5 minute poetry

[slightly aboveaverage man]

The Eye of the Hurricane

You will believe that heros exist,
When the wind of justice blows through the mist.
When screams of terror echo in the night,
A caped crusader will then take flight.
With strength that belies his slender form,
And fists as powerful as a thunderstorm.
The scales of justice in his right hand,
As villains fall to his chokeslam.
Those who thrive on the sick and the lame,
Will soon feel the Eye of the Hurricane.
Like the holy Archangel known only as Michael,
He rides into battle on his green Hurri-Cycle.
With his Heart on his Sleeve, and his S.H.I.T. at his side,
He brings truth and justice, forever with pride.
Evildoers will prepare to meet their maker,
When they feel the sting of the Vertabreaker.
Citizens obey when they hear the call too,
the cry of "Stand Back! There's a Hurricane comin' through."
One by one they drop to his swift blows,
And tremble at the sight of his green glow.
Through howling winds and pouring rain,
All evil shall fear The Hurricane!

[icythaco]

This poem is kind of wierd, but I was inspired by how boring real dictionaries were...

Poetic Definitions

Hamburger (n.): A forceful mish-mash of mud-colored flavor; an explosion of taste reminicent of sunlight to an inmate at Alcatraz; bovine chaos set 'midst the poppy-seed encrusted mana of corporate America.

Stapler (n.): A predator of epic porportions; a gate-keeper of prose; A black and gray metallic viper, poisoning the corpses of trees with its iron venom; A spring-loaded contraption, built for the sole purpose of enslaving ideas.

Pumkin (n.): A rumpled symbol of orange magnifiscence, but, for this plump master-piece, is a prisoner to the chain of forest-shaded botany.

Yo-yo (n.): A constant image of megnetism; an adhesive of the hand; a bungie jumper of twirling madness, to rebel and recede in turn.

Salmon (n.): sopping, pink, rossetta-scaled personification of human nature, flopping and slogging to achieve upstream immoratality, if only for the river.

Frisbee (n.): A swirling discus of prismatic, plastic splendor, awaiting escape from the prison of fingers, and hoping to get on with its journey, onward through the inevitable catch or crash.

Life (n.): See "Fleeting"

[Demon with a Glass Hand]

I wrote this today, after a conversation with Pixi.

Pixi, I know how you feel. It's understandable. But I'm not going to say I'm sorry. What I am, Who I am, is not my fault.

Ode to Demon in the words of Pixi
Demon,
It makes me sad to think
of how highly you must feel
about yourself.
And it's sad.
Very sad.
So sad.

You have been cursed,
Dearest Demon.
For yours is a visage
that makes women thoughtful
and the knuckles of men go white.
YU 4R3 T3H H4WT!
YU 4R3 T3H H4WT!
YU 4R3 T3H H4WT!
I want to have your babies
for you
4R3 T3H H4WT!


I'm glad you think so, Pixi. I am very flattered, indeed. But all of this is just a game. A joke. A jest. All for fun. Not to be taken seriously.

So when I say I will not have your children, it is only becaise I have someone in my life right now that is very special to me.

Again, I'm not sorry.

And thanks to Mr. Pratchett for his help on that one.

[BlackMageGirl!]

I had the best day ever today. Here is the poem resulting from that.

Laughing I dance down the sidewalk
For this was the perfect day
People see me and they balk
For showing feelings was not their way

I run just because I can
Jumping over instead of going around
For in my whole life span
My life seems to have finally been found

It was breezy, light and cool
The sky blue, not a cloud was seen
I tumbled on the grass, acting the fool
All the pieces are how it should've been

Lying there, I stare up and smile
For every day come new beginnings
Though some may be a trial
Much more bring happy things

I turn over and sigh, eyes slowly close
I'm not perfect, but I am content
Life is not some meaningless prose
For you to live is life's intent

"Flowers from my garden"

I carry in my hands
The seeds of ignorance
The mistakes of the past
Oh so many lost things

In the soil of my being
I dig a hole and
Bury these seeds deep
Preparing for the impending winter

But instead of the cold wind
The clouds break and sun shines
I stand there basking in the light
Thankful for its warm embrace

Water can in hand
I turn to the ground and
Pour reason and solitude
Upon those seeds of fate

And out comes flowers
Each petal bright and unique
Blooming so, aren't they beautiful?
These flowers of experience, of life

I give them away freely
These flowers from my garden
For it is better to know
Than to go recklessly forward

Gardener that I have become
I continue to plant these seeds
All are from my sights...
All are a part of my life

[Funka Genocide]

Break me
Move the pieces where they don’t fit
And pound away until they do.

Give me back myself untwisted
If its not too muck to ask.
I’ll kiss your lips with so much passion.

Take me
Although I’ve been there once before
I never got the feeling right

I’ll follow you if you say you know
The way the road will go.
Even if you’re lying, my love.

Fool me
Its all I ever wanted really
Remove this burden of free will

Take my hand and lead me on
To where you want me most
I’ll never question why

Tie me
Bind these arms that do no good
And free this heart from their chains

Strap me down with loving anger
I’ll whimper if that’s what you like
But once its done and over with

I’ll hate you just the same, my love.

here's another one, I tried to write it in the style of Demon With a Glass Hand, making the end incongruous with the beginning in some sort of humorous twist, I hope its funny.

It’s skintight
And worn at night
Like a glove
For the head

It protects
My precious part
The texture oh so fine
Glowing in the dark

Where would I be?
What pleasure missed?
Were it not for this

My sky blue Nike beanie

[darkt0aster]

Inspired by what I just got back from doing.

12:30 AM.
Current weather:
Rain.

I'm in the shower.
With naught but a towel.
Fire alarm sounds.
RA shepards to the stiars.

Nowhere else.
Not to my room.
Not to my clothes.
Not to my umbrella.

10 floors.
Cold concrete stairs.
Crowded stairs.
Awkward stares.

Then outside.
Rain.
Car's not an option.
Rain.
Keys are in the room.
Rain.
45 degrees.
Rain.
Standing forever in a parking lot.
Rain.
No shoes.
Rain.
On spears of crumbling asphalt.
Rain.
With naught but a towel.
And the Rain.

Glee.

[BlackMageGirl!]

A little girl
Knowing that she was naive
decided that she was ready
for the world to hear her opinion

She showed her thoughts
she made her argument
and what she got in reply
a slap on the wrist
and a bruised pride

ouch.

[Squishy Cheeks]

a Haiku

You can not undo
your consequences haunt you
The ninth circle waits

[icythaco]

When writing a Haiku,
next time use my Haiku thread,
if not, feel my wrath...

[BlackMageGirl!]

One being knows not what life is
Standing there, shutting it all out
Never walking, never moving
Waiting there on that path

For that person, life is not a journey
And the path is always paved
With thorns and tangles
Why should anyone move from that spot?

If you move, you will only get hurt
And that is not allowed, oh not at all
Anything that you do is wrong
One mistake and you are gone

And just think, just for a second
If this is true for everyone
Then all people wouldn't go on
Everyone would just stay were they are.

And then, life as we know it
Would cease to exist
No one would be able to
Go on with their lives

So, this one being is standing there
All alone, the thorns and brambles
Are of that one persons own making
One that cannot let go and move on...