Sweet Poetry

Scarlet

.
Founder
Mar 3, 2008
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It's time to raise the class in this place.
What better way than poetry?
Post anything you like here. (Within the rules)

Her skin is like porcelain. Fair and pale.
A slight mysterious smile carved into her face.
Blood dripping down upon her dress and splattered across her body.
Her hands gripped tightly upon this handle of an axe.
Bodies sprawled across the ground upon her feet.
Could she have done all this?
She smiles at the memories of the screams.
Screams of terror. Screams of pain.
Screams as the sharp, cold metal sliced through their limbs.
A Painful and Bloody death.
 

NiBBler

boop!
Dec 10, 2008
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After Murder

its like looking at your reflection in the glazed eyes of your dead lover
from the stained knife in your hands to the fading rage thats over
its then you feel your body cringe inside itself
still feeling the vibrations from their cries of help
still in the murder scene you cave in
you still feel the fireish tingle from the sin
crawling on your skin
still you know you'd commit again
yet collapsing from the off set of the trigger in your mind
the trigger that set you to unwind
rubbed the clit of insanity till you let go to the orgasm
you cant still feel the chasm
of blind murder coursing through you veins
still immune to the victim's defense pains
caught in the vividly fading remains of a climax
still feeling the tremble on the edge, still cant relax
following the repulsion of truth, till you flee
and in the back of your mind you swear you felt the victim bleed
 

NiBBler

boop!
Dec 10, 2008
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Alone by Edgar Allan Poe
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
 

NiBBler

boop!
Dec 10, 2008
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Hickory dickory dock ..

I've lost my taste for cock

Sweaty balls, and pubes

and pee mildew

I think I'd just rather not.
 

SlimSkeeter

Guest
The only thought you think
is the thought which you learned to think.

The only life you live
is the life you have chosen to live.

The only space you need, is time.
The only time you have, is now.
 

NiBBler

boop!
Dec 10, 2008
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From all the pain you put me through,
I just dont know what to do.
All I can do is sit here and cry
And simply wait to die.

Then I stop and wonder why
Why should I die if youre the one who made me cry?
So now I know what to do
I will just have to kill you.

I am going to choke you
Until you turn blue.
Or will you turn red?
Ill just choke you till youre dead

Ill cut you open and look inside.
Your heart is cold just like mine.
Blood, blood all around
On your sheets and on the ground

You should have been sorry for what you said,
But its too late now that youre alone, cold and dead.
I dont care about what I have done.
You deserve it and killing you was fun

Dont make me mad, sad or cry,
Unless you are fully prepared to die.
So now youve been warned, now youve been told.
Just dont f * c k with me you stupid a s s h * l e.
 

Silly Cunt

Fingerbanger
Founder
Mar 30, 2008
382
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Western Australia
Poetry is like babies.

Beautiful to the creator, but ugly and fucking annoying to everyone else.

Go fuck yourselves, collectively.


- Silly Contitz circa 1992
 

rammstein1861

Masticater
Founder
Jan 8, 2009
96
0
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Alt F4 if you wanna know.
I'm saddened you feel it is a waste of your time posting them here.
Personally, if you lack the enthusiasm to post them, then I can't be fucked looking for them to read.
Ok here....Just for you to rip them apart.

"Lust"

In her beauty divine
O my how her eyes shine
I get lost in her majesty
Just for a taste of her lips do i pine

As the world turns from day to day
I know not what to say
For no words express my thoughts
I must come up with my own special way

O her beauty runs deep
Into my head doth it creep
I can do nothing to stop it
The thoughts wont stop even in sleep

But how to share my feelings
It isn't easy even with the apothecary's' healing
I seem to be filled with emotion
But my lips aren't peeling

Maybe one day the stars will align
O someone please give me a sign
or give me the courage
To make her mine

I wrote that one for a whore^.....Well I didn't know that yet.

"The World as a Stage"

It was once said all the world is stage
This statement is a complete outrage
The world is nothing more than a solitary breeze
this wind leads where it may
No one knows where or how it blows
but it is inevitable that it must flow
Some try their damnedest not to freeze
whilst yet others must cause this low
The low temperature of the day

No one is free
Not even children at play
The constant attack causes some glee
These sores on the skin of humanity
are not bred on souls of humility
The world itself should shutter
When allowed to take the stage
No matter who it is will barely mutter
A single Phrase without being placed in a cage

The Wind howling at your back
will be great if you can survive the attack
Produced by enemies of joy
A sad heart you will not lack
Standing alone in the dark
Voices shall continuously Hark
This is a statement of judgment
People will never change
Alone on the stage the winds will blow
The Hot air must rise and flow
This breeze on the stage
Is and forever will be an outrage

^ I wrote this one after a night of drunken befuddlement and boredom.
 

NiBBler

boop!
Dec 10, 2008
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The Ballad of The Lonely Masturbator
~Anne Sexton



The end of the affair is always death.
She's my workshop. Slippery eye,
out of the tribe of myself my breath
finds you gone. I horrify
those who stand by. I am fed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.


Finger to finger, now she's mine.
She's not too far. She's my encounter.
I beat her like a bell. I recline
in the bower where you used to mount her.
You borrowed me on the flowered spread.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.


Take for instance this night, my love,
that every single couple puts together
with a joint overturning, beneath, above,
the abundant two on sponge and feather,
kneeling and pushing, head to head.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.



I break out of my body this way,
an annoying miracle. Could I
put the dream market on display?
I am spread out. I crucify.
My little plum is what you said.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.



Then my black-eyed rival came.
The lady of water, rising on the beach,
a piano at her fingertips, shame
on her lips and a flute's speech.
And I was the knock-kneed broom instead.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.



She took you the way a women takes
a bargain dress off the rack
and I broke the way a stone breaks.
I give back your books and fishing tack.
Today's paper says that you are wed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.



The boys and girls are one tonight.
They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies.
They take off shoes. They turn off the light.
The glimmering creatures are full of lies.
They are eating each other. They are overfed.
At night, alone, I marry the bed.
 

NiBBler

boop!
Dec 10, 2008
1,207
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Hills of Darkness


You say there are no witches,
No matter how it seems,
No such thing as evil,
so please explain my dreams;
I’ve seen the hills of darkness
and the houses of the damned
walked threw forgotten places
being lead by darkness’ hand.

I seem to remember
she was dark her mind was black
she tried so hard to catch me
her eyes where at my back
so I went through the doorway
and then straight through the wall
to a place she couldn't follow
and there I made her fall

You say there are no witches
no matter how it seems
no such thing as evil
but they are in my dreams;
I’ve seen the hills of darkness
and the houses of the damned
I’ve ran through forgotten places
in the darkest land.

I'd almost forgotten
the valley of the dead
That is where I met him
and heard the words he said
there he almost had me
but I made him look away
that is when I broke him
and there he'll always lay

You say there are no witches
no matter how it seems
no such thing as evil
now come into my dreams
I’ve walked the hills of darkness
through the houses of the damned
found forgotten places
once lost by darkest hands

This one I saw clearly
she was standing in my way
but then she looked behind me
and didn't want to play
what they thought would blind me
is that which gave me eyes
what they thought would crush me
is that which made me rise

You say there are no witches
no mater how it seems
no such thing as evil
but what about my dreams?
Come see the hills of darkness
and the houses of the damned
I’ll walk you threw these places
if you will take hand
 

SittinGrumpy

Guest
so is this somewhere you are suppose to put your own work or site who's work it is? Just checking!!! Dont be pissy
 

SittinGrumpy

Guest
The New Native Americans


Where have all the redskinned ladies gone?

They have been humped by white men
with linen pants and left to wander
the plains for lamb meat and old stew.

Where have all the redskinned men gone?

They have been drinking from cisterns made of clay
and wiping hot brows with oily rags left by the Mexicans.

Where have all the redskinned babies gone?

They have been eaten by young white women
with large thighs and bosoms
that rest in silk dresses.

Why?
Redskinned America eaten by horny white men.

dead.
By Johan More

http://blacktable.com/johan030108a.htm

and you tell others to be original
 

NiBBler

boop!
Dec 10, 2008
1,207
0
66
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NC
[FONT=Verdana,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif][FONT=Verdana,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif]Reluctance

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?


Robert Frost
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