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fred79
Disgraceful
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 28, 2013 09:10 AM |
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Edited by fred79 at 16:13, 03 Aug 2013.
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Poetry Thread
feel free to post your poetry, hc.
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Tsar-Ivor
Promising
Legendary Hero
Scourge of God
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posted July 28, 2013 01:24 PM |
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By all means post more, it couldn't HC to be more cultured.
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"No laughs were had. There is only shame and sadness." Jenny
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Drakon-Deus
Undefeatable Hero
Nixonite
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posted July 28, 2013 01:38 PM |
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You are mine, I am yours, / of that you may be sure.
Deep within my heart / you're safely locked away.
But I have lost the key / and there you'll ever stay.
Old German poem.
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Horses don't die on a dog's wish.
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mvassilev
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 28, 2013 04:52 PM |
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People in the OSM tell me that my posts belong in this thread. 
I haven't written much poetry. The only thing that comes to mind was when in one class in high school I had to write a poem using randomly selected words. And so I wrote this:
Ten
Paint buzz
Sheathe teh punk angst
That was the extent of my involvement with writing poetry.
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Eccentric Opinion
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mvassilev
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 28, 2013 11:16 PM |
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Every person in the class came up with somewhere around 7 words and wrote them down. Then we put them in a bag, mixed them up, and each drew 7 words.
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Eccentric Opinion
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mvassilev
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 29, 2013 12:11 AM |
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I just remembered that for some reason (probably from some class), I wrote this, entitled "Scrooge's Christmas". I apologize for how terrible it is.
Old Marley was dead, it was perfectly clear
His old friend, although, seemed to be in good cheer.
He ran his shop soundly, without any fuss
But Cratchit, his nephew, complained of it thus:
“You’re always in here, with your notes and your books.
The search for more money detracts from your looks.
You hunch over paper, and scribble some figures
Such action your face and your back quite disfigures.
You never keep Christmas, so I will now say
That this year you’d like to observe it my way.”
Scrooge drew himself up, and stared with a jolt.
“Why, silence, and shut up, you wretched poor dolt!
I do it my way, and you should keep yours
To yourself. In this way I run stores
Over Christmas, though money is scarce.
Why, I’d rather be consumčd by bears!
Go away and go home, you foolish young wretch!”
“My uncle, this seems to be quite a big stretch-”
“The man who cries ‘Cheer!’ would his tongue be cut out!”
“Dear uncle, I don’t really see why you shout.
You’re bitter and old, and soon you will die
And none will come to your gravesite to cry.”
And thus Cratchit left, leaving Scrooge to his work
Until he was startled by words from the clerk,
“You know, sir, I say that I need a day off.
I know that you would at this usually scoff
But Christmas is coming, and I need a rest
So if you would grant it, you’d surely be blessed.”
“Why should I pay you if you do not work?”
“If not, then your societal duty you’d shirk.”
Scrooge grumbled and mumbled, and then acquiesced.
With that business trouble quite off of his chest,
He turned to his work, but before he could start,
A noise from his work drew him quite apart.
A ghostly appearance a visitor wore
And sent ghastly chills all over the store.
“I am Jacob Marley,” it loudly proclaimed,
“And time for your greediness to be repaid.
I cared not for people, but only for gold
And now see your future before you unfold.
Three spirits will visit you, one after next
And though you by them may be over-perplexed
They might do you good, and save you from being
Like me, and your successors from seeing
Your soul, in this ghastly chained form
But only if your lifestyle you’ll start to reform.”
And then a new spirit appeared before his
Eyes, and then he noticed how strange it is.
It carried a candle upon its small head,
And dwarvish it looked, or childish instead.
“Pray tell me, who are you?” Scrooge asked of the soul.
“A Ghost of Past Christmas. Let’s go for a stroll.”
They traveled to some place the old man had known,
“Why, this was the place where I grew and was grown!
I know every step, and enjoyed my good lot
For this is the school where I learned and was taught.”
The ghost bade him walk, and into the school
They walkčd, and lookčd up onto a stool,
Where a boy was sitting, reading a book
“Unless I am greatly mistaken, see, look!
This boy is not happy. Why is that way?”
The spirit inquired. “Why, that was my day!”
Scrooge answered, and looked with a smile,
“Though I did not walk, I could read a mile!
The stories I read, they were many and varied,
From far land to far land they me swiftly ferried.”
The spirit then showed him another old vision.
An old man was sitting, and said, “A decision.
We’ll have a small party. It’s Christmas Eve night.
A bit of relaxing should do you all right.”
“Why, that is old Fezziwig, taught me a lot
Much joy and contentment to my life he brought,”
Said Scrooge with a smile. “Let us go away,”
The spirit said, “Now see what you may.”
The sight changed. Scrooge saw himself and a girl
Sitting next to each other, her face like a pearl.
She said, “I have been replaced in your life.
The Pound, not a girl, is to serve as your wife.”
“You’re simply quite wrong,” young Scrooge quickly said,
“I’m just making money and getting ahead.”
The girl said, “I don’t think you’re quite right.
The love for your money has put out your light.”
She got up and left, and left Scrooge quite alone
The old Scrooge looked angry, as gnawing a bone.
“Let’s leave, spirit,” he said with a growl,
“These past times to me seem to be all foul.”
The spirit then vanished, and Scrooge fell asleep,
And then he woke up, and that made him leap,
He looked and he saw another great ghost,
Upon its big head, it wore a pork roast,
Was clad in all green, and looked at the man,
And said, “I’m going to help you, you should hope I can.
Of the Present Holiday I am the ghost,
And to your salvation I shall be the host.”
Scrooge graspčd his robe, and they disappeared,
In Cratchit’s mid-dinner they sudden appeared.
They were making merry, but Cratchit’s young wife
Said, “Bob, your old uncle is still full of life.
He hoards all his money, though there must be over
Nine thousand ways he could spend it, moreover
He pays you not much, and cares for you zero.”
“Z-zero?” Bob answered, “Let’s drink to the hero.
He keeps us alive, and for that we should thank him
He pays for our foodstuff, and to treat Tiny Tim.”
The spirit then said, “Tiny Tim will soon die.”
Scrooge answered, “I do not know why!”
The spirit replied, “He is feeble and weak.
Look there!” The Ghost pointed, and then did not speak.
Two children were standing, dressed in old rags.
“These children are vile, ugly, miserable hags,”
The Ghost said. “Whose are they?” Scrooge asked.
“They are Man’s. Now you know that you’re tasked
To get rid of them. One is unknowledge, the other is want.
And now I shall no longer torture and taunt.”
The spirit then vanished; Scrooge was in his bed,
And saw a dark phantom gliding ahead.
“You see what’s to come. Show what might be,
So what I should do I’d be able to see,”
Scrooge said, and the Ghost moved ahead
And Scrooge followed him, his heart full of lead.
He heard voices, “Old Scrooge had now died!”
And as he suspected, nobody had cried.
The looters then seized all of his stuff
And gorged themselves on it ‘till they had enough.
Scrooge wondered, and asked the old Ghost,
“Though I might of my wealth often boast,
No one grieves for my death. But let us see
A death grieved for. For maybe shall be
A sight that may aid me in this darkful hour.”
The Spirit then rose, and appeared to devour
All the light in the place, and then they appeared
In the Cratchits’ old house, and Bob Cratchit neared.
He wept and looked sad, for Tiny Tim died.
“If only,” he said, “If only we tried!
We could have done more! I could’ve asked the
Old man, Scrooge, for some money to
Help Tiny Tim.” But his wife replied,
“It could never help. Old Scrooge would provide
You with a job, but not with assistance
That would help you. He kept you at a distance.”
And Scrooge disappeared, and saw himself dead,
Lying, reposing, upon his old bed.
And then saw his gravestone, and on it, his name.
He turned to the Spirit. “I’m not all the same!
I help all the people! I work. I employ! I
Am a friend of society. Though I may die
I will not surrender my values. No way.”
The phantom stopped, and shook in dismay.
And then it vanished, disappeared.
Scrooge awoke, “My dream was weird,
Back to work, I have to go
‘Cause I be makin’ loads of dough.
I don’t care if any will cry at my death
For my position controls their breath.
I can make as much money as I want
And all the spirits in the world won’t daunt
Me from performing my job.” Then he went
Outside, and Cratchit was there. “What, old
Man, how’s your day? It is frigid and cold.
Will you come rejoice with me, or just
Count your money ‘till your gold rust?”
Scrooge arose, and told him to leave,
He had objectives to achieve.
But just as he turned his back to the man,
Cratchit from a beggar seized a pan,
Struck Scrooge on the head, breaking
It open, and rejoicing, for he was taking
Over the world, and shouted, “I’m right!
WORKING MEN OF THE WORLD, UNITE!”
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Eccentric Opinion
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mvassilev
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 29, 2013 12:19 AM |
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Copied and pasted from Word, where I had it saved from several years ago.
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Eccentric Opinion
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fred79
Disgraceful
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 29, 2013 12:26 AM |
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Edited by fred79 at 16:15, 03 Aug 2013.
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mvass, that poem RULES, man! it doesn't suck at all. who in the hell told you your poetry sucked?! how long did it take you to write it?
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mvassilev
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 29, 2013 12:34 AM |
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It probably took me a couple of hours one evening a few years ago. I don't think it's particularly good.
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Eccentric Opinion
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fred79
Disgraceful
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 29, 2013 06:33 PM |
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yeah, guess nobody likes poetry anymore. this thread got shot down FAST.
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master_learn
Legendary Hero
walking to the library
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posted July 29, 2013 06:49 PM |
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There was a time I wrote some poetry.
But that was a long time ago and besides never had read a poem to any girl.
So I don't consider it useful for me in any way,at least not in the near future.
If I had some girlfriend,maybe...
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"I heard the latest HD version disables playing Heroes. Please reconsider."-Salamandre
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NoobX
Undefeatable Hero
Now, this is a paradox...
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posted July 30, 2013 08:25 AM |
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Well, I didn't really write any poetry in my life, but...
DAMNIT FRED YOU CHANGE THE TITLE OF YOUR FIRST POEM NOW
I DON'T ACTUALLY CARE HOW.
There, you got some poetry.
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Ghost said:
Door knob resembles anus tap.
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seraphim
Supreme Hero
Knowledge Reaper
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posted July 30, 2013 08:36 AM |
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Edited by seraphim at 10:05, 30 Jul 2013.
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My Little HC, My Little HC
snow, snow, snow, FAFAAsnow...
I used to wonder what stupidity could be
Until you all shared its magic with me
Big annoyance
Tons of grief
A beautiful thread
Faithful believers strong trolls
Admins sharing kindness!
It's a very hard feat
And trolling makes it all complete
You have my dead brainb cells
Do you know you're all snowing idiots?
My Little HC
My Little HC
My Little HC...snowing hell i hate this place.
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fred79
Disgraceful
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 30, 2013 09:45 AM |
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NoobX said:
Well, I didn't really write any poetry in my life, but...
DAMNIT FRED YOU CHANGE THE TITLE OF YOUR FIRST POEM NOW
I DON'T ACTUALLY CARE HOW.
There, you got some poetry.
lol, i never even realized.
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Drakon-Deus
Undefeatable Hero
Nixonite
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posted July 30, 2013 08:53 PM |
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Mihai Eminescu
So Fresh Thou Art
Thou scarcely touchest the soft carpet,
The silk on thee doth rustling stream,
From top to toe so light and lofty,
Thou floatest like an airy dream.
From draping folds like purest marble
Thine image unto me appears,
My whole soul on thine eyes is hanging,
Those eyes so full of joy and tears.
O happy dream of love, so happy,
Thou bride of fairy tales, so mild,
No, do not smile! Thy smille doth show me
How sweet thou art, thou gentle child.
My poor eyes thou canst close for ever
With deepest night's eternal charms,
With thy sweet lips' sweet fondling, whispers,
Embracing me with thy cool arms.
A veiling thought at once now passes
Thy glowing eyes thus covering:
It is the dark renunciation,
The sweetest yearning's shadowing.
Thou go'st away and, well I know it,
To follow thee must I no more,
Thou art for me now lost for ever,
My soul's dear bride, whom I adore.
My only guilt was that I saw thee,
Which I to pardon have no might,
Mine arm I'll stretch for ever vainly
To expiate my dream of light.
Like the holy Virgin's purest image
In my fond eyes thou will rise now,
The brightest crown on forehead bearing,
Where dost thou go? When comest thou?
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Horses don't die on a dog's wish.
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RedSoxFan3
Admirable
Legendary Hero
Fan of Red Sox
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posted July 31, 2013 02:13 AM |
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Roses are red
Violets are blue
I took a huge dump
Right in your Shoe
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Go Red Sox!
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NoobX
Undefeatable Hero
Now, this is a paradox...
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posted July 31, 2013 04:10 PM |
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Ok, here goes nothing:
I woke up
Alone
Yet another dull day has dawned
Why
Why does it have to be this way
I wondered
Is this how I'll spend my life
I still remember
I remember how life used to be simple
For you and I
For him
We were kids
We were happy
Meh, it's pretty depressive if you ask me 
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Ghost said:
Door knob resembles anus tap.
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fred79
Disgraceful
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 31, 2013 04:57 PM |
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that's because you're depressed, noobx. write about it. then, when you're past it, you can look back, and see how your perspective was flawed. it's what i have done. all of my old poetry, i can see how i contained myself in my own misery. all because my perspective was facing the wrong way. once i aimed my pain at what was actually causing it, i found that i didn't have any, anymore. because i was a good person, and undeserving of the weight i was putting on myself.
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Drakon-Deus
Undefeatable Hero
Nixonite
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posted July 31, 2013 07:40 PM |
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I never was much of a poet, but I used to write about the first girl I liked. Something about her being a princess bride who will save me from loneliness. Pretty pedestrian.
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Horses don't die on a dog's wish.
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markkur
Honorable
Legendary Hero
Once upon a time
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posted July 31, 2013 08:56 PM |
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“Jukebox”
If I was a paperback writer
The story in your eyes might go something like this
I’m a rider of the storm against the wind
so far away, and I can’t find my way home
Lonely is the night while playing this wicked game
To roll with the changes requires a heart-full of soul
There’s a black magic woman saying call me
It’s hard to take it easy and not get cat scratch fever
I just want to celebrate with a little help from my friends
and bang on the drum all day and get money for nothing
I’m running down a dream searching for a rainbow
Taking a magic carpet ride over the hills and far away
I’m on the road again through the Rocky mountain way
Life in the fast lane to paradise city
poetry rocks 
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This thread is pages long: 1 
