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/pen/ - A Place to Create and Critique

Writing and reviewing ink pens and political literature
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Welcome to Pen Island
Our pen is big
Political discussion is allowed by default. This board is SFW

Is It Wet Yet?


File: 1423251425122.jpg (52.48 KB, 400x544, 25:34, image.jpg)

aa516e  No.44

Hey there /pen/,/pol/,and whoever else is here,let's get a poetry thread going.

we'll take it whether you wrote it yourself or if it's a personal favorite of yours.

It's an amazement to me
How those who claim prejudice
Are oft those who are most prejudiced

Forcing their views upon society
Persecution their creed;
Stealing our livelyhoods

Attempting to crush our beliefs
To crush our rights
And yet they wonder why we despise them

Slowly but surely those that support;
Whom aid and uplift them.
Turn against them

One day soon they will look,
The They will plead and beg
Yet no aid will come.

They will sit and wait for help
For a reply that will never come
While their empire of hate collapses
____________________________
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aa516e  No.45

File: 1423274143923.jpg (54.38 KB, 600x334, 300:167, 1417924492794.jpg)

>One day soon they will look,
>They will plead and beg
>Yet no aid will come.
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aa516e  No.50

File: 1423424306162.png (19.13 KB, 720x960, 3:4, lament1.png)

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aa516e  No.59

>Tried to make it political and coherent, probably pretty terrible.

They tell us kind words
Of equality and justice
Yet they remain only words
Never put into practice
Their solutions are simple
In a simple sense
To unload the burden
Onto somebody else
And fear what is uncertain
For simply it may be different
Requiring toil for any spoils
Incredibly Brilliant and Efficient
Perhaps possibly even sufficient
To truly increase the well-being of men
Willing to work, again
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aa516e  No.62

>>59
It's actually pretty decent.ive seen worse believe me.

But keep at it you'll eventually find your own style,and preferred structure.

And remember not every poem you write will be finished,there's nothing worse than forcing a poem to be finished
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aa516e  No.102

File: 1424129525127.jpg (513.05 KB, 1550x864, 775:432, image.jpg)

heres another one one of my first pieces so it might not be that good

Each day I am roused
And sent to prison

To serve my time
To finish my sentence

More and more they say,
Until I am crushed neath its weight

Lively freedom holds no allure
For the prison follows me

Many sleepless nights spent;
To merely sate its hunger

And should you escape
You are brought back in chains

For there is no escape
None at all

For even when all is said and done
Even when you have earned its useless prize

When you believe freedom is yet yours
Another looms before you

It's gaping jaw hungry for more,
As you are dragged into its maw.

For there is no escape
None at all

-Hermes
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aa516e  No.107

File: 1424146455147.jpg (78.08 KB, 1128x850, 564:425, Joseph Mallord William Tur….jpg)

>>102
That's grim.

Here's mine:

I live; I stare at my wrathful antagonist
forever entrenched in his lust and sin,
his focus rests on such alien lies.
He, mired in these; unable to forgive.

I bear pain; I shrink from the assault of my tyrant.
Born deep from Inferno, the darkest shade of night.
In fright, he slices my soul deep and low.
A fatal unseen blow, I will not rise to my betters again.

I desire; my thief kindles what base embers I have calmed into monstrous fires,
from me he wrestles control away;
no longer do I see the light of day:
Each breath he draws me further to the helm of that frozen guard
at the gate of Pompeii;
A man forgotten; a tool to an empire.

This coil; these shackles set upon me,
I must foil, I must be free!
The fury of God has set upon thee
and by divine decree so it must be!
Through man himself runs the river of destiny!

I breathe; fate's might is guided alone by the hand of he
who would break his mortal cage and only see.
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aa516e  No.109

>>107
That was beautiful OP,it describes your inner turmoil between your base desires and sins and your higher thoughts and sense of morality.

I especially like that last couplet,it's rather inspiring
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aa516e  No.123

File: 1424376114883.png (254.37 KB, 303x425, 303:425, strawman.png)

>>107
nigga u an artist

blooz myoozo here. i had a dream about going to a soc alt meeting and being asked what i was doing there. in the dream i answered "i'm just here to be the strawman." i lel'd and wrote this when i woke up
instrument fags: it goes F# A7 D7 E7 (x3) F# D7 E7 Bm7 (x1)

i'll be your fool for a lifetime
the psiren’s curse is too intense
iron willed, i spin the wheel for better deals
i pray that roaches – don’t offend

lay in carpet close to king beds
claim the sun don’t ever shine
dining queens, quizzically in misery
while their best friends all starve to death outside

lock me in
your barn tonight,
i’ll meditate
on our past lives

i got nothing left to lose, i’m already crucified
ill be your straw man, build me wise
scaring the flocks, I’ve already familiarised
ill be your straw man, dress me nice

hang your head now, shame is aways implied
if the tools more useful than the trade its applied
when your ghosts start talking back you’ll finally realise
its too late to stop the happening, we’re damned to demonise

i’ll play the fool, you’ll even let me do it twice
ill be your straw man, warm and kind
kindred to the blind, i can still see through your lies
ill be your straw man, borne in light

never tread the beaten path,
but you’ve left your footprints all over my heart
now i can see, the pharisees for what they are
here’s your straw man, come and fight

label banal, being anal’s what you are
heres the straw man, close up tight
metaphors for rape and violence won’t suffice,
just let the straw man show you why.

- havayishu
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aa516e  No.125

>>123
That's an interesting twist at the end OP,certainly wasn't expecting that
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aa516e  No.136

>>125

Glad you like, I'm trying to come up with more catchy red pill/third way shit, but the musical Jew gets me down sometimes. Knowing people appreciate it is good motivation bruh
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aa516e  No.138

>>136
Yeah it is,it's also probably a good way to redpill,they can't really call us on it because we can just say they misinterpreted it or it means something else.it also sounds like a good way to troll
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aa516e  No.143

>>123
Here's another, inspired by all the confusion over where the Jews stand over on /pol/.
protip: read it out loud to hear the hidden lels

i have a friend who’s jewish and he’s not such a bad guy
his love for is-ra-el would leave you blushing in reprieve
but though my roots are also deep he’s not seeing what is mine
it’s no big deal, i’m sure he’ll re-assess in time

i don’t know what’s the bother, our brotherhood is set in stone
i coveted his sister, he didn’t mind when she said no
and though the pics of our soiree still circle on his phone
he’ll be discrete, despite his lack of self control

he’ll hold me when i’m bleeding and tell me every things okay
"the fillings I’m removing help to take the pain away
"and the medicine i’m giving has no mercury at all
"don’t be depressed, just get undressed, it’ll take no time at all!"

he’s a kike — but he’s not such a bad guy!
donates to his nation and always pays his temple tithes
for though folks took his foreskin; he always worships family ties
i’m not surprised he feels victimised, poor friendly kike

- havayishu
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aa516e  No.149

File: 1424540201485.jpg (51.98 KB, 400x300, 4:3, kitsch.jpg)

Shall I compare thee to a senile man?
Thou art as stupefied and dull.
You rattle off your story once again
(your children ponder mercy, shattered skulls)
“The Greatest Goddamn Place that Ever Was
we could buy anything, in any store
low price guaranteed!” (Unanimous applause
reflecting off the soul’s linoleum floor)
“Father? It’s your daughter. We really need to talk
we went through all your paperwork this week-”
“Your will,” your eldest son butts in, “is lost!”
You wheeze, wipe drool, and then you speak
“You wish to know the sum of your inheritance?
A void!” (You laugh) “Debt is my sole heritage!”
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aa516e  No.155

I will write one on the spot. It goes:

Chirp of running water, rustle of tiny leaves
Balanced stones
Broken sticks
Footprints in the stream bank's shallow mud.

A thousand paces in any direction leads to nowhere
Nowhere humans live anyway
A thousand paces upwards leads to heaven.

Is there debasement without an audience?
Is blood part of nature?
Then why does it look so foreign on these white forest pebbles?
It shines with an otherworldly majesty.

The sun is here to eat.
The earth is here to eat.
I am here to feed them.
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aa516e  No.156

I've never done this before… not sure how poetry works.

Kingly exalted, he spoke so mightily
And thou didst speak for all to know
That thy words could shape this world
I do not proclaim to speak as he did
Though innervated e'er after were we
Those that beheld the fire of the soul
Who march on, yoke toss'd and uplifted
As his words ring through eternity

P.S. It's about Papa Hitler
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aa516e  No.158

If you're going to do this then most certainly you have to avoid antiquated language >>156 as it comes off as pretentious. Since you are all anonymous it would also do you well to avoid incorporating the first person into your writing, as you are nothing and nobody cares what you have to say. You have to produce a thing that stands alone in and of itself, without being tied to any subject. It must thus be words that tell something, rather than you telling something.

Finally, a poem must be inspirational and instructive, but it cannot and should not be overtly political or social commentary. You must tell a story with excellent language. You cannot however appear to be trying to use excellent language. Your language must appear to be naturally excellent and effortlessly so.

Just some tips.
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aa516e  No.159

>>158
Fuck off my poem is the shit you cocknigger.
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aa516e  No.169

>>159
I totally read it with Blind Guardian blaring in my head, that was tits. You into power metal at all?

Also, oc faggotry:

the devil is a lie

whispers in your ear to tell you every things alright
will confess its you who well and truly strives
but of all the shamans fables made to shackle and enslave you
the only premise that will fail is that — the devil is a lie

words are more than sounds to fill the gaps between your whines,
never mind who’s names embedded on the spine
but of all the woes inflicted by the scholars of the printed
the only fiction worth dismissing is that – the devil is a lie

conditioned to find unholy any critic to your science
high upon the superstitions they’ve revived
but of all the rationale thats dreamt to torture and ensnarl
the only myth worth tossing out is that — the devil is a lie

simplicity's a virtue when comprehensions hard to find
even socrates agrees that there’s a line
but beware of how you speak, your idioms will cut you deep
the reddest tip on razors edge is that – the devil is a lie
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aa516e  No.172

This is a short one. When some lefty on /pol/ asked me why I care for my country.

Into this world we're thrown
Surrounded by the rules of days goneby and unknown

Wiping our tears, dust in our eyes
Marching ever onwards inbetween their lies

Those of us who wish a new world

A world of roaring hills with land under water
I and many others would never ask another

For this is why we say "I will be your friend if you are my friend"
For the very security of this war torn land.
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aa516e  No.180

I am afraid of running out
of sight of what guides me;
with an open ear,
I listen to the Saints.

Without regret or any notion
of malice or nihlistic tendencies,
I expose sincerity;
I practice this devoutly.

It is my religion,
my only categorical imperative;
I spit on the facetious
and wipe them on my ass.
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aa516e  No.181

In the latest hour,
and even in the fog,
perhaps without execuation,
I begin to see it all;

it starts with a frustration,
an alchemic withdraw,
from a constant occupation
that withers me to fall;

I would not want to digress,
I would rather keep walking,
into a bleak horizon,
that may reveal a sun-set;

tell your mothers I am famished,
tell your fathers I am blind,
tell your doctors I am meak,
and tell your preachers I am mad.
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aa516e  No.183

>>158
A on I'm going to disagree with you here,poetry and writing are expressions of your soul,sometimes the language of antiquity is all we can use to describe it.it is our greatest joys and our greatest sorrows great victories and tremendous defeats.

To tell a writer what he can and cannot write is like telling the sun that is can no longer rise and set.

And for you to say that poetry cannot be used for political or social commentary or change,you must be unfamiliar with the history of literature and poetry
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aa516e  No.190

>>158
Please don't suggest a formulaic approach to writing. Some of your criticism is spot on though.
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aa516e  No.194

Hey pen a friend of mine is in a confederate group and wrote this poem if you have any critique let me know and I'll tell him


I am your Confederate ancestor. Remember me?
When our country needed me, I answered the call.

 

Do not forget me!

 

I was willing and did give up everything… sacrificed all, for country and you.
I faced deprivation, starvation… faced the winter in tattered uniforms, and
marched for miles with no shoes.

 

In Northern POW camps, ill treatment was the norm…
medical treatment intentionally withheld , festering wounds,
allowed to freeze in the winter, and forced to endure sickness,
with hopes we would die.

 

I proudly fought under our flag, for the constitutional republic we desired.
I rallied and faced an army that most of the time 
outnumbered us and was better equipped.

 

I gave my all and did my best.  No sacrifice was too great.
No duty too small.

 

It was for you I did this, without expecting any reward.
I suffered horrible wounds, and watched the angle of death
cut vast lines of men down.

 

I bled for you, soaking the earth. I died for you.

 

Our families heeded the call  They suffered under the boot of the Union army,
sacrificing farms, homes, possessions.  Years of hardships we endured.

 

Will our self-sacrifices and heroic deeds  
be forgotten and perish from your memory?

 

My blood consecrated the ground of our country.
I gave my life for our people and its land.

 

I died a heroic death for our independence 
on the battlefields of Shiloh, Chickamauga, Gettysburg.

 

Behold our bodies laid out in long lines,
buried like garbage in mass trenches.

 

Our faces changed, death reflected in our eyes,
we breathe not, forevermore.

 

Behold, our mothers, wives, family,
heads bowed down, silently grieving we who will never return.

 

Some buried forever in Yankee soil. Our friends choked with tears.

 

The burden of losing us, having to bury us, to entomb us.

 

We did not betray you!

 

Our muskets still by our side, ammo pouches empty,
we fought till the last man.

 

Just as our blood spilled out step by step,
We did all we could


Here's a petition he also made for allowing the southern states to secede from the union:
https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/allow-southern-states-secede-peacefully/Yg5pyJf7
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aa516e  No.200

>>190
>>183
I'm not suggesting something formulaic, I'm suggesting how poetry ought to be given the medium and circumstance in which it's being written. The nature of our anonymity strongly gives preference towards avoiding the 1st person. We aren't some noble aristocrat whose opinions have authority. We must humbly construct something with consciousness of our anonymity.

I'm not saying that poetry should not be used for political or social commentary, nor am I saying this was not done historically. I'm saying that when it was done, it was not done overtly. Allegory and symbolism are key. Overt ranting against Jews and leftists for example sounds like a parody.
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aa516e  No.201

Notable cobble lane
I shuffled along
Going about my way
Gone to see a play
Everywhere I saw
Racial vibrance
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aa516e  No.202

>>201

this one made me smirk

you can me a little heavier handed with it, you know.
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aa516e  No.215

To earth I know I will return
this life I know will trouble me no more
dark again are the stars
still again is the shore.
My brothers—
playing on the distant grass of half-forgotten days
—I’ll see them soon!
and we’ll speak of all the ways
to chase the foxes in the fields
to sleep beneath the changeless summer sky
to race the doe unto the dark until she yields—
but all is lost
the world has passed me by.
From where I go, I’ve come,
the river runs two ways.
Away, away from the sun!
unto the end of days.
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aa516e  No.216

>>149
>half-rhymes
go
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aa516e  No.219

julia child is misunderstood
there is a manly man dancing with a beer in his hand
what is life without strife
a single action shotgun wife
a deliberation
succesful
butts and i can not lie
no other brothas can deny
when
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aa516e  No.224

File: 1425481606113.png (193.07 KB, 512x512, 1:1, i feel it.png)

I find myself awoken to
the sunlight slowly spilling through
my open window, feeling the due
sprinkle onto my face, oh how sweet!
As a slow breeze enwraps my feet,
I squeeze my body underneath the sheet
I close my eyes, too tired, to soon
and let my mind fall back to sleep.
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aa516e  No.225

File: 1425481714661.png (108 KB, 406x658, 29:47, polina noo.png)

>>224
dew* thats embarrassing. Sorry I just woke up like 5 minutes ago.
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aa516e  No.226

>>200
Hey man, I agree with you. The greats were greats because they were SO GREAT. It'd be a good idea to take a look at them. If you want strictly political writing, take a look at Paine or Franklin and his ilk, they were known for political essay writing. If you're trying to write poetry about politics, take a look at how shakespeare did it. Its all syombolism allegories and metaphors, it's done Subtle.

Also why you gotta write poetry to be political? Write some poetry about other things too. The world is a beautiful place, theres more to it than just hating jews. Theres poetry :3
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aa516e  No.236

>>216
Full rhymes in English usually sounds forced and bad IMO
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aa516e  No.237

File: 1425744900027.jpg (276.2 KB, 788x1098, 394:549, 1421748814710.jpg)

>>219
tha phatness is real on this one

new bread. i wrote it for my spergy genius niece who lives amongst a hive of baboons. it's called:

>sarah, sit the fuck down


sarah, do you see that you’re much smarter than the others,
your brothers let their minds rot down to the core
but to nobodies surprise when their fate catastrophizes
you’ll be the one they’ll all come running toward
i’ll spare you the gruesome warnings of going hungry in the morning
and needing guns secured to you at all times
you can see with your own eyes that ignorance is their demise
so sit the fuck down – we’ve got an apocalypse to plan for

make no mistake about it, i doubt your families thought it through
you know contingency is never quite how it goes
so throw away the safety, every things about to get crazy
and just maybe you’ll still be kicking about to feel the final throes
if throwing out the baby down the drain is worth complaining about
then lady you should be wailing right about now
you’re bout to hear the thrashing setting off the chain reaction
so kiddo, sit the fuck down – we’ve got an apocalypse to plan for

thanks for reading based anon. now go plan your apocalypse
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aa516e  No.310

Twilight of empire
Gates open; red moon rises
Pendulum swings back
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aa516e  No.312

>>44
Is it the roar of the obese,
the thunderous clap of fat on vocal chords,
that sparks such a beautiful "glop" to echo about my mind?
Or perhaps the oppressed victims of my father's world,
damning the hand that feeds them to forever waltz in Caina,
or, more likely, somewhere less biblical and Eurocentric?
Those toeless, echo chamber assured armchair patriots -
'armless too in their critique of us able tyrants,
give rise to the tears in my eyes,
and this "earthly beauty",
she astounds me.

Farce is more fitting for these shitters sitting
All alone in their ivory towers
Just capture the scent,
Respiration prevent,
And witness the death of the flowers.
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aa516e  No.366

File: 1432586479808.jpg (63.07 KB, 300x389, 300:389, wbyeats.jpg)

The Second Coming by W.B. Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

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aa516e  No.380

File: 1434708051528.jpg (24.69 KB, 550x535, 110:107, sad-frog.jpg)

Dover Beach

BY MATTHEW ARNOLD

The sea is calm tonight.

The tide is full, the moon lies fair

Upon the straits; on the French coast the light

Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,

Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.

Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!

Only, from the long line of spray

Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,

Listen! you hear the grating roar

Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,

At their return, up the high strand,

Begin, and cease, and then again begin,

With tremulous cadence slow, and bring

The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago

Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought

Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow

Of human misery; we

Find also in the sound a thought,

Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith

Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore

Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.

But now I only hear

Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,

Retreating, to the breath

Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear

And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true

To one another! for the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;

And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night.

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aa516e  No.384

I wrote an imagist poem riffing off an Ezra Pound one I really like.

In a Station of the Metro (2013)

Only one clear face

In all the dark

People all around

Only one of mine

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aa516e  No.429

With all the bravado I might muster

I repel the beast,

and so disgust her

My principal cause befouls her nature,

lays waste to her den,

in this, I hate her

The indignation runs red hot

despite all her efforts,

she forgets me not

After all I've done to light her day

she paints it black,

to scurry away;

rejects me but knows not what I offer,

such is the pleasure

of a scornful daughter.

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aa516e  No.431

File: 1442267542153.jpg (27.98 KB, 180x245, 36:49, black flowers please.jpg)

Oh when I saw you standing there

Wild flowers dying in your hair

Child of harvest time, coughing up must

Black flowers' dull perfume trailing in dust

Hoisting dull pennants to the spike of that hill

Your smile started bleeding and then the mill

Shearing and sharing your love and your rage

Whilst hawk's head descending spewed out a new age

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aa516e  No.435

Prison Love

Deb the Dank was the rankest of skanks in the houscow,

She stabbed and she stole, she lied and she told,

few in the lockup liked her.

Pinky the slink (a dyke we think) dwelt in the clink with Debbie. One day white power sent her to the shower with a message for Deb the dank. They scrubbed and they rubbed (which Pinky quite loved) but in the end out came the shank.

Poor little Pinky had to lick out Deb's skinky, foul taste of a turd surprised the jailbird and left poor Pinky in tears. Deb had more planned, made a fist of her hand and confirmed all of Pinky's worst fears. Much more than salad would be tossed.

Then Deb the coward, she slipped in the shower – now who would be bossed?

Deb the dank would die as she lived, by the end of her shiv – with no one but Pinky to thank.

– Result of a 5 minute poetry exercise based around trying to conjure a Dr. Seuss feel. Random words I drew were Shank/Shiv and theme 'Love'.

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