Post Your Random Poems!

She has attained the permanence
When the caravans of wool-teams climbed the ranges from the West,
First-born and final relic of the night,
My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes
I knew a Princess: she was old,
It is portentous, and a thing of state
There is a tavern in the town, in the town,
PRECEPT I.

Whoaness.

So apparently I had one I never posted....

Spoiler

I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
Thys boke ys on,
He that loves a rosy cheek,
Have any of you, passers-by,
Over the sea our galleys went,
THERE WAS AN OLD MAN OF NEW YORK, WHO MURDERED HIMSELF WITH A FORK,
We thrill too strangely at the master's touch,
In a herber green asleep whereas I lay,

But I did it again today, and I like this one:

'All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
The Sorrows of Werther, that is the Book,
All that I know
Not at the first sight, nor with a dribbed shot
If you live along with all the other people
To-night I saw three maidens on the beach,
'What are the bugles blowin' for?' said Files-on-Parade.
You cannot rob us of the rights we cherish,

Never until the mankind making
For three years, out of key with his time,
Tell me thou safest End of all our Woe,
In him inexplicably mix'd appear'd
How like a winter hath my absence been
I wandered lonely as a cloud
There was an old fellow of Peterhouse,
'Heaven bless the babe!' they said.

I had a dream one night
and when I closed my eyes
I knocked on a door
you couldn't feel my surprise.
Harry Potter was sitting at the table
with his friends 'Mione and Ron
Percy Jackson had Annabeth
I had to sing a song.
Luna, Neville, Dumbledore, Cedric
Will, Leo, Nyssa, and more
All my favorite characters
were sitting there galore.

Now is the time for mirth,
Tonight the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes,
AS one who in his journey bates at Noone,
Mild, melancholy, and sedate, he stands,
I live on Canada en Bas --
Uncle Johnny died after rigid years
In Virgyn? the sweltrie sun gan sheene,
How many golden hours have we won

There was a person above me
who post like fire
but someone who didn't
posted every day
every hour.
The person who posted like fire
posted once every three years.
The person who posted every day
was sent off
to bask in his misery.

This institution,
Hear the voice of the Bard!
By such an all-embalming summer day
A conqueror as provident as brave,
Toll for the brave--
Belov?d, thou hast brought me many flowers
Ph?bus was Iudge betweene Ioue, Mars, and Loue,
The flower that smiles to-day

A FORM, as any taper, fine ,
A hermit's house beside a stream,
With weary steps I loiter on,
The sun goes down, and over all
Purple as tulips in May, mauve
There was an old fellow of Peterhouse,
Some men are born to gather women's tears,
Oh! leave the past to bury its own dead.

England, with all thy faults, I love thee still--
Woodman, spare that tree!
Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
In the rain in the rain in the rain in the rain in Spain.
Take up the White Man's burden--
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow,
Pillowed and hushed on the silent plain,

Although great Queen, thou now in silence lie,
On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble,
Thy voice is heard thro' rolling drums,
Upon the tinkling splintery battlements
Sole Rishi! Pushan! glorious Yama!
Laugh, and the world laughs with you,
ONE wept whose only child was dead,
'Why William, on that old grey stone,

i have been thinking of the long arms of peasant girls,
'Hark, hark!
A porcupine skin,
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
The possum lay on the tracks fully dead.
One sung of thee who left the tale untold,
A minx of seventeen, with rather fine
Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!

Huzza! Hodgson, we are going,
OUR master, in a fatal hour,
I am! yet what I am none cares or knows,
What are these things thou lovest? Vanity.
Philosophy the great and only heir
The diggings were just in their glory when Alister Cameron came,
I feel
Am I sadly cast aside,

You are a friend then, as I make it out,
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
I'd Rather have Fingers than Toes,
Appolinus his leve tok,
Spare, gen'rous victor, spare the slave,
Once I loved a spider
It is an ancient Mariner,
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?

My Tower
I will build a tower,
yes, a very tall tower,
and I shall go up and up and up
and sit in this tower,
and lock all the doors.
Ha!

You are a friend then, as I make it out,
April 9, 1999, 9:15 A.M.
Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm
Gi'e me a lass with a lump of land,
Yes, Mary Ann, I freely grant,
Her hair back from the wide round face
This is the soldier brave enough to tell
So here hath been dawning