*Poetry*

serenity52

Whickwithy- it's your turn now.

Urban_Tribesman

Kat. You can't have more than 9 syllables in lines 1,2 and 5.
There once was an old man from Ghent
Whose penis was so long it bent
To save himself trouble
He put it in double
And instead of coming he went.

serenity52

And the smut continues

Urban_Tribesman

The Limerick is not always about body parts, virgins and sex (well, nearly always but not exclusively). It can be intellectual too.
'Tis a favourite hobby of mine
A new value to Pi to assign
I would fix it at 3
As it's simpler you see
Than 3.14159

Urban_Tribesman

Then there are those metaphysical and built on the Berkleyan idea that things exist only when there is an observer to perceive them.
There once was a man who said 'God
Must think it exceeedingly odd
If he finds that this tree
Continues to be
When there's no-one about in the Quad.'

This was written by Ronald Knox and it drew an anonymous response

'Dear Sir, your astonishment's odd;
I am always about in the Quad;
And that's why the tree
Will continue to be
Since observed by
Yours Faithfuily
God.'

Urban_Tribesman

We must always remember

The limericks furtive and mean;

You must keep it in close quarantine,

Or it sneaks to the slums

And promptly becomes

Disorderly, drunk and obscene.

Urban_Tribesman · Post edited by Urban_Tribesman at 2018-03-11 14:45:50

To whit
There was a young fellow called Bliss
Whose sex life was strangely amiss
For even with Venus
His recalcitrant penis
Would seldom do better than
t
h
i
s.

Urban_Tribesman

Finally ( for now)
I met a lewd nude in Bermuda
Who thought she was shrewd; (I was shrewder)
She thought it quite crude
To be wooed in the nude;
I pursued her, subdued her, then screwed her.

All the above are from 'The Lure of the Limerick, An Uninhibited History' by William S. Baring-Gould

Whickwithy

If

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

serenity52

That poem above is my life story and very much how I'm feeling about things right now..basically it's like holding on to the side of a large raft in a bitterly cold icy sea. Everything's going to shit and you have to hold on for what seems like forever.

serenity52

The Sonnet. My personal favourite form of poetry.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

serenity52 · Post edited by serenity52 at 2018-03-11 17:21:42

Whickwithy · Post edited by Whickwithy at 2018-03-11 17:21:32

serenity52 said:
That poem above is very much how I'm feeling about things right now..

That's a hard road to follow. Sorry to hear it. It's like balancing on a razor.

serenity52

I'm ok just wish I had some happy news in my life but I don't.

Whickwithy

Maybe soon.

Howdy, Stranger!

Categories