Forums / The hangaround / Poems

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I'm a schizophrenic,
and so am I!

You are totally fine with being homoseksual, aren't you?

if you're the master of poetry, then I'm your god ffs!

You are the master of poetry, and you don't even post your own work?
Unless you are Austin Grendler, which I doubt.


Efrandor- Unfortunately, I'm not. Please cut my throat if I misspelled anything.

I surrender.

This is why I should not be involved with poetry.

(Edited by Mr. Hemmer 4/3/2007 9:58:48 PM)

I have more works, but I don't know if you guys deserve to see them.....

Every time the sky is blue,
The only thing I want is you.
I remember your face,
And go back to the place,
Under the blue sky I first met you.

-Austin Grendler

It's not bad Jeffy, I for one would like to see more :)

Jiga ma niga tsica tsica!  llol

@ Quietone.....love that one...thanks for posting it.

It is good.  I can write one that's shorter and maybe sweeter than that, MAYBE.

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eve of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corspe out leant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evenson
Of Joy illimited;
An aged thrust, frail, gaunt and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew


~ Thomas Hardy

woah ... I never saw that side of you swifty ^^

*looks full admiration to swifty*

ok rember im the crapyist peson in the world so this may sory will be crap

in the cold dark night as the wolf stares into the distant moon

and the ghosts howls in the gloomey shawdows their is more then scare

so more so more a boy with eyes eyes of rage and sorrow sees no scare but if men of war fear what he does not that must mean no scare no scare.

told you i was crap

<twamao> firefox is whacked :(
<Sp00n> or you got hacked :(
<twamao> :( i cant log in to vu
<Sp00n> slap Wuu
<Imperator> what does it say?
<Sp00n> 'get a pile of hay'
<Sp00n> and you may
<Sp00n> be g@y
<twamao> like that
<Sp00n> you should wear a hat
<Sp00n> seriously, lad
<twamao> i did
<Sp00n> spit
<Sp00n> and get rid
<Sp00n> of senturu's lazy kid
<Sp00n> or atleast his eyelid
<twamao> who is senturu's kid?
<Sp00n> the one now being hit
* Sp00n slaps HankyPanky around a bit with a large trout
<Sp00n> I bet HankyPanky will now be screaming out loud
<twamao> sol?
<Sp00n> He has a huge mole
<twamao> where?
<Sp00n> above his *beep*!
<twamao> how did you found out?
<Sp00n> that's not something you want to know more about :)

<Sp00n> gowd, I'm good
<Sp00n> obviously because I'm from the neighbourhood

no body like my poem (TT_TT)

~Shunning the field broken by Wave.
The shadowed girl whispers,
"Surely, I will return."
Alas, the truth unbeknownst.
Awaiting her at journey's end;
Eternal mourning for her land.~

~Sadness arises from the grieving;
Kindhearted and innocent,
A child once was the light,
The happiness to all.
The child of light has yet to reappear,
To bless the broken field.~

~Neither have returned,
The Earth and Sky mourn them.~

~Many have forgotten them,
The child and the girl,
And scoff at the mention of them.
But of this, I am certain.
They will return,
To bless this broken land.~

From and inspired from the Epitaph of Twilight. May those two return to bless this land.
~Exerpt from Noadea's History
<3 Noadea

Awww.  Your thoughtfulness almost made me shed a tear, Dak.

no i'm not

its a poem i studyed for my jouiner cert

thats actually quiet good

did you make that up yourself?

It sounds more like a song than a poem.  But that is not a bad thing.  You just need to get a good tune to it.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door - Only this, and nothing more.' Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore - For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating `'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; - This it is, and nothing more,' Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, `Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; - Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!' This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!' Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. `Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore - Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; - 'Tis the wind and nothing more!' Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door - Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door - Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven. Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door - Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as `Nevermore.' But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only, That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before - On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.' Then the bird said, `Nevermore.' Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, `Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore - Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of "Never-nevermore."' But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore - What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking `Nevermore.' This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. `Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted - On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore - Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore - Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting - `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.' And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore!

-Some Penniless Drunk named Poe or some such

Mr. Roxbury Report 4/3/2007 8:27:07 PM

Roses are red, Violets are blue, I'm a schizophrenic, and so am I!

Lol I saw this film it ruled.

Three for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for the Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the shadows lie.
One ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.