Roses are redViolets are blueI may not look like Mae WestBut I guess I'll doSave up your nickelsAnd save up you dimesAnd when you get to quartersCome up and see me sometime. From me to you.
yeah this one,, I am bruised, you will be toowhen youre done reading this tabooI am bloody and you will be also when you get your period pinche babosoi am laughing, so are you....because this poem is all vodoo...by:..xochimilca taiwanemu
A Parody on “A Psalm of Life†by Oliver Wendell HolmesLife is real, life is earnest, And the shell is not its pen –“Egg thou art, and egg remainestâ€Was not spoken of the hen.Art is long and Time is fleeting, Be our bills then sharpened well, And not like muffled drums be beatingOn the inside of the shell.In the world’s broad field of battle, In the great barnyard of life, Be not like those lazy cattle! Be a rooster in the strife! Lives of roosters all remind us, We can make our lives sublime, And when roasted, leave behind us, Hen tracks on the sands of time.Hen tracks that perhaps anotherChicken drooping in the rain, Some forlorn and henpecked brother, When he sees, shall crow again. Where Did You Come From, Baby Dear? By George McDonald Where did you come from, Baby Dear? "Out of the everywhere and into here."Where did you get your eyes so blue?"Out of the sky as I came through."What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?"Some of the starry spikes left in."Where did you get that little tear?"I found it waiting when I got here."What makes your skin so smooth and high?"A soft hand stroked it as I went by."What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?"I saw something better than anyone knows."Whence came that three-corner'd smile of bliss?"Three angels gave me at once a kiss."Where did you get those arms and hands?"Love made itself into bonds and bands."Where did you get that pearly ear?"God spoke, and it came out to hear."How did they all come to just be you?"God thought of me, and so I grew."But how did you come to us, you dear?"God thought of you, and so I am here."The Town Of Don't You Worry There's a town called Don't-You-Worry, On the banks of River Smile;Where the Cheer-Up and Be-HappyBlooms beside the fragrant Try,And the Never-Give-Up and PatiencePoint their faces to the sky.In the valley of Contentment,In the province of I-Will,You will find this lovely city,At the foot of No-Fret Hill.There are thoroughfares delightfulIn this very charming town,And on every hand are shade treesNamed the Very-Seldom-Frown.Rustic benches quite enticingYou'll find scattered here and there;And to each a vine is clingingCalled the Frequent-Earnest-Prayer.Everybody there is happyAnd is singing all the while,In the town of Don't-You-Worry,On the banks of River Smile.-I. J. Bartlett-
Quite a few , Poetry also has the power to hurt, and rightly so.Lately ( 2 days ago ) this one grabbed me.You and II explain quietly. Youhear me shouting. Youtry a new tack. Ifeel old wounds reopen.You see both sides. Isee your blinkers. Iam placatory. Yousense a new selfishness.I am a dove. Yourecognize the hawk. Youoffer an olive branch. Ifeel the thorns.You bleed. Isee crocodile tears. Iwithdraw. Youreel from the impact.Roger McGough