Indigo Posted March 17, 2006 Share Posted March 17, 2006 I notice that the majority of the discussion here seems to be on the subject of graphic art. I have nothing against graphic art, but obviously there are many other creative mediums that it'd be interesting to explore. I pick poetry for this topic, firstly because I think it's quite an underrated art form, and secondly because it's quite accessible; I think it's fair to say that near enough anyone could write a poem if they put their mind to it. So, if we have any poets here, feel free to share your work and make constructive comments. For now I'll share what is probably my favourite of the poems I've written. Thoughts appreciated. ------------------------- Dusk to Dawn The mark of a lover, scribbled on the table A line through the dust, fingertip fray The static compliments those drooped shadows Exhausted, quiescent and sad Lost in the unknown of artificiality Lost in the silence of night The light-bulb would like to say hi A wish to spark, just this once The monochromatic canvas of early-hour Anhedonic, anxious and afflicted Subsistent in its world From dusk to dawn, nightfall to sunrise Gravity is pulling me I've an appointment with fantasy An adventure out of time An escape from reality The pattern on the lampshade casts its sweet farewell A sigh of relief greets my eye-lid's close Drifting in unconsciousness In her arms I'll stay Masked in bliss By starlight I'll stay Forever in her touch Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
mario114 Posted March 17, 2006 Share Posted March 17, 2006 It's pretty cool, I can't rember much about poetry I wasn't that good at english AS, but the poem seem pretty cool, better than the borring dilyan tomas ones i had to study (that guy is obssed with death!). I like the contrast of semantic fields (thats the right word right?) of light and dark, it really adds to the poem. I find the fouth stanza (thats the term for paragraphs right, hey i'm on fire today ) particulary good, the lexus choice "fantasy", "adventure" and "reality", really spark the imagantion. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Arragaun Posted March 17, 2006 Share Posted March 17, 2006 I like how the poem appears to tell the story of a past love and I do like your use of alliteration. However, to me it reads too bookwormy, mainly because of all the words like 'quiescent' and 'artificiality'. Otherwise though, it makes me smile. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Shorty Posted March 17, 2006 Share Posted March 17, 2006 particulary good, the lexus choice "fantasy", "adventure" and "reality", really spark the imagantion. Lexis. This is a lexus. But I agree with your point anyway :p Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Daft Posted October 19, 2007 Share Posted October 19, 2007 I'm going to bump this thread to give it another chance and because I think its an awesome idea! I wrote this earlier...It hasn't got a title. --------------- Stood up tall and all alone, Broken ground falls into the sea. Slender roses, slowly growing old, But I am so alone. Fear holds me, Takes me everywhere, There is nothing new for me to see, Yet I am all alone. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jayseven Posted October 22, 2007 Share Posted October 22, 2007 This is a scrap o' mine that does little else but rhyme... ____ Feel like i should be dreaming clouds drifting by and i can't find the meaning did i give away all i had to offer? am i too late to change the future? Tried so hard so soon took the wrong chance pushed the boundaries never could make it last Feel like i'm overthinking Situation surrounds me as if i've been drinking Did I cut too deep this time? truth's so hidden it's hard to find ________ _________ Exchanged your borrowings for a heartful of debt, took away all their feelings 'till less than nothing was left. Back up to the line, the mark has been raised, struggle to reach it because your mind's too shallow, can't help but dream of the heights elevated past your level, even though dreaming is not believing and seeing is as close as you can't get. Don't tease their fragments, let them rest awhile, shatter some more hearts to add to the pile. _____ .. and this is stuff I did for a module last year... _____ For Things Too Important To Simply Just Remember Each beat a sigh of truth I hate A laugh, a smile, a joke. Each pain a memory in fade, A splinter more of hope. Each drop a taste of lies I made A scream, a cry, confess. Each cut a minute of mine saved. One nearer yet to death. Her eyes so wide so open red Each look to me too late. Her hand so tight on mine tonight, But now I just can’t wait. Her smile a line to ponder on, Forgiving me no more. Her tear to beg for mercy, but Not what I’m asking for. You have already broken me, So much for tales of fate. Just let these fragments rest a while And make your own escape. Of Favours and Regrets The sun is blinded black by memories, Asleep and cast in dreams of no more white. The rivers drowning deep below the sea, Unseen by shadows breathless through the night, Choking the stars and skies and all still free. Alone the mountains all crumble to earth, The woods and forests fall to the last tree As every jewel is crushed by its own worth. When each and all last words fall into place I shall be first to tell you who was wrong. “all that remains of you is put to waste Is this slow love poem, my final song”. I said our love would turn around the world And what I meant cannot now be untold. Just Start Speaking Before You Cannot Speak Any More This is on time, still on time right? I’ve got seconds To spare though I stutter when I start to speak Nothing will stop me, cease me beginning To open my mouth and say out loud The words whole and complete at last That persuade or gaze too long At what you might not think Or remember well But my words do And they shall Tell you More - Who is writing in my book? My pen’s full of ink Again fate overflows Through my fingers, ever searching The brink. Never worth the pages you fill when You think you can write, So read on Faithfull reader I won’t bite, I need my teeth so I can smile when I’m always right? Until these lines are full Filled by leaks from my mind’s insides out, I won’t eat or sleep my days or nights – ‘Til I find that last rhyme Is this an ode to November Pompous, stuffed to the cuffs With strong lines and anger- Or is this another rough Hope I know I won’t remember. The first flame frome the fire Always hurts the most Like the worst lover’s name Is forever a curse for One thing, or is it Another. Can I ever judge A book by its Cover, my memories shook. Still can’t decide if I’m forgotten or Can’t you unwind until the ember Fires the last shot. Never a winner unless you’ve lost Your last breath. _______ Ok, apologies for lengthy post >_< Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Paj! Posted October 26, 2007 Share Posted October 26, 2007 I don't often write poems, and I don't have to hand, but I find Joanna Newsom's song lyrcis to be like poems animated. *brace yourself, the song is like 10 minutes long* Monkey And Bear, written and performed by Joanna Newsom Down in the green hay Where monkey and bear usually lay They woke from a stable-boy's cry He said; someone come quick! The horses got loose, got grass-sick! They'll founder! Fain, they'll die What is now known by the sorrel and the roan? By the chestnut, and the bay, and the gelding grey? It is: stay by the gate you are given And remain in your place, for your season And had the overfed dead but listened To that high-fence, horse-sense, wisdom... Did you hear that, Bear? Said monkey We'll get out of here, fair and square They've left the gate open wide! So My bride Here is my hand, where is your paw? Try and understand my plan, Ursala My heart is a furnace Full of love that's just, and earnest Now; you know that we must unlearn this Allegiance to a life of service And no longer answer to that heartless Hay-monger, nor be his accomplice (that charlatan, with artless hustling!) But; Ursala, we've got to eat something And earn our keep, while still within The borders of the land that man has girded (all double-bolted and tight-fisted!) Until we reach the open country A-steeped in milk and honey Will you keep your fancy clothes on, for me? Can you bear a little longer to wear that leash? My love, I swear by the air I breathe: Sooner or later, you'll bare your teeth But for now, just dance, darling C'mon, will you dance, my darling? Darling, there's a place for us Can we go, before I turn to dust? Oh my darling, there's a place for us Oh darling C'mon will you dance, my darling? Oh, the hills are groaning with excess Like a table ceaselessly being set Oh my darling, we will get there yet They trooped past the guards, Past the coops, and the fields, and the farmyards All night, till finally: The space they gained grew Much farther than the stone that bear threw To mark where they'd stop for tea But walk a little faster And don't look backwards Your feast is to the East, which lies a little past the pasture When the blackbirds hear tea whistling, they rise and clap And their applause caws the kettle black And we can't have none of that! Move along, Bear; there, there; that's that Though cast in plaster Our Ursala's heart beat faster Than monkey's ever will But still; They have got to pay the bills Hadn't they? That is what the monkey'd say So, with the courage of a clown, or a cur Or a kite, jerking tight at its tether In her dun-brown gown of fur And her jerkin' of swansdown and leather Bear would sway on her hind legs; The organ would grind dregs of song, for the pleasure Of the children, who'd shriek Throwing coins at her feet Then recoiling in terror Sing, dance, darling C'mon, will you dance, my darling? Oh darling, there's a place for us Can we go, before I turn to dust? Oh my darling, there's a place for us Oh darling C'mon, will you dance, my darling? You keep your eyes fixed on the highest hill Where you'll ever-after eat your fill Oh my darling, dear, mine If you dance Dance, darling, and I love you still Deep in the night Shone a weak and miserly light Where the monkey shouldered his lamp Someone had told him The bear had been wandering A fair piece away from where they were camped Someone had told him The bear'd been sneaking away To the seaside caverns, to bathe And the thought troubled the monkey For he was afraid of spelunking down in those caves Also afraid what the village people would say If they saw the bear in that state; Lolling and splashing obscenely Well, it seemed irrational, really; washing that face Washing that matted and flea-bit pelt In some sea-spit-shine, old kelp dripping with brine But monkey just laughed, and he muttered; When she comes back, Ursala will be bursting with pride Till I jump up! Saying: you've been rolling in muck! Saying: you smell of garbage and grime! But far out Far out By now By now Far out, by now, Bear ploughed 'Cause she would not drown: First the outside-legs of the bear Up and fell down, in the water, like knobby garters Then the outside-arms of the bear Fell off, as easy as if sloughed from boiled tomatoes Low'red in a genteel curtsy Bear shed the mantle of her diluvian shoulders; And, with a sigh, She allowed the burden of belly to drop like an apron full of boulders If you could hold up her threadbare Coat to the light where it's worn translucent in places You'd see spots where Almost every night of the year Bear had been mending suspending that baseness Now her coat drags through the water Bagging, with a life's-worth of hunger, limitless minnows; In the magnetic embrace Balletic and glacial of Bear's insatiable shadow; Left there! Left there! When Bear left Bear Left there! Left there! When Bear stepped clear of Bear Sooner or later you'll bury your teeth Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Indigo Posted October 28, 2007 Author Share Posted October 28, 2007 I'm glad this thread has been resurrected. Let's try keep it active. This year I don't seem to have written much poetry. However I think that's more to do with being out of the habit of expressing myself through the form. Instead I've been writing melodies and then moulding previous poetry I had written into a lyrical form to make songs. Now I am at uni though, and while I do have my guitar with me, I'm in a large halls of residence with many people on my corridor and paper thin walls, so I've been hindered by self-conciousness whenever I pick up my guitar and want to express myself. It's probably quite irrational, considering I've performed songs in front of many people; but the creative process is quite something else - it is something very personal and solitary, and so something feels lacking when I do not feel alone. For that reason I see myself getting back into writing some poetry. Ok, apologies for lengthy post >_< No apologies necessary. You have some fine work there. Very cryptic, but great flow. I'm liking the experimental structure of "Just Start Speaking Before You Cannot Speak Any More". Here's something I wrote last year which I'm quite fond of. It's better in its song-form, so some of the rhythm might seem a little clumsy depending how you read it. Let me know what you think anyhow. ---------------------------------------------- They sunk me in the ocean Tied a cannon ball round my leg, and pushed me off the edge At first I panicked. Everyone panics, but it's no use struggling So I thought I'd sit back, enjoy the blurred sights of the sea But I tell you now, it's not what you'd think. There's no happy lobsters playing shellfish xylophones. And God help me, there wasn't a topless mermaid in sight, Only darkness All-consuming, encompassing darkness And the deeper you sink, the darker it gets Until it's so dark you have to check you've not closed your eyes And that's only half-way down, when you finally hit rock bottom, you know it - there's that stillness, that feeling That there ain't even one little fishie in sight, to hear you scream No there ain't even one little fishie in sight, to hear you scream. And that's where they found me My body dead and useless, but my heart still beating like the day that I was born You see, they can take my money, they can take my body and they can even take my pride But the heart? They'll never touch this Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
gaggle64 Posted November 1, 2007 Share Posted November 1, 2007 We were asked to write a poem based on a number of different stimuli and elements - some memories, something from outside, what we think is important to us, an outline of our hand, stuff like that. Yesterday afternoon I started writing, then I sort of blacked out for six hours. When I came too, this was on my screen. Not so much a poem, more a general outpouring of just... stuff. All kinds of stuff. I feel much lighter now for some reason. The Vast Individual Upstream, At the very top where the English forest grows thick, A tiny figure stumbles his first steps down the steep slope. Steadily over the rocks and grassy slopes he picks his way, Growing bigger and bigger with every step Clutching his mothers hand to save him from each slip and stumble And together they loose themselves in a throng. The autumn leaves drift slowly around me and my father, Thumbs whirling in the contest of generations, Digitised 80s rap blaring at us from the bulky screen. The preachers debate my religion; Exactly which church would the child be most suited in? The monsters that haunted my childhood dreams enjoy tea and crumpets. My brother and sister play together, oblivious. Fleeting spirits of daydreams and revelation hover noiselessly overhead. Downstream, Where the river runs wide and the trees bloom spring pink and red, A young man helps his mother stumble down the steep slope, Guiding her gently over the rocks and pools She grows feebler with every step. They stop to rest and look back As the heavy fog consumes them both. An old and unwanted acquaintance strolls through the scene, Gently clutching first his girlfriend, then his wife, then his children. They shake my hand and bid me a very good day. I nod politely and wished him good luck as he vanished into the mists. Dim shapes and figures wander and flicker, A house, a desk, an arguing couple, cityscapes and birthday cakes. Groups embrace each other and some leave while others stay. Images of the new and familiar intertwine like coloured smoke. I look back out across the plains behind me where sun and moon share the sky, Where the innumerable legions of past, present future mill together, An endless train of all beings following times endless river Which flows ceaselessly in every possible direction. The people I laughed with, the people I cried with, The people I fought and played against. The people I will love and the people I will die with, An endless procession gathers of artists and players, Tutors, trailers, loved ones and characters That shaped the materials of my mind And cultivated my soul and personality. But amongst the swelling crowd are people I don’t know. Faint ghosts and spirits shake hands with those who built me. Together they talk, argue, compete and play, Fade away or turn to solid people and join the mass. Each made whole by the ones they see marching in their own parade. I know now I am not merely the tip, I am near the edge of an ever shifting polygon, A shape with no shape nor dimension to define it An immortal and endlessly mobile organic machine of actions and emotion. A single, vast, self contained cell of humanity and history and the present, Fuelled by chaos, governed by chaos theory and planning only for the future. Around me ghostly denizens and flesh and blood friends gather together, And I gladly join them to see what we can teach each other. I am the product of billions. I am just one of billions. As one of billions I will build another. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mikey Posted November 1, 2007 Share Posted November 1, 2007 One day I was at school I was 16 years old the girl across me was looking hot I liked this girl for a while but something changed instead of my usual fantasies I started to think about her naked my penis began to tingle then it became hard I pretended to scratch my leg but I was stroking my penis it was harder than it's ever been luckily I could do this under my desk then as I rubbed myself more I started to feel something wet around my penis it wasn't urine so I didn't know what it was instead of worrying I kept on rubbing it started to feel really good I think my teacher spotted me but she didn't know what to do after all I was probably the first teenage lad to masturbate in her class regardless of suspecting my teacher had spotted me I kept on rubbing if anything it made me more excited I was now thinking about the teacher as well who had great bewbs I wanted her to sit on my face along with the girl in my class in my mind it was heaven but then I cummed in my pants and it started to smell my pants were wet from all of the semen people thought I had peed myself my teacher was wet too I think she wanted to suck my cock the girl across the room looked at me I gave her a dirty look back she ran off and reported me to the police I shouted fuck off Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
gaggle64 Posted November 15, 2007 Share Posted November 15, 2007 I wrote it this morning: Skinless. I want to peel myself like an orange. Step out and away from my rubbery animal hide Feel the sunshine beat upon my red flesh And hear the wind whistling through my bones and sinews. What a liberation it would be, No more eczema, pimples or warts, No fretting about looking too pale in the morning, And I could save a fortune on sun tan lotion. The fashionistas couldn’t touch me. The birds would coo as I walked beneath the trees. Children would point and stare in the supermarket And women would scream wherever I went. If everyone did it, billions would be saved from not buying wrinkle creams, Racism would become almost impossible Anatomical science could advance in leaps and bounds, And public nudity would be almost entirely beside the point. Though, if everyone does it, why should I? I don’t want to become just another fleshy mass amongst millions, Just another idiot without his skin who likes to think he’s cool, So I think I’ll stay fully skinned, thank you. Lets see what people think of me then. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
gaggle64 Posted January 24, 2008 Share Posted January 24, 2008 Just wrote this. Needs editing though. The Senna Bird Across the sea and the mountains I could see you Wings of white and blue fire A shinning star upon my eye A precious jewel Floating on the air Such beauty that others craved The hunters baited you Hailed shot and arrow against you You did not flinch or falter Swooping Torching weapons from hands I longed to clasp your wings Feel your fire scorch my hands See close your glorious sunshine Pluck a feather from your back Share the joy of your beauty, that was not meant to be touched. A great storm A furious wind The hot summer sky at war Sound and light rending dark I gasped as I saw A jagged finger stroke your back Your fire faded And you fell Spiralling Onto a carpet of green. I felt your plumage in my hand that day. I wept. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
killthenet Posted January 28, 2008 Share Posted January 28, 2008 Here is poe(a)m. In Tune Four Passed your way In the Eleventh Century. I'f I thought like you are Something I forgot about. Preach for ghosts I used this milk frother To put across my feelings And they're so well writ. I'm so impressed. But you're not impressed. Because I have bad spelling. And a terrible rhyme scheme. And my handwriting is incomprehensible. [And another...] Bare Clown But that doesn't include the time you spent in Montmatre. Trying on shoes and grunting at the sales girl. As she tugged at your orange socks. "I think I'll try another pair." But you never did. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jayseven Posted January 30, 2008 Share Posted January 30, 2008 Here is poe(a)m. In Tune Four Passed your way In the Eleventh Century. I'f I thought like you are Something I forgot about. Preach for ghosts I used this milk frother To put across my feelings And they're so well writ. I'm so impressed. But you're not impressed. Because I have bad spelling. And a terrible rhyme scheme. And my handwriting is incomprehensible. [And another...] Bare Clown But that doesn't include the time you spent in Montmatre. Trying on shoes and grunting at the sales girl. As she tugged at your orange socks. "I think I'll try another pair." But you never did. I like those quite a lot. In the first one it's mostly the last stanza, because it's so self-aware it brings the whole thing to life :P The second one I didn't like at first, but it got in my head and ate away at me for a while. Always good Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
gaggle64 Posted January 30, 2008 Share Posted January 30, 2008 I love the "Bare Clown" one. It's a sort of surreal and yet oddly familiar scene. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Haver Posted January 30, 2008 Share Posted January 30, 2008 http://www.amazon.co.uk/Introduction-English-Poetry-James-Fenton/dp/0141004398 This is a wonderful book if you're getting into writing/reading poetry, written by the marvelous James Fenton. It's interesting that our best on Politics (Christopher Hitchens), Novels (Martin Amis, Ian McEwan) and Poetry (James Fenton) were all friends at university. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Supergrunch Posted January 30, 2008 Share Posted January 30, 2008 Garlic and sapphires in the mud Clot the bedded axle-tree. The trilling wire in the blood Sings below inveterate scars Appeasing long forgotten wars. The dance along the artery The circulation of the lymph Are figured in the drift of stars Ascend to summer in the tree We move above the moving tree In light upon the figured leaf And hear upon the sodden floor Below, the boarhound and the boar Pursue their pattern as before But reconciled among the stars. ...okay, this is actually by TS Elliot. But it's so awesome, it deserves to be in this thread even if I'm not the one being creative. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jayseven Posted January 30, 2008 Share Posted January 30, 2008 lollers! And there was me about to ponder on the repetition of tree :P (ponder should read as "criticise"!) In my own defence, I've not started studying TS Eliot yet... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
MoogleViper Posted January 30, 2008 Share Posted January 30, 2008 lollers! And there was me about to ponder on the repetition of tree :P (ponder should read as "criticise"!) In my own defence, I've not started studying TS Eliot yet... It's the pattern of tree. *ahem* Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
killthenet Posted January 31, 2008 Share Posted January 31, 2008 Cheers guys, pretty much agree with your comments, the first one is all over the place until the end, might re-write it at some point. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Jasper Posted January 31, 2008 Share Posted January 31, 2008 Echo in je ogen Stemmen klinken hol Het lijkt alsof je luistert maar niet hoorde wat ik zag Echo in je ogen Hol stemt de klank je luistert alsof het lijkt dat ik hoorde wat je zei ----- English edition: Echo in your eyes Voices sound hollow It seems as if you listened but didn't hear what I saw Echo in your eyes Hollow voices the sounds You listen as if it seems that I Heard what you said Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Supergrunch Posted July 11, 2008 Share Posted July 11, 2008 Had a go at writing a Pushkin sonnet, I love their sense of rhythm: A walk, inside your own reflection, Great streaks across an open sky, A mass of things; a fine collection, Devices for suggesting why, A clutch of thoughts, all strewn asunder, Remnants of a crack of thunder, Panic, worry, black frustration, Clean wrought hopes of reformation, But something more, among the medley, I see it shimmer in the dust, Much like the glittering of lust, Yet this one is somehow more deadly. It lies forgotten - nothing much, But rue the day you feel its touch. Edit: And a randomish Sestina: It seems I've been presented with a mystery. I look at it and frown - what's in this funny box? There is a keyhole, yet I have no key to open it with. I slump, sigh, and scratch my head, and think - what can I do? There must be some way I can crack this bastard open. Of course, some "simple" methods would open the damn thing. That'd solve the mystery for good. But, if I were to do it like that, there wouldn't really be much point - it'd just destroy the box. Plus, it's a nice looking thing. I wouldn't want to scratch it - much more satisfying to get in with the proper key. And therein lies the problem. I have no such key. And without one, I have no idea how I'll open it. I search the surface for a telltale scratch. I need something odd, some hint of mystery. It brings to mind those Persian things - a box with a little secret catch. Of course, there doesn't seem to be anything. Damn Persians - their boxes had tricks. Much better than a bloody key! As it is, what can I do? Great, another useless box to litter the place - and this one won't even open. I don't know - in a way this is the worst kind of mystery. No solution at all, however far you decide to scratch beneath the surface. God, I could almost scratch my own eyes out with frustration, but there wouldn't be much point. The dammed mystery would still be there - a box, without a key. I could scream in rage - "open sesame, open you fool!" But that'd do nothing to this silly box. Giving up, I narrow my eyes and glare at the box. And it's at this moment that I hear a little scratch. I look at the thing in wonder as it swings open - all that trouble, and it does this now? And look, there! I've discovered the location of that blasted key: it's right inside the box. Ha! No more mystery! And that's how I opened the box. You thought I'd used a cunning technique, but there was nothing of the sort - I heard a scratch, and there was the key. So, I suppose that's all for that mystery. Any other boxes you want me to open? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
tapedeck Posted September 10, 2008 Share Posted September 10, 2008 Some of my poems...I wrote these EIGHT years ago Addiction, I'm fine: A day it breaks, a smoker spits a drinker feels the crushing cysts a user feels the inner bits. I'm fine. A day it goes on but I feel alone I dont smoke nor drink till my mind has gone. I'm fine. I keep on saying as the user's praying 'I'm fine'. yet the affection collection is drained. I pass them by on dusky nights. There talking pain, of hate and fights. I keep on walking, just singing and talking. I'm fine. Human Nature: We all provoke the slightest joke to go on and elope. We all demean the slightest thing to show that we are mean. We have our views which just confuse a recent piece of news. We'll never find a piece of mind to make us all seem kind. We can only see a you and me in a world that deems us free. Always lost and always gone in a world that we treat wrong. Mashed Potato: Mashed potato in my head. Mashed potato all things said. Mashed potato things are done. Mashed potato things are sung. Mashed potato for my tea. Mashed potato aside mommy. Mashed potato sitting there. Mashed potato eating air. Mashed potato seeing, being. Mashed potato just a feeling. Mashed potato in my stomach. Mashed potato just platonic. Mashed potato always free. Mashed potato just for me. Mashed potato in my head. Mashed potato you've just read. Love: As love reflects a rivers flow and sweeps down to the seas. As love reclaims a broken heart and sweeps a thousand dreams. As love lies in the moonlight just waiting to be found. As love waits in the crowds of all, adorning to be crowned. And love it swamps our inner thoughts to a degree of inner care. As love will wait for no-one, yes love will never spare. Pre-Association: Associated with Life Walking, talking, no remorsing. Monday everyday, Tuesday new day. Wednesday your way. Tears and fears, emotional clears. Lazy, tired, lost job; fired! One way some day, Your way everyday. Memories of a lost ones love, One may ask is there an up above? School: School is good school is bad. The teachers shout, the teachers mad. The teachers show the way to go. But the pupils they dont want to know. Paper planes and jokes aplenty, The buses leave; the school is empty. School is good and school is bad. And when it's over we'll be sad. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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