Poetry Contest

[bolbolxd.]

Find a Poetry you like and post it here don't forget to post the information about the poet.

i 'ill begin

William Henry Davis (1871-1940)

What is this life , if full of care,
We Have no time to stand and stare ?

No Time to stand beneath the boughs ?
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass

No Time to see, in board daylight,
Streams full of stars ,like skies at night.

No Time to turn a Beauty's glance
And watch her feet, how they dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this, if full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare

[Simon Bourne]

Roses are Red.
Violets are Blue.
In Soviet Russia
I still pwn you.

[Max Woods]

Call of Duty 4(Poetry)

Last night, I had your mom in last stand,

I used deep impact, to double tap that ass.

[Aaron_Lee]

Roses are Red.
Violets are Blue.
In Soviet Russia
I still pwn you.

No Question about it, he wins...

[Jericho Phelps]

Modern Warfare 2 - The Poem
This is a risky dimension,
Couse motherfuckers with Interventions,
Spill Intersections, Tactical ones,
Men with cannons and Sentry guns, Turrets
We aint scared of Bullets,
Sprayin’ and campin!
Straight trough Ownin.
Ac one thirty
reign of terror
But we respawn
Until game ends with an error

Another rappedy rap!
In this world,
You have to stand up,
In the right place,
At the right time,
In the right case,
You have to differ the fiction from the facts,
‘Couse sense is the only thing this world lacks,
Why this world, built on poverty,
is filled with war and love,
Comedy and tragedy,
Monarchs and majestys?
Why can’t anyone become the boss,
Lead a nation,
like Adolf Hitler,
Divide the rations,
Try their power,
Order around,
Never take cover,
Only to be found,
Dead in a ditch,
Burned to carbon,
Decapitated,
or pissed on.
Why?


--all made by me

[Simon Bourne]

Modern Warfare 2 - The Poem
This is a risky dimension,
Couse motherfuckers with Interventions,
Spill Intersections, Tactical ones,
Men with cannons and Sentry guns, Turrets
We aint scared of Bullets,
Sprayin’ and campin!
Straight trough Ownin.
Ac one thirty
reign of terror
But we respawn
Until game ends with an error

Another rappedy rap!
In this world,
You have to stand up,
In the right place,
At the right time,
In the right case,
You have to differ the fiction from the facts,
‘Couse sense is the only thing this world lacks,
Why this world, built on poverty,
is filled with war and love,
Comedy and tragedy,
Monarchs and majestys?
Why can’t anyone become the boss,
Lead a nation,
like Adolf Hitler,
Divide the rations,
Try their power,
Order around,
Never take cover,
Only to be found,
Dead in a ditch,
Burned to carbon,
Decapitated,
or pissed on.
Why?


--all made by me

It's tactical INSERTION nub! Go back to MLP..

Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
In Soviet Russia
Poem reads you.

[Jericho Phelps]

Jesus one typo and a four liner meme poem. Oh You so desperate

[Simon Bourne]

Jesus one typo and a four liner meme poem. Oh You so desperate

I b Hitler'ing yo' grammar.

[Nico]

Oh so poetry..

Cold ice , winter night,
Blizzard , above all sight
Towards the town , you walk
But you can't see , it's all dark.

Author : Me of course. No metrics and the ceisure has no purpose..but hey,it's 5 minutes of work.

[Jericho Phelps]

Your attempt, writing
At making poetry, You try
five minutes of work.

Haiku! except it not about Nature. All haiku rules were followed

[Sam Akabara]

Like the rain
The world spirals, downwards
Awake and continue, existing

[Ferdinand Brixius]

Vampires

They gon' fuck you up.

Lycans

They gon' fuck you up.

Humans

They gon' fuck you up.

(I can think of better. But this 'poem' is true.)

[Nero]

A day.
A hot, summer day.
The target, in the bay,
Sitting at about a mile away.
At that day, that hot, summer day,
I could not even hear the wind sway.

Away, making a difficult way,
My bullet made the wind sway.
The wind sway, as the bullet drops towards the bay.
I moved my mildots away,
To overlook the bay, and that day,
That hot, summer day, the target went away.

by Allianzerine, Source

The best I ever saw.

[Samara]

I like poetry, But I find it annoying and difficult to write sometimes...
So, this is all I'll be putting on this topic.
Enjoy. (:


It was a pleasant night in June,
With a tranquil sky and a placid moon,
With stars that hung like lambent lights,
We wandered off into the night,
The Australian Owlet-nightjar bird,
Made the only sonance to be heard,
Except for the periodic howling cry,
Of the legendary wolf of Gurragai,
And as we came to approach the cry,
I turned my head up to the sky,
Where there I saw a bloodcurdling sight,
Where there when I looked up into the night,
The wolf that stood spotlighting me,
With teeth that beckoned our decease,
Dropped abruptly to the ground,
Never again to make a sound.

[Peter Greenson]

It was a pleasant night in June,
With a tranquil sky and a placid moon,
With stars that hung like lambent lights,
We wandered off into the night,
The Australian Owlet-nightjar bird,
Made the only sonance to be heard,
Except for the periodic howling cry,
Of the legendary wolf of Gurragai,
And as we came to approach the cry,
I turned my head up to the sky,
Where there I saw a bloodcurdling sight,
Where there when I looked up into the night,
The wolf that stood spotlighting me,
With teeth that beckoned our decease,
Dropped abruptly to the ground,
Never again to make a sound.

LITERARY TECHNIQUES!!!!
D:<~! I think this topic should be expanded to literature in general...

[Simon Bourne]

A day.
A hot, summer day.
The target, in the bay,
Sitting at about a mile away.
At that day, that hot, summer day,
I could not even hear the wind sway.

Away, making a difficult way,
My bullet made the wind sway.
The wind sway, as the bullet drops towards the bay.
I moved my mildots away,
To overlook the bay, and that day,
That hot, summer day, the target went away.

by Allianzerine, Source

The best I ever saw.

*Cries and wipes his tears off* Excellent, you make me feel soooo proud!

[Someone]

Mine:


A man doesn't have time in his life
to have time for everything.
He doesn't have seasons enough to have
a season for every purpose. Ecclesiastes
Was wrong about that.

A man needs to love and to hate at the same moment,
to laugh and cry with the same eyes,
with the same hands to throw stones and to gather them,
to make love in war and war in love.
And to hate and forgive and remember and forget,
to arrange and confuse, to eat and to digest
what history
takes years and years to do.

A man doesn't have time.
When he loses he seeks, when he finds
he forgets, when he forgets he loves, when he loves
he begins to forget.

And his soul is seasoned, his soul
is very professional.
Only his body remains forever
an amateur. It tries and it misses,
gets muddled, doesn't learn a thing,
drunk and blind in its pleasures
and its pains.

He will die as figs die in autumn,
Shriveled and full of himself and sweet,
the leaves growing dry on the ground,
the bare branches pointing to the place
where there's time for everything.

[Jericho Phelps]

Like the rain
The world spirals, downwards
Awake and continue, existing

Yo dawg i herd you cant use adjectives in a REAL haiku.

[Sean Phelps]

Derpy Derp Herp Derpy Herp
The derpy derps the derpettes
Duncek Duncek Bun!

[Max Woods]

Roses are red
Watches are gold
Get on your knees
and do what your told

[Peter Greenson]

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror
The wide brown land for me.
--Dorathea Mackeller

[NotRight]

Mai 1 hour of work

if u can keep your head when all about u
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 not be tired of waiting
Or be 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 tread those to 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 them 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 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 going,
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 - not 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 will be a man my son...

1 hour writing and 1 hour editing

[Nicolas Djordjevic]

Mai 1 hour of work

if u can keep your head when all about u
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 not be tired of waiting
Or be 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 tread those to 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 them 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 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 going,
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 - not 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 will be a man my son...

1 hour writing and 1 hour editing

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/If—

I don't think that's your poem.

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