yummy banana, tasty banana.
eat 10,000 at once, die.
yummy banan, testy banarn.
heving srokke.
heel pme.
10,000 bannn kil u frm pot as yum.
skadoosh!
Same soup; different bowl
Same bowl; different soup
Same poet; different writes
Same agenda; different poets
Q: What is avian forensics?
A: Ornithology pathology.
Q: What's the name of Adam Levine's band when they appear in concert?
A: Maroon Five Live.
Q: What is a submarine that only goes forward?
A: An irreversible submersible.
Q: What was a really fanatical peasant in ancient Greece?
A: A zealot helot.
Q: What kind of small pet dog gets carried around in a designer handbag?
A: A Gucci poochie.
Q: What would you call a consumer review of one of Benjamin Franklin's inventions?
A: A colonial testimonial.
Q: What's another name for a woman's "muffin tops"?
A: A girdle hurdle.
Q: If characters are an author's progeny, what does that make "Dorian Gray"?
A: A Wilde child.
Q: What rules of conduct were Senators in ancient Rome supposed to follow?
A: Forum decorum.
What not is to oneself? A question ever been told to myself
Whether you love, you taught, you thought, and you lost
The camaraderie to you and yourself is the greatest bond
To know the boundaries - where you can fly and fall
Where you can commit to all and to stand tall
Even one voice, small. Hectic, make it a mall
In the end of the day, what not to oneself?
Where you stood to all, but mistakes come forth
When you feel life's winding up north
It is the blade, into something that halts
It is not for you, but a lesson and is daft
Take care, world is cruel even in mononym
What secrets of the Muse's rhyme,
skirt on the edge of our perception?
What fate can be known by metric time,
or prophecy by taut inspection?
The path she offers invites echoes,
of lives half-lived and dreams half-dreamt,
of pasts that form our tomorrows,
that few aspire beyond attempt.
Parnassus chooses whom so it will.
To the fated, it shares its mysteries,
but one must choose its bitter pill,
to resolve the trajectories.
The obscure rhythms of the poet's soul,
splashed against a domed, cryptic sky,
fulfill a cosmic, unique role,
that only seers behold with an inward eye.
When the muse leaves, his quill runs dry;
then joyful songs, sweet poetry,
drain from his pen, though write he try,
as hollow strains lack symmetry.
How then to woo the Muse once more?
Her treason robs him of his art.
What offerings, what gifts, might restore
against the whims of a Muse's heart?
But love is mild, and then patient:
love waits, with no pose or pretense.
His heart still burns incandescent
for her. To restore her, no expense
will be spared. And though she feels distant,
his constant heart will break her whim.
She'll not remain, forever transient,
but turn her radiant face to him.
this is a comma ,
this is an apostrophe '
this is an ampersand &
and this is an asterisk *
lol. get click baited.
there isn't no poem.
just me.
and you.
and your thoughts.
hmm...
I have an idea!
how about a game?
duck, duck, goose, how about that?
no? ok
just comment your favourite, food.
yeah, good enough game.
ok, get commenting.
I'm off.
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
ok bye.
bible
slime block!
thy worldith isith thy canvasith.
thy painterith thy paintith.
thy poetith, makeith thy poetith.
thy worldith thy endith.
chickenith jockeyith.
No pretending,
fences need mending.
A will unbending,
always condescending.
Voices sending,
words seem unending.
Friendship rending,
intent offending.
Friendship depending,
to matters attending.
Lost friend impending
will be heartrending.
Q: When a woman is having a baby, what do you call the periods of time between labor contractions?
A: Pregnant pauses.
Q: What happens when a restaurant doesn't sell all of its "soup du jour"?
A: It goes on tomorrow's menu as "soup du yesterjour".
Q: What do you call a group of witches doing their own laundry?
A: A self-cleaning coven.
Q: What did the prostitute say to the sympathetic arresting female officer from Buenos Aires?
A: Don't cry for me, Sergeant Tina.
Q: What did the cannibal chief tell his people when they were defeated by another tribe?
A: If you can't eat 'em, join 'em.
Q: What did two gay knights tell King Arthur when he asked them if they were dating?
A: We''re not a couple, we're joust friends.
Q: What's the difference between a vase and a "vahze"?
A: The price.
Q: How can you tell if a politician is lying?
A: His lips are moving.
Q: How would Hollywood describe a remake of "Day of the Dead" set in old Tucson with a score and lyrics by Andrew Lloyd Webber?
A: A zombie western musical.
Q: What might be the motto of a cannibal police force?
A: "To dissect and serve".
my dad,
my father.
climb up mountains,
he'd go farther.
hiking hills,
working hard.
paying bills
paying rent.
without that.
we'd be bent.
fixing things
that needed fixing.
breaking things
that need breaking.
my dad,
my father.
you run far,
he'd run farther.
First, we mine, then we craft, LETS MINECRAFT!!
Every civilization has an hour glass
Filled with both a future and a past
The top is filled with the sand of Love
Slowly leaking with the pouring into a cup
Over time the world has seen
The cup receiving love is the cup of iniquity
Gone are civilizations that worshiped idols
Inhumane practices taught by
Lost souls and fallen angels
Gone are the nations that did not follow God
That feeling that something was wrong in their heart
The soul has eyes that the Spirit gives to see
Before it's too late it is time to flee
Going are the lost who tell the lies
All for a price thinking God is not alive
Blind are the eyes that refuse to see
The filling of the cup called Iniquity
Though their end has yet to be
The end is coming to that society
Too late came the call to get on the boat
While they were yet preparing to have a vote
Too late will be that day when justice mattered
While media takes the stand to give them flatter
Lost will be the day that was long ago sound
The end of a civilization our for fathers found
clouds think of stars
my Milkyway bars
motionless water
on
heart open
to
blue skies
the trees are still green
well whatever
Peter Piper
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked.
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,
How many pickled peppers did Peter Piper pick?
—Author Unknown
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