I can only imagine the chick-pulling power of the 650.

                Comment


                • #9
                  The second mate was Andy
                  By Christ, he had a dandy
                  Till they crushed his cock on a jagged rock
                  For cumming in the brandy

                  The cabin boy was Flipper
                  He was a fuckin' nipper
                  He stuffed his ass with broken glass
                  And circumcised the skipper

                  Friggin' in the riggin'
                  Friggin' in the riggin'
                  Friggin' in the riggin'
                  There was fuck all else to do
                  They hung a sign up in our town "If you live it up, you won't live it down"-Tom Waits

                  Comment


                  • #10
                    My love sits on the garden swing, reading her book, that is her thing.
                    I await her patiently because I can see
                    The clock has struck seven
                    And I want me fucking tea.

                    Comment


                    • #11
                      haikus are the best
                      other poetry sucks arse
                      i really hate it
                      “Crashing is shit for you, shit for the bike, shit for the mechanics and shit for the set-up,” Checa told me a while back. “It’s a signal that you are heading in the wrong direction. You want to win but crashing is the opposite. It’s like being in France when you want to go to England and when you crash you go to Spain. That way you’ll never get to England!” -- Carlos Checa

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                      • #12
                        Originally posted by filbert View Post
                        How about some romantic poetry?
                        Roses are red.

                        Violets are blue.

                        Ah fuck it.

                        You'll do.
                        One owner. Only driven gently on Sundays. Sold to best offer. First to see will buy. Reward offered for safe return. Coming soon to a cinema near you. Available for a limited time only.

                        My waterbed broke this morning. Oh, I don't have a waterbed. Bugger.

                        Comment


                        • #13
                          An Australian bush poem about tomatoes.

                          I know a Muslim whose name is Jim,
                          I really love throwing tomatoes at him,
                          Tomatoes are soft & don't hurt the skin,
                          But these fuckers do, 'cos they're still in the tin!
                          “How people treat you is their karma; how you respond is yours.”

                          Comment


                          • #14
                            *Double post*
                            “How people treat you is their karma; how you respond is yours.”

                            Comment


                            • #15
                              Sit on my face, and tell me that you love me
                              I'll sit on your face and tell you I love you, too
                              I love to hear you oralize
                              When I'm between your thighs
                              You blow me away

                              Sit on my face and let my lips embrace you
                              I'll sit on your face and then I'll love you truly
                              Life can be fine if we both sixty nine
                              If we sit on our faces in all sorts of places
                              And play 'til we're blown away

                              M Python

                              Geez, I love the classics

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