I'm great at poems Im super good at em I eat lotsa foams Im spitting out phlegm Can I go to that amusement park I really want to go to that ride of shark I'm great at poems
Dumbledore: "Now, it's great that you've been saving the school and all Harry, but unfortunately your grades have been a tad low, and, well... perhaps Gandalf could explain it better... hit it, Gandalf!
It jumped It bumped It crashed It bashed It was awesome It was quite dumb It was barbecue sauce
Dumbledore: "Now, it's great that you've been saving the school and all Harry, but unfortunately your grades have been a tad low, and, well... perhaps Gandalf could explain it better... hit it, Gandalf!
I am super cool I am really super very cool I can eat good foods
Dumbledore: "Now, it's great that you've been saving the school and all Harry, but unfortunately your grades have been a tad low, and, well... perhaps Gandalf could explain it better... hit it, Gandalf!
type type type type words, wow repetition, words do you know what's more boring than writer's block; poems about writer's block. but you can make it more interesting by adding a weird metaphor observe: my brain is a hurricane drank-up by Poseidon, used for breakfast coffee, and ever since that day, I think I drowned, what else could explain the lack of coherent thought?
when in doubt, set your poems on fire.
everything is forest fires, even winter became ashes, forgotten too long in the toaster, we're all rolling trying to remember what number to call when the world is on fire, and one day the clouds became smoke, and the lie became smoke, and then your words became smoke; nothing here to see except coughed up flame-residue, i'd say it's all alright, but it's more interesting to imply destruction.
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
Pigs are blue, So are you. I am awesome, But not you. Sunsets are red, Eat a shed. This is great, Fall for my bait. I am spectacular.
Dumbledore: "Now, it's great that you've been saving the school and all Harry, but unfortunately your grades have been a tad low, and, well... perhaps Gandalf could explain it better... hit it, Gandalf!
There's a story in everything, there's an enigma in every story.
Drinking a glass of water is not as easy as it seems.
Joe thought otherwise.
Little did he know what it takes to achieve it.
Drinking a glass of water is not everyone's cup of tea.
Joe was out on the street when he wanted a glass of water.
But there was no glass on the street.
Neither a fountain of water.
He was hunting for some water as he was all alone on the street.
He met this gorgeous lady whom he requested for a glass of water.
The glass of water was just an excuse, he wanted to date her since he was 2.
She invited him to her house but offered him a bottle instead.
Betrayed and hurt he was, he was expecting a glass not the bottle.
And then he committed suicide.
Spoiler! :
I wrote this few years ago. A deliberately tasteless nihilistic joke that pretends to be smarter than it actually is. I remember many reviewers fumed at this poem for how tasteless it was lol.
only ceiling fans really know what hurricanes feel like and i'd tell you what that means, if i knew what day of the month the fourth of july ended, but we're all spinning in circles this summer and no one knows when things start or begin or if there's even something else to do besides staring at ceiling fans and wondering why only ceiling fans really know what hurricanes feel like -
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
I don't really care about craftsmanship or craftswomanship, whatever theres a jagged red line under- -neath most of what im Writing, because I make decisions at random blue eggs on long legs pointlessly sensual so i can come across as mature and interesting What was this poem all about again?
YAN News - Website chia sẻ tin tức, thông tin giải trí về các sao châu Á và châu Âu hot nhất hiện nay. Truy cập website tại: https://www.yan.vn
https://truyenchuth.com/ | Website đọc truyện online hay. Luôn cập nhật những bộ truyện tiểu thuyết tiên hiệp, huyền ảo, đô thị, ngôn tình xuất sắc nhất mọi thời đại.
[Aug(u)st] You are the month of August, dear Too little summer, Too little autumn, And I can't help but wonder Where all my time has gone. Don't leave me until the leafs fall I've grown too attached to waiting I'd hate to miss the season's changing.
Edit: poem 2
Iii. Roman numerals are relative Predictive text is almost poetry Except people are so critical of Robots nowadays, and just grumps So you have a good time in your mailbox
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god -- the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! — William Shakespeare
Gender:
Points: 6228
Reviews: 114