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I Can Write A Wrong, But I Can't Right A Poem (Other) by horus8 By Vagina, The Three Legged Pigeon
AN OPERA in G SHARP
[A clearly upset monk enters stage 'the left']
[He begins to sing, poorly, and way out of key]
"Oh God...
Look what I've done!?
OH GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE?
I have missed my objective,
and smashed my poor penis
beyond repair.
but I did not care!!!"
[Chorus line led by a deaf girl in plaid with triangle]
"What has he done? [ding]
What did he do? [ding]
He spent his days
He spent his nights
Raised in a shoe!
What could he do? [ding]
What did he do? [ding]
He loves the drink
The necklaced pearls
What will he do? [ding]
[A lovely maiden enters stage 'the right']
[She's confident, and only the mighty merciful lord knows 'the why']
"He is a monk (she sings)
He's on God's side
He will love god 'efore me
& shun MY VAGINA?
And so he swears
over a helmet shaped cock!
He tends to the flock."
[Chorus comes back in, and this time the lead
deaf girl is sleeping, and a magical chirping
flagella is there in her 'stead. Wow a talking
flagella, queer... Yet interesting and different?]
"They will not be together
He is gay"
[Chorus]
"He is gay?"
[Flagella]
"His father did not love him
so they say!"
[Chorus]
"Do they say?"
[Flagella]
"His brain can fry eggs
He always keeps his legs,
but his pussy will not let him
carry kegs"
[Chorus]
"NOT THE KEGS!?"
[Flagella]
-- It is true!
[Chorus]
-- It is a lie!
--IT IS TRUE Dammit!
--It is a lie (Almost a whisper)
--True!
--Lie!
--TRUE!
--LIE!
--DIE!
--DIE!
--DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
(An ugly ice duckling sculpture explodes in the foyer)
[a bag of cemented limbs and parts falls from 'an' sky]
[Smashing the monk and maiden before they can conjewgate
their visit at the mountain monastery]
[Chorus]
No please don't die!
[Flagella]
Too late he's dead!
-- He's dead?
-- HE'S DEAD!
WILL YOU SHUT UP AND STOP SINGING?!
--BUT WE MUST SING?
--OKAY DO IT OVER THERE...
[The director, writer, lead gaffer  &(Charles The Thirdly,
Executive Prod.)
Talk the morbid scene out two feet away from
one another, but with state of the art walkie talkies]
"What the fuck" Says Chuck.
"This is like two rehearsals in a row?"
He finishes...
"Quit killing the hopefuls?"
[The Director responds with clicks and grunts]
"Duahhhh ahh okay Mr. Goldsteinslickerman
I'll remember to wait for the
appropriate signal next time
you flash me ahhh duahh your
l33t tattoo codename 'Rosedud'
Then I let 'er fly!
ahhhhh dewahhh."
Hiccup
toot...Nose pick,
fluff... Opera.
No soap here
THE END.
P.s The magical flute is the FreeMason's
equivalent of 'Like a virgin' and the Who's
"We Won't be fooled again".
But then, you are.
Up the ladder:
Pages
Down the ladder:
Polyurethane
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 7.125
Posted: December 16, 2002 10:13 PM PST; Last modified: April 16, 2004 1:19 PM PDTWeighted score: 5.5715003 Overall Rank: 2417 Comments:
[0]
poetandknowit @ 65.101.213.71
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17-Dec-02/12:06 AM
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Reply
A work of visionary genius. You need to submit this at once, just to show us you are the POLLACK OF Poetry. HAHAHAHAHA. Stan Rice. Really. you suck as a writer. hahahahahahaha
But it is all of us that are missing the point. In 100 years this will be the pinnacle of art. haahahahhahaha
33 years 4 months.
Oh, so clever. No, I say, 100 years.
But I forget, the high school drop out that fancies himself a father is actually the reincarnation of Nostradamus. He knows all. We must listen.
you've got to be shittin' me
Well yes, but no..brother, i know i have given up part of our most secret of ceremonies 'the naked gay whipping of wretched fraudulent poets with dental floss fermented kidney stones', but he just wouldn't stop whining, and he has to pee every five minutes..shame really..ah the soap part was just my negativity perculating i wont know till the first of the year..wow, do i need a cigarette i've had my cock in this psuedo intellectual all day, and boy what a barker, and if you turn him into the light just so he coos...no shit..here try him out. got a smoke? thanks...like the opera? funny aye? here i'll sign your program..you can borrow my binaculars.t
hahahhahahahahahahahahahahah. More California speak. One idiot breeds another. Is there any good poetry on this site tonight. Is their anyone with a high school diploma on this site tonight? I am a movie star. My hands crave the cement. I have a 41 year old god mother of my kid who I am teaching the fine art of dumbing down. Oh please, please, my ass is a virgin.
what about when you played in the fountain with the boys at summercamp? or all of those times you checked for freshness with your fingers in the shower, also my son's godmother is 41..so your point? maybe she should be 61, or perhaps 11? my hands hate cement, but i do know how to pour a doric column in the winter with no mixer, no truck..and two mexicans named paco, and flaco..also i didn't know high school diplomas came with poetry licenses?, and some of us have to dumb it down to deal with stalkers more appropriately, so that they get the point. don't you ever play with your wife and kids? good.so, why don't you leave mine alone? because, without them you have absolutely nothing to stand on. zip. zippy. nada.go spend some quality time with your family ward cleaver. you are horribly out gunned and strategically speaking, ill equipped.
Again, not even a clever way of making no sense. Are you drunk? Do you have an excuse? No? Answer the questions at hand fuck head. Why must you justify a plagiarist? Why do you cohort with her? Why did you knock up an 18 year old and have a baby? Have you not heard of condoms? And what about L.A. macho man? Are you as tough as you claim. I love a good brawl.
i didn't justify her..in fact i asked her to leave, but that is neither here nor there, she joined poemranker after she left the shelter of my ever beckoning hospitality. no i'm sober..with no smokes which is very, very bad. yes, i have an excuse for everything in a file in my closet. she was hot and easy maintenance, plus i wanted to mix the contents in vile a. to the beaker vile b. to recreate myself, leave a piece of me behind, who knows..perhaps like jack nicholson would say "i'm just a mammal, no more, no less..condoms? are those breatmints or people who want to save condors? what about l.a macho man? i don't recall that title is it next to kansas city sound bytes in section p for poets? tougher, so do i.
No matter which character you log in as you make little sense. Yes, I suppose you were friends with the big dog character also. What happened to the "this is the end" spirit? Are you Jonesing? I am just trying to sober up a bit before I hit the bed. The wife just got up, came in to my office and wondered why I do not spend enough time with her and the kid. I said, "wow" the visionary of poemranker, just mentioned that. I have no answers. And I cannot use the excuse that she smells like mashed potatoes. She is an environmental lawyer. The only justification for the job. But that is that. Where did the tough guy threats go. I will be in LA if you need to live the live of an actor and pugilist. The pen only has so such power.
i have three user names, and only three..i have friends though, but less than five that use the sight..the pen is all powerful, when it can be picked up and held right, ah see,everyone just leaves me be..my son treats me like a jungle gym..i am an inanimate object..l.a. huh..well feel free to stop by i'm always here. waiting. environmental aye..that's gotta be rewarding, and it sure beats the hell out of boston chicken right. i don't pugile anymore it gives me yawning fits.
Yes, tough guy, we have established your friends are plagiarists. You should be proud. And I don't give a fuck how the family treats you. Do not be such an easy target. And is not Boston Chicken respectable employment. Although the grease probably gives her pimples on her ass and face. But all that make up (how else do you get by in Hollywood) takes care of it. How to you survive out there. It must be tough. That rent payment. I bet you really need that job. Don't you worry about raising a son in such a din of culture? Maybe you should move to Orange Country. I hear it is a good movie. Take care. and be strong. the wolves are always out and hunting.
And come on.... You spend you days waiting for a call to be on Passions the soap. As a doctor (do you have a high school diploma)? Do you really know what it takes to be a Dr. No wonder they have not called? Maybe you just suck. Like the stuff you call poetry on the site. Who cares how old the GW is. I once thought she was something. And then........well that is its own story. hahahahahahhahahahahahahahah Stan Rice. hahahahahahahahahah as good as the Rod man...who GW makes fun of. hahahahahhahahahah. !!!!!! Stan the man Rice.
jesus it's like speaking sign language to a crosseyed chinese pole vaulter. here once again. yes. i have a diploma, have you actually ever been asked to brandish one? obviously often the way you bleet about them, i haven't.oh well i guess when i'm at an audiyion against a yale trained actor, or a private school trained actor i should worry huh? yes i know what it takes to be a dr. (what? is that privaledged information held by the golf clubs of the world) you act like you have a diploma in the medical field? but, you don't so shut your pie hole, as for her age? you do, remember you? brought it up in fact i thought she was fourty still i don't really pay attention to b-days. and she is something...she's real to me, unlike yourself..i can hold her poetry in my hand see her smile, have a cup of tea with her, and laugh repeatedly at your expense, for no expense, but above all no matter what i've ever down, ever.. she has stayed true as my friend regardless, and that my drunk parrot in a small uknown cafe in el salvador..is untradeable.where as someone like yourself, is unreliable, untrustworthy, never satasfied..a cheater, a back stabber, a weak minded oil slave, but worst of all you're incompetent, and you lack integrity..still it's intriguing sometimes to run a car down to empty just to mark the stall line with memory. for the future. you see. as for stan rice ..if you recall we were talking to katie..how fucking complicated do you want me to get with her poetically speaking..everyones gotta start somewhere right..why not stan..you have yet to raise one argument against any of his poetry, and i sent you two..perhaps..you need more. mr poetry, and a bucket of fish for your high flipping sea world antics, and yes you're entertaining alright about as much excitement as a jet fuel doused clown car with no doors..i wont be playing a doctor, the role is for lucky..watch the show too know. as for the internet passions thing? ha! ha! i'll take stan rice, peanut brittle, and watching you chew on your flea invested rump any day of the week. thank though i'll keep it in mind, when i go to feed the chickens tomorrow.
It is funny for someone whose whole life is made up how utterly oversensitive you are. Good luck on the soap opera. It is real career boost. I am glad you finished high school, but really it does not show, tough guy. And considering I do not own a car (I ride my bike everywhere because I am not rich like you and like to save my money for travel) and do not live in a metropolis (nor a house with a rent of 4 car payments - do you not think renting a waste) of sprawl where I am tied to a car, I think it is funny: the oil slave bit. See ya soon, lover. Daddy's coming home.
oversensitive? do you normally allow people to indiscriminately shit all over your friends and family? perhaps you laugh along with them. if my memory serves me correctly. i, trusting you were a man of honor, revealed 'sensitive material' to you about people i loved. i did this to earn your trust and show you that i respected you. i never raised the idea of a competition with you on who could trash who the most proper, and i would be the first to say your poetry is good if not great (read my comments, i've given you more tens than anyone, not that it fucking matters). i let you keep raising the anny, and i followed along seeing how far you'd go. My indignation stems from the fact that you have consistently used my family and friends as a platform for your propaganda campaign against my poetry, and what stan rice's?
me calling shit poetry shit? still you have failed to sight, or explain what your exact argument is about those three (shit poems, stanrice's poetry, or my work [more ammo see, this is where you'll come along and say well horus shit poetry is exactly what they have in common, because you my flamboy-ant buffoon are predictable]) without talking in circles about boston chicken, pimples, diplomas, traveling, fighting, dick sucking, carpayments, who should and who shouldn't be allowed to raise children? usd$$ this and that, plagiarism, gods wife, and whatever else you can find to talk about other than what's on the table.see me soon? i don't think god would allow my christmas to be that good friend.i
I have no idea what you are talking about because I have no idea who you are. One minute you say everything I know up until this pint is a fiction and then you say I shit all over friends and family as a propaganda campaign against your poetry. Huh? Which is it? Are you straight up or straight down? When Z told me you were really in the Brig I apologized, but see, then you come back and say something different. I do not create personas. I am just myself. As far as the poems, well I believe I have said both positive and negative things about your work. Minus, of course, the works under Bacchus. You have been paranoid in the past over this issue. I did not get it then and I do not get it now. Now, last night I said things about your work, but you were threatening me with bravado so I was trying to keep poetry in the conversation. Up until that point if you go back and look at comments relating to your work I have tried to be constructive there. The fact that I even pay attention to you was a sign of respect and you should have known this. I can posture with the best of them because it is all a game to me. If you say stop I will stop, if not, I tend to go to the mattresses. God may just grant that wish, you never know.
you have your Hugin, and your Munin..on the wrong shoulders yet you eat your food and not give any to your wolves. you are a not on that tree of which nobody knows.
Speaking of talking in circles.
but do you really drink skaldic mead, or just bleet about it????
i didn't say i finished, i said i had a diploma...yes children with a ged you too can make mr. poetry look like a transvestite searching for her wig in a black out, imagine what you can do with a bit of junior college. the possibilities? infinite.s
You are as predictable as a Steven Spielberg movie.
....
......... L O L And I thought I was bad... Good use of really bad creativity, I give it..a TEN! Just because you made me laugh...
GOOOOOAAALLLLLL! ONE-NIL!
Who's a plagiarist?
Athena. Mind your own fucking business.
Who's Stan Rice?
Who's the Rod man? Who's GW?
My business doesn't fuck. I'm just a curious fucking fucker. Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Isn't this fun?
No, not really. Considering it is light where you are and still pitch black here.
I appreciate your concern, all the same...
Fuck you.
I miss you, you were the best.
Not in public, please
Fair enough. I know a place where it is dark and no one will watch.
NOOOOOOOO!!!!!! Not the English rooms!!! We'll never come out of there alive!!!!
Does anyone read Paki's comments?
Me neither
Of course they do. I am the entertainment of this site. Where have you been?
Your delusional.
I'm so in demand...but wait, I'm a bloke! Aaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh...please don't arse rape me! I'm not that way inclined...
Your lucky I'm not male then ^___^
Ahh, thank the Lord for that!
Well, yes, but that doesn't mean we're any better
What the fuck is going on here? None of these conversations are following...or am I going insane?
A little from column A, a little from column B.
The replys line up with the last submitted reply
Goodnight
That's got to hurt
my dearest birthmark is not from bradistan i tell you he is livid red and shaped like lichtenstein.
no, i have seen him, and i tell you he is shaped like cape cod. as for his color, it's more of a moss-green. and furry/spongy/peaty is his texture. except for his ears, which are inexplicably sticky.
sound more like a frekin dried up patch brocoleye and camenbert soup than a birthmark to me.
oh god yes..the pain is excruciating. the witty subtext of it all has me on my knees reeling, and dizzy. pain, my friend is an earwig the size of a volkswagon living in your wood shed with a taperecorder and megaphone.E
you're all foolish. I'm entertained by the poem, though.
Yes, you are correct and acting like 12 year olds. But I was drunk, which is no excuse but how I must plead, and he is so easy to lead. He is going to beat the oatmeal out of me. It got the better of me. From now on I am nothing but sweet. Have a great day.
definitely an other. I have to admit I didn't make it to the bottom, but I enjoyed what I skimmed.
I have to bring you my copy of PLAY WITHOUT A TITLE by GarciaLorca. Don't let me forget. You always know how.
Good god, yes. Get that boy some worthy reading.
Guys you make me sad when you fight so.
it appears the real play is acted out in the gallery.
Cool huh? Internet poetry is better than heroin, and cheaper.
cool title, engaging read.
Was this a rewrite?
LMAO...AWESOME...Woo-Hoo...What a strange and comical tid-bit of diabolical fun!
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