We need more FR Poet Laureates [Post an original poem and win a bun.]

September 18, 2003 | Me

[paulklenk]

Freepers,

Poetry is the soul of our hearts. We can converse, pontificate, and rally til the cows come home, but we really show our humanity, wit and truest selves in our poetry.

Doug From Upland is a fine example of such an artist. In his poems, we feel -- but we not only feel, we feel each other.

Let's show our true colors and show the world the Conservatives are not just lovers of freedom -- we're lovers of words, heart and feelings as well.

Post your original poem here. It need not rhyme. If you see a poem you like, vote for it by bumping it to the top. If you think you can do better, post a poem of your own.

Let's get the ball rolling with a poem of the silly variety -- remember, we don't have to be serious ALL the time. Here goes:

Plastic pie, plastic pie,
Shot a spastic in the eye.
Jesus heal'd that spastic's eye!
Pretty, pretty plastic pie!

Pretty, pretty plastic pie,
Much more fun than just plain pie!
Me oh my, oh why can't I
Have a pretty piece of pie?

[yarddog]

Bump for later.

[Tamzee]

Your poem is incredibly beautiful, made even more magnificent and humbling by the deep love that inspired it.

Thank you so much for sharing it...

[Tamzee]

While I thank you for getting this started and will enjoy reading your wonderful thread, I wouldn't dare post any woefully untalented poetry attempts ;-)

[Tamzee]

Bravo!!!

I love it when you play with popular lyrics... all the more fun!

Is there anything you can do to fix "Happy Birthday to You"??? ;-)

[Dog Gone]

I wrote this poem in 9th grade and I'm quite proud of it. It may also be sung to the tune of I'm an Old Cowhand

I'm an old cowpie

Don't step on me, guy

And here I lie

Under the summer sky

Getting dry

[Fawnn]

Limericks?

This one ran on THE BILL CLINTON JOKE-OF-THE-DAY Web site on May 28, 1997:

When Bill's henchmen said, "Paula ... hey you!"
Follow us, not much for you to do. ...
Oh, little did she know
Something was 'bout to grow
When she entered that "room with a view!!!"

Copyright © 1997-2003 Pamela Rice Hahn
All rights reserved.

[Fawnn]

Intellectual Poverty

Excellent! And sadly true.

[b9]

HA! You've revised it even!
Lightfoot's "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald"
has been resurrected, thanks to you! :o)

[Fawnn]

Excellent Viking Kitty Zot limerick!

(With your FReepname, you might like my limerick in Post #46.)

[Bloody Sam Roberts]

BLAHAHAHA! say it again.

Mmmmm...Ok!

.

Michael Moore has a fixation
To heap unearned guilt on our nation
But I’m content in my mind
That one day he shall find
He’s no more than a fat aberration.

[EternalVigilance]

Someday We'll Fly

My heart, it's a funny old thing
Sometimes it sings
Sometimes it cries
But it'll be all yours, by and by
And then we'll fly...

No matter what this world may bring
No matter what trials
I still find the strength to try
Even alone, I find a way to get by

Sometimes my heart sings
Sometimes it sighs
But until the day I die
You'll always be the apple of my eye

You make me feel like a king
Without you I feel so dry
That's why I can't deny
The place you hold in this heart of mine

I want to be with you
But my heart needs purified
So I can take wing and fly
On the day the truth overcomes the lie

My heart, it's a funny old thing
Sometimes it sings
Sometimes it cries
But it'll be all yours, by and by
And then we'll fly...

EV

[new cruelty]

ROTFLOL. great stuff. keep it coming.

[NeoCaveman]

There once was a man named Bill
Of women, he could get no fill
Monica gave him thrills
Till on the blue dress he did spill
Pretending to act shocked was Hill.

[yarddog]

This poem has an interesting history.

I found it in a room after all the employees had gone home for the Summer. I thought it was interesting but not great. As luck would have it I recently ran into the composer. It turns out the one I found was just a rough draft.

Here is the final poem. BTW there really was a beautiful girl named Shanda working there too.

Fair Shanda

It must have been life, safe from sorrow, Shanda sought.

Sweet as candy, so we thought.

To clear her heart of sin she fought.

Safe, in solace, life She sought, free from sinning passed on years, shame and sorrow wet with tears.

Then grace displaces all the fears.

And her sweetness seeks it's place, scarred but safe to end the race.

When Shanda sees him face to face, and faith secures amazing grace.

Safe from sorrow in all ways.

Forever ever and always.

But Shanda chose the world.

Sullen, sneering, selfish taught to whatever sin She want.

Scarlet sin, and little thought as mind and soul twist and taunt.

Then in anger, tears are caught, conscience cruelly, coldly fought, over those whose chance was naught.

So she makes her conscience halt.

Written words which hurt and haunt.

Writhing rhythms, weirdly wrought.

Drilling depths of thrilling thought.

Chilling visions seeing fault, of one who crossed her and was caught.

Then life reduced to nearly naught.

Someone's kindness briefly bought, then thrown away with little thought.

By now the bloom of Shanda's flower is fading nearly by the hour.

Shanda's life redeemed by then, and yet another ------------?

[hobbes1]

There once was a man from Peru
That Fell Asleep in a Canoe
His Name was Bill Clinton
After Monica Came a'Hintin
He stained her dress , It was blue

[hobbes1]

GMTA....lol

[xsmommy]

you two are scaring me.

[NeoCaveman]

Cue up the twilight zone music.

[xsmommy]

a stereo version is beyond terrifying

[=Intervention=]

Some of my twisted verse...


The Metamorphosis (A Political Fable)

After the ash rain had stopped
And the fires were finally put out
A change had swept over the nation
A quasi-magical transformation
Had turned things inside out.

Those who were never voted upon
Nor had ever run for office
Suddenly became the voice of the populos.
They railed against elected leaders
While vacationing overseas
And slowly growing donkey's ears.

Activists shed their normal political clothes
Forgetting about AIDS and reparations

Free speech and womens' organizations
To protest saving women
To protest freedom
To protest free speech
Strenuously admiring others' shackles
As they became buzzards and jackals.

Cameramen scurried about, hoping to make history
Busy fulfilling their self-fulfilling prophicies
For they control the horizontal
And they control the vertical
So the plot unfolded just as they wanted it to;
But the audience had left the building
So they complained about bias
(But when shown their own, they denied it).
While they tried to explain away
How their features had become ophidian.

Students took time out from studying for exams
To call everyone Hitler while they marched against Israel
Or disrobed and showed everyone their education
Consisted of how to best perform demonstrations
Stating that countries need to be happy in tyranny
Because slaves really are happy in slavery.
(And these wanted their diapers often changed
For they had strangely become babies.)

And then even stones found that they could speak
As they demanded that elected leaders actually lead
And everywhere they turned off their TVs
Salt shook itself from Morton's cardboard prisons gladly
Leaping from salt beds where it had laid in mute apathy
Snakes, jackals, buzzards, donkeys proclaimed
That their transformation could not be allowed to remain
For even though the nation was hopeless before
Why it could never long endure
Its self-appointed leaders bereft of power!