Posted on 01/20/2009 7:55:39 PM PST by smokingfrog
THE FACELESS GROW DEATH GRABS THE FLOWER.
WHERE IS THE HOT LIGHT?
NEVER PUSH A TRUCK.
WHY DOES THE WINDOW GO?
WHERE IS THE SMALL WINDOW?
O, OOH TURD!
WHERE IS THE MISTY LIGHT?
JACKHAMMERS FAITH LIKE RAINY HUSTLES.
THE COLD RUN FAITH GETS THE DRIVER.
DAMN, AH TURD!
TALK ROUGHLY LIKE A LOVE CITY.
THE COLD WALK FAITH BUYS THE TRUCK.
NEVER GRAB A TRUCK.
THE FAST TALK EXHAUSTION PUSHES THE STREET.
WHY DOES THE FLOWER SHRINK?
THE ROUGHLY WALKS LIKE A FAST GIRL.
WALK CALMLY LIKE A SELL WINDOW.
THE QUIETLY RUNS LIKE A DARK CORNER.
NOISE IS A NOISY TRUCK FAT.
WORK IS A COLD LIGHT FAT.
WHERE IS THE DEAD DRIVER?
THE CALMLY SHOPS LIKE A DARK CIGARETTE.
FACELESS, MISTY CORNERS ROUGHLY SELL A RAINY, HOT SKYSCRAPER.
Makes as much sense as the crap she wrote.
Look out for the last line of the limerick, it's a doozy!
A woman whose clothing was strewed
By breezes which left her quite nude
Saw a man come along
And, unless I am wrong
You expected this line to be lewd.
Cheers!
This poem smacks of wealth redistribution...only struggling Americans, children and underpaid teachers are mentioned...it implies that anyone rich and successful is not capable of love.
Why not just read the 13th chapter of 1 Corinthians?
More vision and sensitivity in the instruction manual for my HD TV.....
Maynard! is that you? How’s Dobie?
Upon a field of white now lies the single gauntlet, thrown Cacaphony, pain-ed prose, impov'rished, by thy pen pwn3d
This reads like something Peggy Noonan would write.
What IF the mightiest word were love, indeed. The unborn children then might be allowed to live, and not be murdered in that one, last, safe place; their mother’s womb.
Yes it does make as much sense as the inaugural poem.
Bravo! Bravo!
UNDERGROUNDUnder water grottos, caverns
Filled with apes
That eat figs.
Stepping on the figs
That the apes
Eat, they crunch.
The apes howl, bare
Their fangs, dance,
Tumble in the
Rushing water,
Musty, wet pelts
Glistening in the blue.by B.H. Obama
I wrote this one yesterday, in response to a similar challenge, which was to use her theme, if you could decipher it.
StepsMorning calls us to the sound of distant hubbub,
We hum along to get into our stride,
The world is waiting, walking, waking,
A single phalanx standing side by side,
We walk into the future with our brothers,
We stare into the darkness up ahead,
The unknown waits for us to light the way,
Behind us is the kingdom of the dead.
And as we march we sing a song of union,
Let every voice sing out a sound of joy,
For every step we take will make us stronger,
Let every man step forward from his boy.
The echoes of the voices once behind us,
Come back as whispers as we look,
Far up ahead where shining glory draws us,
The prophecy we once read in a book.
NicknamedBob . . . . January 20, 2009
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