Discussion in Poetry 01

The time has come, dear squirreldom,
To chat once more in verse.
So says the hick, that backwards chick,
Whose rhyme makes all things worse!

An elf jumps in, "Now, come again!
Must all we say here rhyme?"
I guess not, no; I don't think so.
So more haiku this time!

--Ree was bored and missed this

The cat was smiling on the bed,
Purring with all his might.
He did his very best to make
His boyfriend want to fight.
And this was odd, because he was
A cowrat, black and white.

The Coon was yowling sulkily
Because he thought the Pi
Had little business lumping there
Like someone's kipper tie.
"And Sammet said," he bellyached,
"That he will never die!"

The Muttster and the Slenneton
Were babbling fit to vex.
Their private little hellfire club
Was plotting Cice and Jex,
And kitties, monks and madmenham
And cries of "bishysex!".

The katt was damp as damp could be,
The Twiglet, cute as cute.
The yowling of the amorous
Purrvaded Piper's moot.
His chat-up line of prefurrence
Was "hi there, wanna root?".

Pro-found amewsed, the siblings stirred.
"We need, I think," said one
"To resurrect the DiP.
I think it would be fun."
And then they came online to find
That Ree had jumped their gun!

--Odd but true. And they don't mind a bit. *sibs bow down to Ree's clairvoyance*

"That's right," said Ree, a goddess she,
"I could fortell your want.
So came I here, all free of fear,
Instead of reading Kant."

--Ree doesn't read philosphers, even when they rhyme

And having posted highlights up
For cabbages and kings,
The hell-Mutt found zirself caught short
By "laughter-silvered wings".
"I cannot read those lines", zie sighed,
"Without conceiving things."

Delish, zie found it at the time,
But answer came there none:
Which led to the conclusion that
Zie was the only one,
With blurred, confused half-memories
Of cloudbanks split by sun,

And diving, claws outstretched, to swat
At grazers on the run,
And bell-like in the empty air
A sister's trill of fun,
And plunges into cold cascades
Intense enough to stun,

And things zie feels quite crazy to
Remember having done.

--This was fictional, in case you're wondering - but it made a nice rhyme.

I know that Julia's going to think
That I've been telling lies,
I told her I was going to
The library, to revise,
And though I will be doing some,
It's true, they say, "Time flies!"

But in my own defense, say I,
I shan't be doing nought,
There's DragonForce gigs to be found,
And tickets to be bought,
And after that, I shall revise,
So do not be distraught!

And anyway, you've got to say,
This poem's very short.

-- Slen the in trouble.

''No. Sorry. Not today.'' said he.
''So please do stop that wailing,
For you should be revising too,
To stop us both from failing.''

I have new DragonForce cd,
He wouldn't come for Herman Li!!!

''Chemistry will be so hard,
In physics my work's cut out.
And so, you see, I can't come round
No matter how you beg and pout.''

So I was left all on my own,
As Slen hung up (on Nicky's phone).

But thinking back, I'm rather glad
That still he wouldn't go
Stuck to his guns, with firm resolve
(It's why I love him so!)

But now I see, he don't love me.
He'd rather WRITE ON DiP!!!!!!!

-- Julia, flexing her riding crop.

Three rings from the Slen, then his battery dies
Seven rounds of "Auld Lang Syne" from the BT touch-tone
Nine on the landline, Mutt mutters "fie"
One, for the dog lord, means "pick up the bloody phone!"
In the land of BitMaP where the consoles lie.

One ring to rouse them all, one ring to earprick
One ring means "oi, it's Paul, pick up you dipstick!"
In the land of BitMaP where the katt is Pi.

--HellMutt the antisocial phoneophobic

"I never knew," spake a Finn,
"That Slen had horse in him.
Jolly good for the lad."
Long pause.
"But of course, it is sad;
Even a horse knows his sin.
At least...
By the time he's, well, urr...
...inna leash."

("Eg shand!
What could rhyme with Snog?
Other than
'No use big words play Og?'")

-- Snog, not here. Really.

Funny you should speak Flumpotronian,
Asking what on Ertron rhymes with Snog.
Dafter sorts of Brits might rejoin to you:
"Snogster, vinji, ot sleg bend ot og."

my, that was a slog. --Dog.

After Julia's nice poem
I'm feeling very shy,
I've spent a pointless evening
chasing cats - you've got to try,
To get the twiglet out the house,
Then OH MY DOG IT'S - UUURGH!!

What in Satan's name have I
Really got to say?
There's absolutely no point to
This poem, anyway
Get out of here, weirdo, or
I'll call Securité!

And was this just an excuse to use
My Dutch accent? Nay!

--Slen the crap at scansion.

(...name that I HATE)

Scansion's important?
I think I'm in some trouble
Coz I can't do it!

The only things that
Really should be forced to scan
Are Serpy's buttocks.

--Ishtar

I should point out that many two-syllable S names were tried here before Serpy was chosen, so the rest of you have no cause to relax.
Damn, how can I walk past the photocopier stright-faced now?? --ed.mt

Between those mountains, climbing high
O'er crimson lake and emerald sky.
And from the rising, sinking sun
The e'er meandering rivers run.
My coloured winds flow freely here,
And yet fall deaf on muted ear.

You're my cabbage's precious squeakbook,
My whirlytop, whirlytop, whirlytop.

-- The last two posts were examples of what my thoughts look like first thing in the morning.
NB: Not what they are but what they look like. Go figure.

O Crucio, Imperio and shame that's barely livable,
For Mutt forgot to post in here:
Completely unforgivable!

--12:11 is 'first thing in the morning', eh? Good show, old girl!

I learn from the best
My methods of rest.

I covet Ninereeds
Covertly, but my top sin
Would have to be Sloth.

--Threetoes

You're all amateurs
Laziness is my forté
I'm going to bed.

--Slen the in a maths lesson

Darling sib, you're somewhat Lax
None can quite touch your notation;
Do not leech, but lattice ax
Pour le gender transformation.

--le gender polynomial

The wiki twine, it makes me whine.
I find it hard to use.
It seems its first priority
Is only to confuse!

I log in once, twice.. and again,
I try to edit pages,
I can't read up on Baskerville,
Or brush up on those mages.

Oh admin! I cry out to you!
Save me from my grief!
Provide some clear instructions
To bring me sweet relief.

And I promise that I'll never attempt to write poetry again.