W
whiskyblanket
Guest
My friend told me to put up some of mine as I was critiquing others', despite the fact that I can't write it very well.
Written on short request for a poem about nothing (though it always ends up having some meaning):
An immense infestation of impish broads:
The wise man cries while the fool applauds.
Pack up this place at a hasty pace
While Jesus brushes his teeth and washes his face.
In the dark midst of waiting, my leg fell asleep:
The tables have turned, for now 'tis the fool who will weep!
Small Midgets
Hear my warning: Stay away!
Vexations most vain; they'll be back in a day.
Golden boy of sunrise, forsaken by the night,
Can't remember how he lived by light so bright.
Virtues are traded for slow blues at the dawn of the descending dusk.
Deep demoralizing night takes over the tune,
Its cries shot to the moon.
The blue notes - with Mark's quotes and friends' votes -
Are laughingly painted black by gruesome warring attack.
If silence is golden, I may have been rich.
My mother sometimes calls me a b*tch.
If I cast a stone, may I choke on one, too,
Or let those midgets battle on my left arm, in lieu.
Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Thanks for putting up with my awfulness.
Written on short request for a poem about nothing (though it always ends up having some meaning):
An immense infestation of impish broads:
The wise man cries while the fool applauds.
Pack up this place at a hasty pace
While Jesus brushes his teeth and washes his face.
In the dark midst of waiting, my leg fell asleep:
The tables have turned, for now 'tis the fool who will weep!
Small Midgets
Hear my warning: Stay away!
Vexations most vain; they'll be back in a day.
Golden boy of sunrise, forsaken by the night,
Can't remember how he lived by light so bright.
Virtues are traded for slow blues at the dawn of the descending dusk.
Deep demoralizing night takes over the tune,
Its cries shot to the moon.
The blue notes - with Mark's quotes and friends' votes -
Are laughingly painted black by gruesome warring attack.
If silence is golden, I may have been rich.
My mother sometimes calls me a b*tch.
If I cast a stone, may I choke on one, too,
Or let those midgets battle on my left arm, in lieu.
Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Thanks for putting up with my awfulness.