poetry

This is a discussion on poetry within the A Brief History of Cprogramming.com forums, part of the Community Boards category; without my chair the road i follow dearest to me blinds and troubles endlessly a companion needed for lonelyness stays ...

  1. #31
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    Angry im new hows this? i made it up right now

    without my chair

    the road i follow
    dearest to me
    blinds and troubles
    endlessly

    a companion needed
    for lonelyness stays
    enchant the fleeting
    momentary rays

    a connection lost
    with no hope at all
    a download corrupted
    brimming with flaws

    the moments flying
    searing the screen
    a rest to be taken
    sit back to lean

    the floor you embrace
    with arms open wide
    your companion you found
    albeit its ground

    joy abounding
    a plug replaced
    truly most astounding
    corruption erased.


    -a poemish type thing by a newbie(at poetry, i'm pro at evry thing else, like spellng and stuff)

  2. #32
    Registered User Scourfish's Avatar
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    Sometimes my old man can be a real dick, and here's the bull**** that results from it:

    Some don't know
    Very few do
    intention leaks
    reasons skew
    no one can smell
    no one can hear
    that purpose reeks
    with skid-marked smear
    You're no different
    You can't see
    You don't know
    My meaning to be


    It's short and it sucks, but it's a lot better than kicking a hole in the wall.

  3. #33
    Registered User Aran's Avatar
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    horatio's ratio

    Horatio's ratio;
    the sum of all means.
    he had no heart
    and he had no spleen.

    He had a lung
    and maybe a liver
    he had a hand
    but it always would shiver.

    he collected organs
    keyboards, rather
    the notes were all
    the shampoo he could lather.

    His hair was gray
    his voice was soft
    he lived above me
    in the loft.

    And when he came down
    for dinner and tea
    he would take out a trinket
    and give it to me.

    Everynight a different
    trinket i would recieve
    and he lost more wisdom
    he couldn't retrieve.

    and so one night
    he came down blind
    his eyes were on a chain
    and trailing behind.

    He gave them to me
    as he laid down to die
    and all they would do
    is cry and cry.

    A year went by
    and the eyes were haunting
    i wanted to return them
    but the task was too daunting.

    One day i gathered
    the might and the power
    to put the curtains
    back onto the shower.

    So i went to his grave
    and dug it up real quick
    i had in hands a shovel
    and by my side: a stick.

    As i stood there
    staring at the man
    i couldn't bring myself
    to finish my plan.

    i searched his body
    and found a note
    it was signed "horatio"
    and on it was wrote:

    "to my friend,
    to you i have endowed
    the one thing that
    so long had my heart cowed.

    "thank you for listening
    and taking my toys
    because, you know,
    they are meant for boys."

    and with that
    the note concluded
    and so i had found
    what my mind had eluded.

  4. #34
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    Okay. These are all really long. I rarely write past 6 or seven lines.


    A knowing old man
    Screaming 'What?' in my face
    Thousand years before him
    They closed the bloody mines
    Now thousands new machines
    Sing in my ears


    I also rarely title anything I write. Cant really see the point.


    Got a letter
    Waiting for time to slip by
    It said
    'Get up'
    I did not
    Now its rains on red tin roof
    Slides down dusted glass



    Not all of them make a lot of sense immediatly.


    Laugh and hit my head
    Drowning lights
    Sit and smile at me
    More skin revealed
    Bottled weights
    Bring the curtain down
    "There's always another way"
    -lightatdawn (lightatdawn.cprogramming.com)

  5. #35
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    John Hall

    On an Houre-glasse

    MY Life is measur'd by this glasse, this glasse
    By all those little Sands that thorough passe.
    See how they presse, see how they strive, which shall
    With greatest speed and greatest quicknesse fall.
    See how they raise a little Mount, and then
    With their owne weight doe levell it agen.
    But when th' have all got thorough, they give o're
    Their nimble sliding downe, and move no more.
    Just such is man whose houres still forward run,
    Being almost finisht ere they are begun;
    So perfect nothings, such light blasts are we,
    That ere w'are ought at all, we cease to be.
    Do what we will, our hasty minutes fly,
    And while we sleep, what do we else but die?
    How transient are our Joyes, how short their day!
    They creepe on towards us, but flie away.
    How stinging are our sorrowes! where they gaine
    But the least footing, there they will remaine.
    How groundlesse are our hopes, how they deceive
    Our childish thoughts, and onely sorrow leave!
    How reall are our feares! they blast us still,
    Still rend us, still with gnawing passions fill;
    How senselesse are our wishes, yet how great!
    With what toile we pursue them, with what sweat!
    Yet most times for our hurts, so small we see,
    Like Children crying for some Mercurie.
    This gapes for Marriage, yet his fickle head
    Knows not what cares waite on a Marriage bed.
    This vowes Virginity, yet knowes not what
    Lonenesse, griefe, discontent, attends that state.
    Desires of wealth anothers wishes hold,
    And yet how many have been choak't with Gold?
    This onely hunts for honour, yet who shall
    Ascend the higher, shall more wretched fall.
    This thirsts for knowledge, yet how is it bought
    With many a sleeplesse night and racking thought?
    This needs will travell, yet how dangers lay
    Most secret Ambuscado's in the way?
    These triumph in their Beauty, though it shall
    Like a pluck't Rose or fading Lillie fall.
    Another boasts strong armes, 'las Giants have
    By silly Dwarfes been drag'd unto their grave.
    These ruffle in rich silke, though ne're so gay,
    A well plum'd Peacock is more gay then they.
    Poore man, what art! A Tennis ball of Errour,
    A Ship of Glasse toss'd in a Sea of terrour,
    Issuing in blood and sorrow from the wombe,
    Crauling in teares and mourning to the tombe,
    How slippery are thy pathes, how sure thy fall,
    How art thou Nothing when th' art most of all!

  6. #36
    My diaper's full....... stevey's Avatar
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    ""Not all of them make a lot of sense immediatly. ""

    you can miss out the word immediately in that sentance!!


    you'd have to explain em to me ! mebe i'm thick.
    Steve

  7. #37
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    >>you'd have to explain em to me

    Heh. Not sure I'd want to. Mostly they're about a moment or place that caught my attention. Sometimes I'd rather noone knew what they were about.

    I'll throw a few more out there.


    Sunken chest cavity
    Maggots eat the body slouched against cold wall
    Wonder if hes seeing light
    Now hes at the end of his tunnel
    Doubting it
    Theres no light in mine
    This is what happens
    When your mind reaches the end of the track
    And falls off


    I'd better explain the next one or you'll all think I'm whako. I was listening to the Deftones when it struck me: I'm enjoying listening to somebody else sing about their pain.


    On Display

    Oh oh
    Scream
    Your vocal chords are bleeding
    I like your pain
    It amuses me
    Oh oh
    You scream
    I'm smiling


    This ones intent should be a little more obvious. (?)


    Childs toy
    Spins fast once released
    We spun fast once too
    Time and friction take their toll
    The top falters
    Dings the floor
    We all watch in horror
    Waiting
    Wanting thet child
    Spin us again



    BTW Aran, I enjoyed that 'horatio's ratio'. Very nice.
    "There's always another way"
    -lightatdawn (lightatdawn.cprogramming.com)

  8. #38
    My diaper's full....... stevey's Avatar
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    even i can get those. you shouldn't explain poetry anyway, its like explaining jokes.....rather defeats the point.
    Steve

  9. #39
    Registered User Aran's Avatar
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    Sun to none.

    Floating dreams
    the ransom of my mind.
    thoughts more sublime
    trouble my mind.

    Deft speakers
    feed you my life
    now, with a spoon longer
    than the plank i stand on.

    All alone
    i take one last drink
    to the things i know
    and to the things i think,
    or rather i think i know....
    does the mind not grow?
    too bad mine just got swollen;
    when the ice applied
    gone was my wit
    my intelligence

    clever?
    i am no longer.
    Life?
    i am no longer.

    i make hello into goodbye
    day to night
    sun to rain...

    sun to rain?
    no, rain is too temporary.

    sun to none.
    Last edited by Aran; 06-03-2002 at 06:18 PM.

  10. #40
    i dont know Vicious's Avatar
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    My best work

    Roses are Red,
    Violets are Blue,
    Poo poo stinks,
    And Stevey so do you.


    I need some kleenex. I make myself cry.
    What is C++?

  11. #41
    My diaper's full....... stevey's Avatar
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    hey, thats a lot better than Aran's !!

    Baby Stevey's rather hyper,
    tho' he's weighed down by his diaper,
    that diaper really honks,
    and it has done for some yonks,
    should really go and empty it,
    and hence be bereft of s.hit !!
    Steve

  12. #42
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    One from me

    Here's one I wrote. Its a little long, but its easy to follow and apparently funny. :P

    Oh and if u like it i've got heaaaps more

    Lambs of War

    There were two lambs in a paddock,
    Munching on the grass,
    When suddenly a bomber,
    Made a swooping pass.

    The lambs were frozen solid,
    Not knowing what to do,
    For these two little lambs,
    Did not know metal flew.

    The bomber doubled back,
    Heading where it had come from,
    Leaving two bewildered lambs,
    Gazing at a falling bomb.

    Several seconds passed,
    Then it hit the ground,
    With a blinding flash of light,
    And a massive rumbling sound.

    The lambs were blasted backwards,
    Landing in the grass,
    Staring up into the sky,
    Getting cut by falling glass.

    Once they had recovered,
    They struggled to their feet,
    Shook off bits of rubble,
    And began to bleat.

    Their mother waddled over,
    Soaked in her own blood,
    Gave each of them a tender lick,
    Then fell, dead, in the mud.

    The lambs were devastated,
    Filled with bitter hate,
    They gathered up their strength,
    And jumped over the gate.

    They ran as fast as possible,
    Heading for the house,
    Then crept passed the farmers dog,
    As quiet as a mouse.

    They found what they were looking for,
    And headed back outside,
    Crouched behind the pick-up truck,
    They'd fight until they died.

    There was a distant rumble,
    The plane was coming near,
    The little lambs were trembling,
    Shaking, full of fear.

    The plane shot overhead,
    The lambs fired the gun,
    The plane was blown to pieces,
    The little lambs had won.

    -out-
    PsychoBrat
    psychobrat at gmail

  13. #43
    My diaper's full....... stevey's Avatar
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    well i like it.
    lambs to the slaughter eh? the lambs that turned?
    Steve

  14. #44
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    Angry

    uhm... here..its about cprogramming.com hehe

    with the visual workspace for c
    programming was the job for me;
    it left me full and never doubting
    always right for lack of pouting;
    my code flowed free as a river of rain
    debuging, simple, never full of shame;

    until the day on which i died
    not physically, but in my mind;
    my code was a wreak, all jumbled and confused
    my memory was sad, it felt abused;
    so help did i seek, a while in looking
    cprogramming.com was now my beautiful rookie;

    day in an out it waits for me
    always on the job, no resting spree;
    advice it lends when im in need
    articles it hides when im wont to read;
    a friendly shoulder to me it lends
    cprogramming.com is my only friend.



    -dedicated to all the hard working posters(people who post) at cprogramming.com


    -a poemish type thing by a newbie(at poetry, i'm pro at evry thing else, like spellng and stuff)

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