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| regarding some deleted poem... |
9-Mar-05/9:27 AM |
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| regarding some deleted poem... |
9-Mar-05/9:39 AM |
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| Re: Deja-Vu by Rainbow_chaser |
9-Mar-05/9:49 AM |
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| regarding some deleted poem... |
11-Mar-05/7:41 AM |
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| Re: "America The Beautiful" by jroday |
18-Mar-05/2:28 AM |
Fuck off please.
Thank you.
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| Re: When I Had You by kalikopeli |
30-Mar-05/1:58 AM |
EDGAR: Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill. Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!
FOOL: This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
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| regarding some deleted poem... |
30-Mar-05/2:01 AM |
Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!
Mort de ma vie! if they march along
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom,
To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm
In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.
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| Re: Maybe Someday by Luzr |
30-Mar-05/2:04 AM |
Methinks I am a prophet new inspired
And thus expiring do foretell of him:
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
For violent fires soon burn out themselves;
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;
He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder:
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
For Christian service and true chivalry,
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son,
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it,
Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds:
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!
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| Re: The Better Beggar by PodPoet |
30-Mar-05/2:07 AM |
I am a bastard too; I love bastards: I am a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and wherefore should one bastard? Take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to us: if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment: farewell, bastard.
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| regarding some deleted poem... |
30-Mar-05/2:09 AM |
PETRUCHIO: Will it not be? Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll ring it; I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. He wrings him by the ears
GRUMIO: Help, masters, help! my master is mad.
PETRUCHIO: Now, knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!
[Enter HORTENSIO.]
HORTENSIO: How now! what's the matter? My old friend Grumio! And my good friend Petruchio! How do you all at Verona?
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| Re: The Sidekick and The Distant Damsel by luzrheroguy |
30-Mar-05/2:15 AM |
[Enter the Borgias' FOOL.]
LUCREZIA: Well, Fool, what's thy latest?
FOOL: Aristotle's or Zeno's, Lady--'tis neither latest nor last. For, marry, if the cobbler stuck to his last, then were his latest his last in rebus ambulantibus. Argal, I stick at nothing but cobble-stones, which, by the same token, are stuck to the road by men's fingers.
LUCREZIA: How many crows may nest in a grocer's jerkin?
FOOL: A full dozen at cock-crow, and something less under the dog-star, by reason of the dew, which lies heavy on men taken by the scurvy.
LUCREZIA: Methinks the Fool is a fool.
FOOL: And therefore, by auricular deduction, am I own twin to the Lady Lucrezia!
[Sings.]
When pears hang green on the garden wall
With a nid, and a nod, and a niddy-niddy-o
Then prank you, lads and lasses all,
With a yea and a nay and a niddy-o.
But when the thrush flies out o' the frost
With a nid, [etc.]
'Tis time for loons to count the cost,
With a yea [etc.]
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| Re: Utensils of creation by Damien |
14-Apr-05/6:45 AM |
My utensils of creation comprise:
A laminated guff buttock injected with tramp pellets
A doily-flavoured groin-operated dwarf foetus disguised as a beardtronic ultrabum harvester
An unspeakably disappointing spoon coated in vicar discharge
A pneumatic fatally abnormal hobo sausage injected with vicar concentrate
-10-
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| Re: Waffleman by Stephen Robins |
3-May-05/2:29 PM |
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| Re: Get well soon by Hallmark |
17-May-05/12:54 AM |
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| Re: Mucusly by Hallmark |
17-May-05/12:55 AM |
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| Re: Yuletide by Hallmark |
17-May-05/12:55 AM |
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Very, very, very good. Bordering on "excellent". -1-
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| Re: Anniversary by Hallmark |
17-May-05/12:56 AM |
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Is this poeme about bumsex? Are you some sort of bummersexualist?
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| Re: Valantine by Hallmark |
17-May-05/1:00 AM |
I fisted your Gran and broke her spine
I burnt your Princess Diana shrine
I ripped up your favourite golden gown
Your ever loving Courtney Pine, Top Jazz Saxophonist
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| regarding some deleted poem... |
17-May-05/4:57 AM |
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I will comment on the poem. The poem is gay. I will now comment on the author. The author is a gaylord.
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| regarding some deleted poem... |
17-May-05/5:01 AM |
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